Sad, Angry, and Clowns Everywhere

[Editor's Note: Even though Pete is a founding member of and almost-daily contributor to this site, the rest of us sometimes see the need—both online and in public—to reel him in. He's a passionate gentleman, and sometimes his fiery disposition can get the best of him. However, on days following debilitating losses by his beloved Celtics, he's got free reign to speak his mind. But just remember, the views of Peter do not necessarily reflect the views of No Regard. Except all the stuff about Bosh being a clown; we're all on the same page there.]

NBA Middle Names: Jeff Teague

We at No Regard spend a lot of time in our NBA knitting circles trying to figure out the human side of these players. Whether it's musing about their commutes to work, how much "Call of Duty" they play, or what their favorite snack food is, we like to remind ourselves that NBA players are nothing more than young men with enviable jobs. What better way to humanize our heroes than look up their middle names?

Jeffrey Demarco Teague

Mamba's Last Stand

While Mark Cuban was undoubtedly lighting up a victory cigar after returning to Dallas with a 2-0 lead on the two-time defending champion Lakers, I imagine Kobe Bryant, the game's fiercest and most competitive player was fuming, aggressively lifting jump-shots in an empty gym while plotting his team's comeback. Pundits, experts and fans have written off Los Angeles, stating claims like, "Pau Gasol is soft and can't stop Dirk" and "Kobe is too old to dominate a seven game series." I hate the Lakers, but I truly believe they will pull this off; when you've got the kid from Lower Merion, PA (via Italy) on your team, his insatiable desire for perfection offers light in the darkest of situations.

I don't need to remind of you the Mamba's resume, because his accolades aren't why I'm convinced he will bring L.A. back from the dead. No, Kobe is driven by a greater calling...

NBA Middle Names: Ron Artest

We at No Regard spend a lot of time in our NBA knitting circles trying to figure out the human side of these players. Whether it's musing about their commutes to work, how much "Call of Duty" they play, or what their favorite snack food is, we like to remind ourselves that NBA players are nothing more than young men with enviable jobs. What better way to humanize our heroes than look up their middle names?

Ronald William Artest

Kazaam to the Rescue

Like George Washington (or Abe Lincoln?), I cannot tell a lie: I'm extremely down right now about my Celtics. After two bad losses at the hands of LeBron, Wade and Jackass Jones, my hopes are wearing thin. Yet, there's one X-factor that leaves me with a strange sense of confidence that Beantown can turn things around, with the series shifting to Massachusetts. Where does my audacious sense of belief come from? Squarely on the shoulder's of the league's oldest, fattest and, at one point, most dominate player.

Talent Trumps Talent

I guess I'm late here, but I'm finally ready to take this Miami Heat team seriously. All season I've ignored the stats, even though the team was ruling all the areas that best prove post-season success, because I'm a stubborn person. They led the league in point differential—which hoop junkies know is wildly prescient in terms of predicting champions—and finished the season as the only team in the top five in both offensive and defensive efficiency. But I got hung up on what has turned out to be minutia. I thought, "Mike Miller doesn't do anything anymore except rebound and look like a surly lesbian"; or "Surely you can't expect much from a team that jumped to sign Mike Bibby and his giant headband because he was clearly an upgrade for them at point guard"; or "Jam Band Jones literally does nothing except for catch and shoot from behind the arc"; and finally "What is a Joel Anthony?"

I believed all these sorry parts, even next to Wade and LeBron, wouldn't amount to anything more than a second round exit.

But, as outrageous as this is going to sound, I forgot one important factor...

The Confidence Interval of the Atlanta Hawks

It must be a great time to be a Hawks fan. They finally bested big brother Orlando in convincing fashion, Dominique Wilkins is fist pumping quite frequently in the stands, and Joe Johnson is wetter than the Thunder Canyon water ride at Dorney Park. Not to mention last night's thievery of home-court advantage against Chicago, in a game that was never really in contention. After a few years of pathetic playoff performances, this team appears ready to take the Bulls to the brink.

Celtics-Heat Game 1: Let's Get Physical, Physical

Yesterday's game one matchup in the Eastern semis between Boston and Miami presented what is likely to be the case for seven games: chippy basketball between two teams that so clearly hate each other, it's beyond Romeo and Juliet shit. Here are some (increasingly belligerent) thoughts that I jotted down as I watched in anguish, sipping Bud Light Wheats (or whatever they're called; good though, very good beer) and yelling at my television.