A Miami HeATEr
By Donald Christopher
June 28, 2006

The Miami Heat won the 2005-06 NBA championship.

As a die-hard Knicks fan, it absolutely kills me to say this. To hear this. Even think about it.

So, the Miami Heat are champions. Whoop-de-damn-doo. Who cares? It only took them 18 years to accomplish the feat. Among the lines of remarkable and incredible feats, you can rank theirs slightly above “mixing blue paint with yellow paint to produce green paint” but just a tad below “solving Rubik’s Cube.”

Coach Pat Riley, in all his reptilish glory, somehow managed to lead the team to an NBA Finals playoffs victory over the never-had-a-chance Dallas Mavericks. But I can assure you that former head coach Stan Van Gundy did not make the parade. Stan Van Gundy being the man whose back Riley stuck a knife in, a season after the Heat came within moments of going to the Finals last year under his leadership.

It would have been rather sweet had Van Gundy suddenly appeared at the parade while the snake known as Riley was doing his slitherish-looking dance, and returned the knife to its rightful owner. Talk about reality television.

There wasn’t anything real about Miami winning the title. There was nothing climatic or thrilling. It completely lacked the luster of the crowning of a world champion. The 2005-06 team certainly will never be mistaken as being one of the greatest teams ever.

Yeah, they won their first championship in franchise history...and so what? There isn’t anything worth bragging about. Yesterday, I learned how to make a grilled cheese sandwich for the first time also. And I didn’t have to use Phil Jackson and the Los Angeles Lakers’ blueprint either.

Oh come on, don't act like you don't know. You've seen this script before:

A young flashy two-guard paired with a man in the middle who can leap tall buildings in a single bound...it’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s...well, it ain’t Superman because Shaquille O’Neal is no longer the Man of Steel. Are you kidding me? Everything about Shaq was human during the Finals. Superman enters the building; he does not stink up the building.

Shaq had to have heard the whispers in the locker room. In fact, I would go so far as to say the referees did Miami another favor when they placed him in foul trouble, which in turn relegated him to bench duty, thus allowing Wade to fulfill Commissioner David Stern’s latest vision of supreme dominance.

Nah, let me stop kidding. I really can’t hate on Shaq. That’s only because my hatred for Kobe Bryant runs deeper. I'm happy the Big Aristotle added another championship to his repitoire. I have absolutely no problem with that. Just as long as it wasn’t with Kobe, I can deal with it. Even if it does make me cry because I know that somewhere Kobe is crying even more.

By the way, not only did Kobe not win a ring nor the Most Valuable Player award this past season, but he had to sit and watch Shaq’s latest sidekick, Dwyane Wade, do what Bryant longed to do while being teammates with Shaq out in Los Angeles, and that’s take the ball out of Shaq’s big hands. Kobe witnessed D-Wade take the ball without having to hear a word from Shaq. You just know that has to be eating Kobe up inside.

Don’t you just love the sweet irony that sports give?

Okay, now where was I? Oh yeah, Dwyane Wade—better known as Flash, better known as D-Wade. Apparently, the NBA has found its “next Michael Jordan.” You can expect The Wade Rules to supplant The Jordan Rules on the bookshelves of NBA coaches everywhere any day now. During the Finals, Wade went from being a star to being a quadruple superstar as fast as a referee can blow a whistle. Not to take anything away from the spectacular takeover performed by Wade, because all in all, I guess he did have to step to the line and actually make the free throws.

Originally, I fought with myself on whether or not I would touch on the subject of Wade out of fear of being called for a foul, because it seems everyone and their mother has fallen in love with number 3. Wade’s jersey has become a hot commodity. While it’s true how love is blind, not even the most torrid of red-hot romances can cloud anyone’s view of how absurd it was having to watch one player take 25 free throw attempts in a single game, which by the way matched the team total Dallas in Game 5. Now wait just a minute...I know I’ve seen this script somewhere before.

Alonzo Mourning also has his first championship ring. The keyword being “has.” Not won his first, but has his first. Saying Mourning won a ring would be like saying Darko Milicic won a ring. Neither player won anything. Mourning couldn’t bring a championship to Miami as the the main dish, but somehow—with a straight face—managed to jubliantly hoist the trophy into the air while being nothing more than a side order. I always thought the plan was to go from fries to salad to burgers. Not vice versa. I'm not going to talk about how he parlayed everyone’s sympathy for his kidney disorder into a first class ticket to South Florida. Makes you really wonder how some people can actually look in the mirror and feel good about themselves.

Five years from now, I wonder if anyone will remember that Gary Payton has a ring? Probably not.

Players named Antoine, Jason, and Udonis do not win championships either. Neither of the three are good actors for that matter. I noticed the fake intensity shown by each player during the celebration. You think Antoine Walker really think he matters? I mean, does anyone on the team even talk to Jason Williams? I shouldn’t have anything negative to say about Udonis Haslem because I can definitely identify with the next hard-working man, especially someone who displays fearlessness and tenacity on the court as Haslem does. Someone who isn’t afraid to do the required dirty work in the low blocks, a la Dennis Rodman. But unlike Rodman—who would never think twice about doing whatever it took to prove his point—Haslem is not a real Bad Boy. He only fronts as being one. The mouthpiece-throwing incident proves it. Real bad boys don’t snatch their mouthpiece then proceed to throw it at the referee but hesitate once they notice the ref is watching then toss it but only when thinking the ref is no longer watching. No, real Bad Boys want you to know they mean it. Haslem may want to work on that.

The promised parade drew an estimated 250,000 people. Quick, name a die-hard Heat fan! Take your time...but you will never be able to name one, and that’s because there are no die-hard Heat fans. It’s a running joke amongst NBA basketball fans. Out of those many people attending the parade, I promise you that not one can tell you who the team’s starting point guard was last year. Saying you are a die-hard Heat fan is like saying you have a preference which hotel room you end up at after a hot date. It’s like being inside the room and pretending to watch a movie on the television. You’re not watching and you know it. Whatever’s on TV is the very last thing on your mind. By chance if some action takes place on the screen, you may actually get involved for more than a moment or so, but if asked anything about the movie other than the action-packed scenes, you appear clueless. Barry Gibb is a Heat fan. Nuff said.

My hatred for the Miami Heat has nothing to do with Riley’s stint with the Knicks from 1991-95 either. I will be the first one to admit his teams displayed grit, intensity, as well as physical and mental toughness, even if he did turn his back on us when the going got tough for him in the front office. Any true Knicks fan will always thank Riley for bringing an era of terror to Madison Square Garden. He did that. Even if he did steal the blueprint from Chuck Daly and the Detroit Pistons. Still acting like you don’t know, huh?

Nowadays, judging by the amount of gray hair he sports, it’s clear the ghosts of the New York Knicks continue to haunt Riley. True, the aging process plays a big part but I’m sure there are orange and blue ghosts whom can make claims to a few of those strands. Yes, make no doubt about it, the Knicks still own Pat Riley and the Miami Heat. The demons have yet to be exorcised. Winning a championship doesn’t matter. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t erase the shoeprints stomped upon Riley time and time again by the Knicks during their battles with the Heat. Miami’s stolen playoffs victory over New York in 1997 can’t even take away from that. If anything, it only showed Riley’s evilness and how it will drive him to perform the most spiteful of acts to get what he wants. Although it was P.J. Brown who carried out the bodyslam on Charlie Ward in the series, causing mass suspensions for New York when Ward’s teammates came out onto the court in response), everyone knows it was Pat Riley who gave the order. Of course he did. You see, Riley has always wanted to be gangsta ever since he began coaching the Lakers in 1981-82. Gangsta—all the way from his trademark slicked-back hair, to his immaculate tan, to the Giorgio Armani suits. But just as there’s no such thing as a die-hard Heat fan, there’s no such thing as a mob boss moonlighting as a coach in the NBA either.

You can also dismiss thoughts of this simply being a case of just another scorned Knicks fan going on some jealous rant induced by the pure disgust from the Miami Heat ending up being the team pouring champagne. That’s not true either.

It’s not. And you can stop looking at me like that.