Sick of the Shaq attack–He’s no MJ

This is for all you shameless and brainless Shaq fans: Shaq is wack.
I wouldn’t have even had to say that if little kids weren’t running around sporting their new Lakers’ jackets like the bandwagon-hopping, that they are. This column would be completely unnecessary if normally intelligent and reasonable adult sports fans didn’t become blithering, doddering, pathetic idiots with no sense of dignity or righteousness when Shaq dunks the ball. I wouldn’t be screaming in angst every time Shaq manhandles Vlade Divac if our nation weren’t currently engaged in a sickening love affair with a man who represents everything I hate about the sport of basketball.
Before I go any further, I’d like to insert the following disclaimer: This is not one of those “Shaq is not an athlete” arguments. Anybody who thinks that what Shaq does is unathletic or easy, even for him, should try grabbing a rebound over Arvydas Sabonis and then dunking the ball in his face (I’ve actually tried it before. It wasn’t nearly as easy as I thought it would be.)
I hold nothing against Shaq personally and don’t blame him for doing what he knows he has to do to be the best. So “Shaq is Wack” should not be misconstrued. I’m not mad at Shaq; I’m mad at all you fans who root for him, all you savages with no soul and no brain.
He’s obviously the best player in the NBA, or else I wouldn’t have to write this column in first place, which I really don’t want to be doing anyway because I’m missing the A-Team right now. But I just have to question the implications of our country and its culture and where we’re headed intellectually and spiritually when when we feel compelled to play it safe and root for Goliath, despite that none of us can identify with him on any level at all (unless, of course, you’re 7-2, 315 lbs. and the best player in the NBA.)
What does it say about our capacity to appreciate the true aesthetic beauty inherent in human competition that we accept and love this monster of a man who brings the dullest possible aspect to the game of basketball: brute dominance.
Michael Jordan was the undisputed best and most dominant player in the NBA for many years, but he was also a brilliant athletic genius and an artist. There’s no art to Shaq, no grace or beauty, no soul. I don’t sit with my mouth drooping in an astonished gaze like I used to with Jordan when he would glide in and out of my beloved Knick defenders like he was doing a slalom and then bury a game-winning shot at the buzzer, leaving me to marvel: “How does he do it?” He was literally godlike.
And Shaq? Shaq was blessed with enough coordination and quickness that he can use his size to exploit smaller opponents, namely every single player in the NBA.
Who cares? What’s the point of watching that? He is neither godlike nor admirable. I’ve never watched him and marveled: “How does he do it?” because it’s perfectly obvious how he does it. Once again, I don’t blame him for performing his particularly monstrous brand of distasteful and art-less athletic blasphemy; I blame you for liking it.
What do we root for when we root for Shaq? That the biggest and strongest man can win every time? Might makes right? Are we hoping that there’s no such thing as magic? Apollo Creed over Rocky Balboa? Brawn over brains? I don’t like watching Shaq, I don’t like what Shaq brings to the game, and I don’t like you.
I saw a commercial on television with Bill Russell, and he said that when he guarded somebody, he tailored his defensive strategy according to what he knew the man he was guarding liked to do with the ball, and what he didn’t like to do. He would force him into a bad spot, make him take a bad shot, and he had most of his rebounds before the ball was even shot.
Does Shaq do this? I’m not inside Shaq’s head, but if I had to guess, I would say that what goes through Shaq’s head when he’s guarding somebody is most likely somewhere along the lines of: “Duh.”
So please, I sincerely beg of every last one of you who find solace and safety in a winner, with your O’Neal jerseys and Shaq posters, to settle down and try to see the sheer brilliance and artistry in what players like Allen Iverson and Vince Carter are doing right now. If Iverson ever becomes the best player in the NBA, and I sincerely hope that he does, he will prove what Wayne Gretsky proved in hockey, that you don’t have to be the biggest or the strongest to be the best. Wouldn’t that be beautiful? Until then, however, you soulless, cowardly, brainless parasites are going to continue sitting glued to your television sets, cheering stupidly as Shaq mercilessly defaces and invalidates everything I used to love about watching basketball.