LeBron James keeps making friends

It was a time for contrition, a time for reflection, a time to be humble. Instead, it became just another reason for us to grind our teeth, grimace and shake our heads upon hearing the words, "LeBron James."

The spotlight should have been on the Dallas Mavericks, who had just won their first NBA championship Sunday night following their six-game ousting of the Miami Heat. It should have been on Dirk Nowitzki, Jason Kidd, Jason Terry and the rest of the classy Mavs, who were now in the club James so desperately wants to join.

That is, until James took his obligatory seat in the interview room after the Heat's 105-95 loss on their home floor. He was asked, "Does it bother you that so many people are happy to see you fail?" And James responded with this beauty:

"Absolutely not. Because at the end of the day, all the people that was rooting on me to fail, at the end of the day they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life that they had before they woke up today. They have the same personal problems they had today. I'm going to continue to live the way I want to live and continue to do the things that I want to do with me and my family and be happy with that.

"They can get a few days or a few months or whatever the case may be on being happy about not only myself, but the Miami Heat not accomplishing their goal, but they have to get back to the real world at some point."

In other words, "I don't care what anyone thinks of me, because tomorrow, I'll still have my millionaire lifestyle, and all you little people will still be working on the widget assembly line."

Not only did James fail to deliver on the promise of "We're going to win seven titles," not only did he fail to show up in the fourth quarter of any game in this series, but he has displayed an alarming lack of self-awareness, going back to "The Decision" and everything moving forward.

Whoever is managing him -- if indeed, anyone is -- needs to do major damage control here. It's one thing to think such things -- he is only 26, after all, though he has been in the NBA for seven years -- it's quite another to speak them at a time and place when the whole world is watching.

There is much to apologize for here. As the series went on, James looked less and less like a self-assured "King" and more and more like a scared, unsure, tentative neophyte, seeming to want no part of taking big shots or handling the ball in crucial moments. Then again, that seemed to be a malady that infected the other two-thirds of the "Big Three," as people like Mario Chalmers -- Mario Chalmers! -- were the ones hoisting shots when it mattered most when James, Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh looked like invisible men.

I think there's something going on we don't know about -- either something personal (and I'm not talking about those ridiculous internet rumors involving Rashard Lewis and James' girlfriend) or a hidden injury -- that made James a shell of himself. But until we hear any hint of him revealing anything approaching a sense of self, he's going to continue to be the most reviled player in the NBA -- and maybe in sports. Quite a burden to bear, but since he brought most of it on himself, it's hard to feel sorry for him. And easy to break into a devilish grin.

Particularly if you're punching the clock at Widget World.

But I wanted to be a Millionaire ...

It only took 10 minutes to go from Who Wants to be a Millionaire to The Biggest Loser.

That was not the way I had planned it, not from the time a couple weeks ago when I answered the call to audition in New York City for the popular game show. I watch it all the time -- often coming up with answers the frazzled contestants can't -- and even play the facebook version, in which I almost always finish in the top three and go to the "second round." And even though I've never pocketed the virtual million dollars, I know given the chance in the real world, I'd make a real nice run for the real green, not to mention getting a real hug -- or at least a real hearty handshake -- from Meredith Vieira.

My spirits soared when I got an e-mail telling me my "audition time" was Friday at 3:30. I was to take a written test, and if I passed I would meet with a producer, and if that went well, I would then go into the contestant pool. I also had to fill out "eligibility forms" and another form asking questions like, "What makes you unique?" and "You'd never believe it, but I once ..."

... saw Yogi Berra naked. When I was covering baseball back in the '90s, and he was a Yankees coach at the time. It was after a game, I was standing in the middle of the clubhouse, and ... it just happened. I wanted to look away ... but just couldn't. Kind of like watching a train wreck, or "The Real Housewives of New York." I wondered how I would mention this to Meredith, and whether she or anyone else would laugh, and whether it would be bleeped out. But I digress ...

Friday, 3:15 p.m. Buoyant despite the heat, thanks to my iced Pike Place Roast from Starbucks, I arrived at ABC Studios on New York's Upper West Side, and was immediately jolted back to reality. I was standing on line, along with what turned into a group of about 75 people with the same deluded dream I had. The woman behind me said she had tried out for the show a couple of years ago, got past the interview stage, but never made it on the air. There was a fellow behind her who said his wife actually got on the show three years ago and made $23,000, which they used to re-do their kitchen. Guess it was time to replace the tiles.

Reality further poked me when I saw a door open up in front of our line, where a crowd of people poured out, rejects from the previous "audition." There had to be several of these every day, over however many days and weeks they were running this exercise. I was suddenly feeling like an ant emerging from my ant hill, and looking over the horizon and seeing nothing but ... other ant hills.

We finally got out of the heat and into a big air-conditioned room, which looked to be a cafeteria. We were sat down at a series of tables, armed only with No. 2 pencils to attack our 30-question, 10-minute standardized trivia test, inside the numbered envelope given to us at the door. The number on the envelope, we were to find out, would be used to call us forward for the next phase, which seemed to be all but certain to everyone at my table. We all seemed to be fairly intelligent and outgoing sorts, and were all sure we'd do well on the show.

"Open your envelopes. Your 10 minutes start now!" Show time! I pulled out the test questions, and flew through the first few queries. Speeding is not a foul in the NBA. The Extra-Terrestrial Highway runs through Roswell, N.M. An al fresco of Washington's ascension to heaven is in the U.S. Capitol ... or is it the Washington National Cathedral? Or, according to the consensus at my table afterward, the Library of Congress? (I just Googled it ... they were right. Damn.)

But were some I had to pause and stab at, like the one that asked how many days it would take to walk from New York to Los Angeles at 3 miles an hour (I always hated those kinds of questions; the correct answer is, "I wouldn't know, I always fly. Go ask Forrest Gump.")

And on others, I was totally clueless. What delivery truck always appears in Disney Pixar films? ("No idea" was not among the four choices, unfortunately.) And another question asked to name the artist whose medium is roadkill soaked in formaldehyde. I'm serious. (I'm not sure which is more disturbing -- that there's an artist who works in that area or that anyone would actually be familiar with him. Wouldn't that mangled opossum look great on the dining room table?)

I finished the test well before the 10-minute mark. When I looked around and saw most people were still working, my confidence rose. I even had time to go over my answers: Of the 30 questions, there were 18 I know were right. There were another six or so that I thought were good educated hypotheses, and another six outright guesses. I figured if I were half-right on those last 12, that would put me around 24 correct answers, a likely neighborhood for telling a producer my Yogi Berra story.

"Pencils down!" Our sheets were quickly collected, and would be graded on the spot. Immediately, I flashed back to grammar school. Our table convened: "What did you get for that one? Did anyone know this one?" We concurred on most questions we discussed. The guy who needed new kitchen tiles said, "Either we're all getting on the show or we're all going down in flames."

"Will the following numbers please move to this side of the room," our tour guide said. My number was 227, and I was fully expecting to hear it. My heart jumped when she went down her list and said, 'Two-twenty ..." and dropped when she said, "... five."

Nine numbers were called out before this stunner: "The rest of you, thank you for coming, and please exit through the door you entered." No. 227 would not advance. Neither would anyone else at my table. I joined the rest of the flameouts as we shuffled out, glancing at the group of nine, happily high-fiving each other.

As we exited the door of dreams and re-entered the reality of the city heat, I looked to the left and saw the next ant hill already formed. A new dance was about to begin, and more fantasies would be flattened.

I turned the corner onto Columbus Avenue and smiled to myself. I had tried, and have a nifty "Millionaire" pencil and refrigerator magnet to show for it. It was time to go to work.

Time for NHL to stop pointing fingers

So when did the Stanley Cup Final become "Slap Shot 3: Give 'em the finger"?

Is this what the NHL wants its marquee event to turn into? What's next, the Bruins dressing Ogie Oglethorpe and the Canucks countering with Clarence "Screaming Buffalo" Swamptown for Game 4 Wednesday night?

It all started back in Game 1, when the Canucks' Alexandre Burrows bit the gloved finger of the Bruins' Patrice Bergeron during a scrum. Burrows should have been suspended at least a game for that, but wasn't.

The NHL's decision not to discipline Burrows bit the Bruins again in Game 2, when Burrows scored the winning goal 11 seconds into overtime to give Vancouver a 2-0 series lead.

Then, early in Game 3, the Canucks' Aaron Rome flattened the Bruins' Nathan Horton with an open ice check the Bruins say was dirty and the Canucks maintain was clean. Horton, after lying on the ice motionless for a frightful few moments, was taken off the ice on a stretcher. Rome was ejected -- probably more for his own safety than anything else -- and subsequently was issued a suspension for the rest of the Final.

I side with the Canucks on this one. I maintain the hit was clean; Rome did not leave his feet to check Horton, and because Rome caught Horton just right and the back of Horton's head hit the ice -- causing a concussion that will sideline him for the rest of the series -- it looked a lot worse than Rome intended to make it. I'll go so far as to say had Horton bounced back up and play continued, there might not have even been a penalty called.

For his part, Rome -- who plans to appeal the suspension -- was contrite, and stated his case during his hearing with NHL Senior VP of Hockey Operations Mike Murphy.

"(Rome) felt it was a hockey play, a hockey play that went bad," Murphy said. "They're my words, not his, but that's basically what he said. The puck was released, and he followed through with the hit.

"The hit was clearly beyond what is acceptable in terms of how late it was delivered after Horton had released the puck, and it caused a significant injury."

All of this gets back to what is clearly not acceptable: During just about every post-whistle get-together in the Bruins' 8-1 Game 3 victory, a Boston player would stick a bare finger in the face of a Vancouver player -- clearly unsportsmanlike, clearly taunting.

Yes, Burrows should have been suspended. But to keep this type of behavior going just sullies the game even more on its grandest stage.

How about this: Any player taunting in a similar manner during a scrum gets a two-minute unsportsmanlike conduct penalty and a 10-minute misconduct. That would stop the nonsense. At least it sounds as if Murphy is heading in that direction. He said he planned to speak with the general managers and coaches of both teams "about the crap that we're seeing, the garbage that is going on."

And hopefully keeping Tim "Dr. Hook" McCracken far, far away.

Does anyone remember D-Day?

There's a significant anniversary to commemorate today, though you might have to search a while to find any mention of it in cyberspace.

It was 67 years ago, on June 6, 1944, that the D-Day landings took place on the beaches of Normandy in Northern France in World War II. The first step in Eisenhower's "great crusade" was, and remains, the greatest amphibious assault in history. More than 160,000 troops landed via 5,000 naval vessels of all kinds. The U.S. suffered 6,000 casualties, with nearly 2,500 killed.

It's hard to believe, but it has been 10 years since Steven Spielberg, Tom Hanks and HBO teamed up to produce the Emmy Award-winning series Band of Brothers, which came three years after Spielberg and Hanks brought us the seminal film Saving Private Ryan.

At the time, Speilberg and Hanks both noted the importance of such undertakings as a tribute to the dwindling numbers of "The Greatest Generation," and the urgency of the projects because 1,000 World War II veterans were dying every day.

In the past couple of years alone, several of the most notable figures in Band of Brothers passed away, including its humble leader, Maj. Dick Winters. Many others have passed since the show was originally aired.

Today, a group of 40 D-Day veterans gathered on Normandy Beach to rededicate the monument to the U.S. Rangers who scaled the Pointe-du-hoc cliffs to take out the German guns there. I found that item on cbsnews.com, which also featured a link to a story about two Normandy veterans recounting their harrowing experiences of that iconic day in history.

CBS News stands virtually alone in that regard, for among major internet news outlets, the remembrances are few.

As of this morning, I Googled "D-Day" under "news" and found 277 links, most of them to newspaper sites that published similar stories to the ones above. But a quick look around the Wed shows that D-Day has been all but forgotten:

* On Yahoo!, D-Day was not among the 20 "pictured" stories on the home page, and was not mentioned among the top 10 trending stories. Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon were.

* On CNN, which prides itself on its news coverage, D-Day had no presence, but John Edwards and Casey Anthony did (as of this afternoon, CNN had posted a link to "Remembering D-Day.")

* ABC News had nothing, but did have items on Justin Timberlake and Pippa Middleton.

* NBC News had no mention either. FOX News, which does air a weekly documentary that features World War II, missed D-Day too, but did post a video on "Tim Tebow on temptation."

I understand times have changed, and there are events in the world unfolding that affect us greatly. The visions of World War II have largely faded to sepia, with fewer and fewer people alive each day that lived through it. But I would at least expect that in today's 24-hour news cycle, there would be time and space to devote to such a profound event.

Enjoy "Dancing with the Stars" and keep up with the Kardashians. But take a moment to read about and remember D-Day. If you can find anything on the internet about it, that is.

Canucks' time to shine

They're celebrating their 40th anniversary this year, and there's only one item on their wish list -- a big, engraved silver cup, filled with champagne to duly mark the occasion.

Chilling won't be a problem, since there will be an ample supply of ice available over the next couple of weeks. Their only problem? Someone else also wants that chalice, eager to rekindle the feelings they had the last time they got their hands on it, some 39 years ago.

It says here the Vancouver Canucks, who so far have enjoyed a great party in their 40th anniversary season, will cap it by winning the Stanley Cup for the first time in their existence -- despite the fact their opponents, the Boston Bruins, will be bringing noisemakers in hopes of lifting their first Cup since 1972.

The Canucks have a pair of superstar brothers, Daniel and Henrik Sedin, who finished first and fourth, respectively, in the NHL in scoring this season. (That's Daniel, above, against Bruins goaltender Tim Thomas). They have a budding superstar in Ryan Kesler, who glided onto the national stage playing for Team USA during the Olympics and scored a career-high 41 goals this year, fourth in the league. And they have strong goaltending with Roberto Luongo.

They will also be carrying the torch for a nation; a Canadian team has not won the Cup since 1993, when it was captured by Montreal. The Canucks have been to the Finals twice in their history, and oddly enough beaten by New York teams both times; they lost to the dynastic Islanders in 1982, and in 1994 fell to the Rangers, who ended their 54-year Cup drought.

A Canadian team that has never won the Cup is a compelling story, as is an Original Six squad that has not skated a victory lap in 39 years. The Bruins haven't even been to the Finals since 1990, when they lost to the Oilers in that dynasty's last victory.

An interesting sidelight is both the Canucks and Bruins see Mark Messier in their nightmares; Messier played for both teams that denied Vancouver and Boston in their last trips to the Finals: the 1994 Rangers and the 1990 Oilers.

Here's something else to chew on: EA Sports' NHL 11 simulation engine, which correctly predicted the winners in 13 of 14 series in this year's postseason, is picking the Canucks to top the Bruins in seven games -- it had actually selected that scenario before the season even began -- with the home team winning every game and the Canucks repelling the Bruins 3-1 in Game 7 at Rogers Arena. The Conn Smythe Trophy winner was Luongo.

Canucks in seven? Sounds about right to me. Enjoy the series.

What, another NBA conspiracy theory?

Take your pick -- warm, fuzzy feel-good story, or the latest fodder for conspiracy theorists?

Last week's NBA draft lottery, the event where a bad bounce of a ping-pong ball can teeter the balance of an entire sport, was notable for a couple of reasons:

On the surface, it was redemption for the once powerful, then woebegone, now strutting-again Cleveland Cavaliers, who went from the NBA Finals into the garbage pile once a certain someone decided to take his talents to South Beach. And now, after winning the lottery, the Cavs are suddenly in position to become relevant again, given they have the first and fourth overall selections in next month's draft.

It was also a compelling human interest story. The Cavs were represented at the lottery by Nick Gilbert (above, center), the 14-year-old son of team owner Dan Gilbert (above, right). Nick is afflicted by neurofibromatosis, a rare nerve disorder that causes tumors to grow in the body at any time. The scene of Nick doing a victory dance at the lottery's conclusion, while Timberwolves GM David Kahn and Jazz GM Kevin O'Connor (Minnesota and Utah were the other two teams with a shot at the No. 1 slot) could only stand by scowling, was priceless.

But as soon as the event ended, the tin hats came out. First to pull one on was Kahn, whose Timberwolves have never been awarded the No. 1 pick in 14 trips to the Lottery.

"This league has a habit, and I'm just going to say habit, of producing some pretty incredible storylines," Kahn said. "Last year is was Abe Pollin's widow (referring to the longtime owner of the Washington Wizards) and this year it was a 14-year-old boy and the only thing we have in common is we have both been bar mitzvahed. We were done. I told Kevin (O'Connor), 'We're toast.' This is not happening for us and I was right."

Kahn is far from the first person to raise his eyebrows at unusual events where the NBA is concerned. Officials Hue Hollins and Nick Bavetta (who was dubbed "Knick" Bavetta) have been called out in the past for their perceived propensity for making calls in favor of a certain New York team. And what about Tim Donaghy, the disgraced official who really DID fix games, and spent time in prison for it?

And then there's the main event when it comes to the NBA's image of supposed impropriety: the 1985 Draft Lottery, and the right to select Patrick Ewing No. 1 overall, famously won by the Knicks. At that time, the lottery was determined by team logos on huge envelopes pulled out of a bin by NBA commissioner David Stern. The story, which some people I know and trust swear to be true, is that the envelope with the Knicks logo was kept in a freezer before the lottery -- so when Stern was fishing through the envelopes, he knew which one to avoid, until it was the only one left.

Kahn wasn't the only one drawing conclusions last week, either. The New York Times reported that seconds before the lottery winner was announced, John Wall -- last year's No. 1 pick -- was standing next to Duke guard Kyrie Irving -- who could be this year's No. 1 pick -- and "whispered 'Cleveland' in Irving's ear before the cameras turned on."

In the days since, Kahn has backtracked -- OK, turned and fled -- from his initial view, claiming he was "joking" when spoken to moments after his team lost out yet again.

"I don't believe in jinxes, curses or hocus pocus, and I certainly don't think we were wronged," Kahn told the Associated Press. "But I do believe in the power of story, and I joked that it's a heck of a better story for a 14-year-old kid to beat out a couple of middle-aged executives standing together on a stage on national TV, and that our league seems to always have its own share of luck in being a part of these stories.

"That was the entire meaning of what I said in a joking fashion, and what I believe was received in such fashion."

The reality is he and the Timberwolves are just on a run of really, really bad luck. The perception? Another story entirely.

***

UPDATE: Back on May 12, I wrote about the backlash that slashed, crosschecked and boarded the Rangers' Sean Avery after he taped a PSA in support of gay marriage for New Yorkers for Marriage Equality.

With every day that goes by, the movement is getting more support from the sports world. Longtime Suns CEO and president Rick Welts recently came out, announcing he is gay. TNT analyst Charles Barkley, a former Sun, spoke out in support, saying he had no problems playing with gay teammates. "I'd rather have a gay guy who can play," Barkley said, "than a straight guy who can't play.

Now, a prominent NBA star, the Suns' Steve Nash, has joined Avery in taping a PSA for the organization.

"Hi, I'm Steve Nash," he says in the PSA. "I spend my summers in New York and I love playing at the Garden. A growing number of professional athletes are speaking out in support of gay and lesbian couples getting marries, and I'm proud to be one of them. Join me and the supermajority of New Yorkers who support marriage equality."

On Friday, ESPN.com reported the results of a Gallup poll, which said 53 percent of respondents said same-sex marriage should be recognized as lawful and valid, while 45 percent said no.

Scott Raab, Holocaust comedian

Up until now, Scott Raab was mostly known as a journalist who writes in-depth celebrity profiles for Esquire Magazine. On his Wikipedia page, Raab calls himself "a fat Jew from Cleveland" who has a tattoo of Chief Wahoo on his forearm -- done during an interview with Dennis Rodman.

Raab was in the center of a mini-controversy last fall, when the Miami Heat refused to give him press credentials, a by-product of Raab's negative approach while writing about LeBron James' exit from Cleveland.

But this week, Raab became known for something much worse. He placed himself into a pot of boiling water that, outside of Deadspin.com and a few sports blogs, has largely gone unreported.

In a tweet -- presumably in response to a contest being run by the Dallas Mavericks, asking fans to choose an "official" nickname for Dirk Nowitzki (above), who had just dropped 48 points on the Oklahoma City Thunder -- Raab wrote the following:

"All the fuss about a Nowitzki nickname is absurd. Gotta be "Zyklon D," nein?"

Zyklon was a pellet-based pesticide that became lethal when exposed to oxygen, and was what the Nazis used in the gas chambers at Auschwitz, Treblinka and Dachau. The full name of the poison was Zyklon B, which Raab twisted to Zyklon D, as in, D for Dirk Nowitzki.

Let all of that sink in for a moment.

I can immediately think of 6 million reasons to be upset about this, and I'm sure you can too. The fact that Raab is Jewish doesn't matter. I'm Jewish, and when I saw it, I was offended and sickened by the reference. And imagine how would you feel if you were Nowitzki, who, of course, is German and was born in 1978, 33 years after World War II ended?

I haven't found or heard any reactions from Nowitzki on the matter, probably because it has not hit the mainstream. Perhaps the main reason for that is Raab is now a "regular contributor" to Esquire as opposed to a member of the magazine's staff, which he was until 1997, according to his Wikipedia page. The point is that because Raab does not have to answer to anyone for his tweets, he can pretty much say whatever he wants, unfiltered and without anyone questioning, in this case, his judgment and taste -- which is why self-editing is a necessary skill in today's tweet-happy world.

Let's put it this way: If Raab worked for, say, ESPN or were a full-time columnist for a newspaper or website, he probably would have been fired. Rogers SportsNet in Toronto fired a TV host last week because he supported the anti-gay sentiments of a hockey agent who criticized the Rangers' Sean Avery for supporting gay marriage.

What I am sure of is this: Nowitzki would be as horrified as anyone. In Germany, it's illegal to display the swastika or other Nazi symbols, and the Holocaust is a legacy of shame and disgust for nearly every decent person in today's Germany.

For his part, Raab did apologize on Twitter 13 hours after his initial tweet, linking to an article he penned for Esquire on a convicted Nazi death camp guard who relocated to the United States. But it's important for us to object to and call out anyone who slurs or makes light of any form of intolerance, or in this case, genocide.

There are at least 6 million reasons why.