SportsHubLA

Familiarity. Mutual respect. Probably even friendship off the court. It’s a real Kumbaya around the campfire for the Western Conference finals.

It’s all there for the Lakers and Spurs, the familiarity of an old foe you know too well, and respect too much, to be able to hate. After meeting six times over the past 10 years, these rivals know each other like old married couples do.

I bet Kobe knows which Spur leaves the toilet seat up.

In my heart of hearts- yes, readers, I have one- I have courtloads of admiration for the way the Spurs conduct their business. No flash, no flaunting, no taunting, no street. No bling, no chest thumping, no look-at-me straight to camera. The Spurs are the ultimate pros in the best sense of the term.

You want your kids — no, actually, you want all kids who play sports –to watch them. You want them to learn. The knee-jerk tendency to call them bland or dull, seemingly justified by lower TV ratings for their bi-annual appearances in the NBA Finals? Really, it’s been driven by jealousy.

If you have any affinity for the Lakers as an Angeleno, they weren’t going to be in the championship series after Shaq left. The Spurs quite often were. So you called them boring. It was easier than calling them great.

You saw San Antonio’s four titles and blamed the East for sucking so bad.

You made fun of Manu Ginobili. You said he flip-flopped more than John Kerry (no dumb political E-mails, please, I voted for him). You said you’d seen 200-pound fish flipping on a dock who didn’t flop as much as Ginobili. And this spring when he was raining threes to rip the hearts out of the Suns and Hornets, you liked the new growing donut-sized hole in the rear of Manu’s haircut, which must mean he’s growing older, thank God, except he’s still only 30.

You made fun of Tony Parker. You said he was a Frenchie, meaning he’d surrender quickly. You said he had five o’clock shadow when he woke up in the morning. You thought it was perfect when he married that maneater from Desperate Housewives. I believe you began referring to him as Tony Longoria or Eva Parker, or the Desperate Househusband.

You made fun of Tim Duncan, and said watching him play was like watching paint dry, that the Big Fundamental was the Big Snooze. You said he looked slow and unathletic. You yelled at every center who couldn’t stop him, which was every center. You said if you wanted to see great footwork, you’d watch Dancing With the Stars, and Timmy never met the foul he admitted he committed. Then Pao Gasol joined your team, and you didn’t say that as often.

You looked at Robert Horry and asked why someone older than Sen. John Warner (D.-Va) was still playing. When he was turning Sacramento back into the Kings again, he was Big Shot Rob. When he was backpicking David West a couple of nights ago, sending West’s back into spasm, he became Cheap Shot Rob. When they told you he had seven rings, you said, big deal, you’d been shopping in Tijuana and you had eight. Plus thre new Rolexes.

You watched Bruce Bowen and wondered why he wasn’t serving time for assault. You begged the refs to call the 30 fouls he committed on Kobe instead of the three the refs whistled. You said calling him Edward Scissorhands was giving him the benefit of the doubt. You said the guys he guarded needed a cutman in their corners, and admitted that if he hit one more wide open three from the short corner, you were gonna throw a rock at your own TV.

You saw their new Designated Thug and wondered what the hell a Fabricio Oberto was, that it was worth a call to the league office to see if there was a one-Argentine-per-team limit, and that a Fabricio Oberto should be styling heads on Beverly Drive, not decapitating them on the Riverwalk.

You watched them bring in another hatchet, Kurt Thomas, and said if he moved any more on those cross body blocks he calls a pick, he’d get a speeding ticket. Then you went and retrieved that rock for all the open 15-footers he hit. Hell, we do have a second TV in the house.

You saw Gregg Popovich and wondered about his pulse. Shouldn’t an EKG beep if it flatlines? You said Pop had a personality transplant and his body rejected it. You said his public speaking made John McCain look like Obama.

You said all those things and you don’t take them back, especially if they made anyone laugh.

But now that the Spurs have gone Elton John on us, still standing after all this time, the resentment has become respect, the jokes, a form of acceptance and appreciation.

Manu, that’s not flopping, it’s position defense.

Frenchie, you’re faster than rising gas prices.

TD, you have the feet of Kristi Yamaguchi.

Rudy T was right. Never underestimate the heart of a champion. I know the Lakers won’t.

Even a champion with a ridiculous flopper and one Argentine over the limit.

Ted Green is Senior Sports Producer for KTLA Prime News and a former sportswriter for the L.A. Times and National Sports Daily.

Discuss: