NBA PLAYOFFS: Miami Heat

There is no “team” in Heat, though it's close. Rather, all you get is “he at,” as in, “Where the fuck he at?”

The “he” on any given night could be LeBron James, it could be Dwayne Wade, or it could represent the entire Miami Heat bench. Who are they and what are their roles? The bench (Chris Bosh's cawing ass included) are there only to beef up the two-headed, swamp-soaked egos of their two "perennial All-Stars." Well, here is it: Fuck the Miami Heat.

Nobody outside of Miami, Florida is rooting for this team. They had the privilege of letting loose on an even more disgruntled team in the New York Knicks for the opening round and now find themselves down 2-1 against the fresh Indiana Pacers in the Eastern Semi-Finals. When you get past the glitz and drama, the Heat are really not very threatening. They're nothing but a bunch of scallywags lumped together to give their two too-cool-for-you leaders a strong whiff of self-importance. Everybody is just trying so hard to please Lebron & Wade; you can see it all over their concerned faces as they tilt toward them in huddles. It’s like they’re watching their best friend go through a mental breakdown and they’re not sure how to comfort them. It makes one sick.

I can just picture each of their sorry asses in the locker-room. Joel Anthony contemplating shaving his head but stubbornly seeking Leron's approval first; Mario Chalmers has Dwayne Wade's words of wisdom echoing in his head, "OK Mario, be like 3D"; crusty Mike Miller just licks his lips stammering in the background; Juan Howard doesn't want to stand; Ronnie Turiaf constantly tries to make Lebron and Wade laugh with unfunny dead-end jokes; Haslem wishes he could kill them both; Mike Bibby (Oh whoops, forgot he went to the Knicks) and Chris Bosh is injured (so who cares). What a team, right?  It's Lebron & Wade and their band of undistinguishable cast-off lackeys and they're looking like cattle in mourning right now. “Aw, what do we do? We’re supposed to be the best.” I mean c’mon, they brought in Ronnie Turiaf to help fill the center void. That’s like calling on the guy who brings the shopping carts in to conduct a meeting with the chain’s top advisers. Watching the Heat’s lopsided, ego-driven, flat-lining rhythm collapse makes it all the more pleasing to see them get beat by a very well-rounded team in the Pacers. Either way; IT’S GON' BE A GRINDHOUSE.