I'm not saying this simply because he's now gone, and it's customary in this society to laud the dead. I'm not saying this because I am known as a Basketball Guy, and thus am now choosing to be magnanimous toward the "other" winter sport in these here parts.

I'm saying this because I believe it to be true.

No one I've heard in 45 years of New England residence has ever broadcast anything better than Fred Cusick broadcast hockey. We have been blessed with some great talents, some great voices (Bob Wilson, Gil Santos, to name two whose pipes I'd pay a million bucks for) and some unforgettable characters behind the mike -- you have no idea of Johnny Most's complexity -- but in terms of being one with the subject matter, Fred Cusick was the best. Yes, even better than the cerebral Ned Martin.

Fred Cusick loved hockey. No, he oozed hockey. Better yet, he was a literate man, a thoughtful man and a passionate man. He knew when, and, better yet, how to get excited. He knew what mattered and what didn't. He never oversold the merely good. But, oh boy, could he rise to the occasion.

There was something else. Now this may come off as so much inside baseball, so I ask you to bear with me.

From September 1982 through April 1984 I was a full-time member of the sports staff at WCVB-TV, Channel 5 here in Boston. As such, hockey coverage was a major part of my job. When you and your tape editor are cutting pieces for air, you hope to integrate sound along with the visuals. It was then, and only then, did I come to appreciate Fred Cusick's consummate broadcast genius.

He had total inherent mastery of the game's rhythm. He always knew precisely how to sum up a sequence, however short or long. It was an absolute joy and pleasure to integrate into my "package" (the official TV term) his summary of, say, a flurry culminating in two or three bang-bang saves, a great hit, a picture-perfect goal, whatever.

Fred Cusick would get the final say, and I would come off sounding smart with a two-minute hockey package both Channel 5 and Bob Ryan could be proud of

I hope I thanked him.

Bob Ryan checked on on Monday to answer your questions about the Patriots' season opener, the Red Sox' hunt for the wild card, and other hot topics on the Boston sports radar.

It's pretty evident the Red Sox aren't going to make this easy.

They should get this Wild Card thing done, but it's unlikely to be much before the Thursday or Friday before the end of the season on October 4. Until then, we'll all be watching the nightly scoreboard to see what those pesky Rangers are up to.

And it is all about the Rangers, not the Rays and, God knows, certainly not the Yankees. The Yanks are in cruise gear. Their only apparent issue is whether or not to dump Burnett and hand Andy the ball in Game 2. Forget the Yankees. That boat long ago left the dock.

So it's the Red Sox vs. the Rangers for the AL Wild Card. This is a different Texas team. They actually have some guys who can pitch. Scott Feldman has become a quality starter. Meanwhile, what's with this Neftali Perez kid? He may very well be the Next Big Thing.

If you're looking for some good news in this match-up, note that Michael Young has gone on the DL for the next two weeks. They still have a lot of bats, but his is one that should be respected more than most of the others. He remains the best-kept secret in baseball. Check out his last few years when you get a minute.

As far as the Red Sox are concerned, the great question mark is Josh Beckett. You can give him a mulligan, maybe two. But now he's had four bad starts, and I'd say you can feel free to start worrying. If the playoffs began tonight, would you give him the ball? I wouldn't. I'd hand it to Jon Lester. Yeah, I know Beckett's postseason resume. But we're not seeing that guy. We're seeing a fourth or fifth starter.

Meanwhile, what's up with Brad Penny? Did you see that line against the Phillies? 8 IP (which he never did in Boston), 5 hits, 1 walk and only 102 pitches. He got 57 percent of is outs on three or fewer pitches. Coming on top of the Smoltz business, if this keeps up, maybe we do have to start questioning John Farrell. Either that, or downgrade the NL to Triple A status. Smoltzie dazzled the Nats and Padres. Penny did it to the Phils,, the reigning champs who are said to have an AL lineup.

Nothing has changed in the Big Picture. The Yankees spent the dough and it looks like they're in good position to reap the benefits. They should win it all. The pressure is off everyone else, Red Sox included. If the Yankees don't get it done this year, get ready to do your best Ralph Kramden hard-har-hardy-har-har imitation. They will have no excuses.

Are you as bummed out by this as I am?

Leon Powe has been signed by the Cavaliers. Stupid me. I had held out hope the Celtics would get him back in due time.

Didn't they feel they owed him something? Couldn't they have scraped up some good faith money for a player who had done so much for them, and who gamely tried to play even after he messed up the knee in a playoff game?

I guess they decided his knee was absolutely shot. I notice the Cavs are only giving him the minimum, so they're only willing to go so far themselves. But at least they're going somewhere.

After all the great compliments the Celtics paid Leon Powe while he was here, I just thought they would give him the fullest benefit of the most extreme doubt. I loved watching him play. Yeah, I know he was supposed to be a liability on the team defense, but he was their best low-post scorer, and nobody played harder. Geez, nobody's perfect.

And I certainly don't like the idea of him going to a prime rival. I wish he were in Sacramento.

But don't worry. I promise not to take it out on Shelden Williams.

What's great about the Baseball Hall of Fame inductions, and what I assume is equally great about the Football Hall of Fame inductions, is that anyone can come. It's an outdoor celebration of baseball for which there is no admission fee. Bring a blanket, bring a lawn chair or just bring your very own bad self. And hope it doesn't rain, of course.

Things went smoothly in Cooperstown this past weekend. Rickey Henderson and Jim Rice were appropriately grateful and humble. Rickey was a first-ballot guy with 94 percent of the vote, an absolute no-brainer who ranks number one all-time in runs scored, stolen bases and, as they carefully point out now, first in "unintentional" walks, meaning he's second only to Evil Barry in walks, period.

Rice took a different route to Cooperstown. It has been decades since someone was voted in on the final year of eligibility. The only others were both pitchers. Dazzy Vance was a late-bloomer who didn't win a major league game until he was 31. He won 197, all but seven of them for the Dodgers, before hanging 'em up at age 44. His calling card was a blay-zah that enabled him to lead the league in strikeouts seven times (in succession) in ERA three times and in shutouts four times, all of this accomplished for relentlessly uninspired Dodger teams.

Was not winning 200 a voter hangup? Who knows? All we know is that he made it on the final try.

Red Ruffing may have been downplayed for another reason. His great years were with the great Yankee teams of the 30s and 40s, for whom he went 231-124 in the 16-year period between 1930 and 1946. That included four straight 20-win seasons from 1936-39, when the Yankees won four straight World Series.

Before, that, however, he spent parts of seven spectacularly unsuccessful seasons toiling for the dreadful Red Sox, who were the American League's worst team in the 20s. When he was mercifully acquired by the Yankees in the middle of the 1930 season, he had a lifetime record of 39-76. So perhaps people had reason to debate just how good he really was.

Anyway, it was a lengthy debate, as was Jim Rice's.

From what I gather, the locals regarded this as a typical Cooperstown induction weekend. The official crowd estimate was 21,000, which is 6,000 or so more than last year. But after what happened in 2007, all subsequent induction weekends will be pieces o' cake, if you know what I mean.

The 2007 weekend was the all-time blockbuster. The big inductees were Cal Ripken Jr. and Tony Gwynn, and, with all due respect to the rotund batter extraordinaire, he was practically an afterthought. The Oriole people, who had distinguished themselves many years ago by their turnout for Brooks Robinson, showed up big-time for their beloved Cal.

The official estimate was 75,000, and if you have never been to Cooperstown, you simply cannot imagine the strain that put on a village with a permanent population in the neighborhood of 2000.

The locals will never get over it. All streets, not just Main Street (the main drag on which the Hall of Fame actually sits), but all streets, were clogged. If you've ever been to Bourbon Street on New Year's Eve, you can form the mental picture.

But this weekend was manageable. The preponderance of fans were there to support Rice, of course. Rickey is a bigger star, but he did play for nine teams, and that dilutes the idolatry. For the record, he is in wearing an A's hat, which, given that he played for them on four separate occasions, makes perfect sense.

I'm a big believer that you learn something every day, and the great eye-opener for me on Sunday was the speech by Joe Gordon's daughter, during which we learned that her dad could play classical violin, rope a steer, ride a bucking bronco, fish like crazy and even do a ventriloquist act! All this and turn a neat double play and driving in runs. Who knew?

I also learned that the Gordon family has Bobby Doerr to thank for his election by the Veterans Committee. I was chatting up two members of the committee at a social gathering on Saturday night, and they explained that the deciding moment in the last session was when Doerr, the Red Sox' Hall of Fame second baseman, stood up and said that he always admired Joe Gordon and often wondered if he were as good a ballplayer as Joe Gordon. And that, these two men said, was it. Gordon was in.

Weather is always an issue at an outdoor ceremony, and there were some scary moments. It was spitting rain for the first half hour or so, and umbrellas were useful. But the sun poked through about 2 p.m. or so, and we could all relax.

It's a well-run affair. Broadcaster George Grande has been doing the MC thing for 29 years, so he kinda knows what he's doing. Bud The Commish reads the plaques, and he did mess up a time or two, but it was not a catastrophe. Everyone got through his or her speech in the allotted time frame. Rickey later confessed that he had a page stuck and thus did not mention the names of his three daughters. Hey, anyone who has ever delivered a written speech can relate.

If you're a serious baseball fans, it is beyond cool seeing those 50 Hall of Famers up there on that stage. Willie Mays was the only one wearing a baseball cap, and I could not make out what the lettering was, only that it was neither "SF" nor "NY." I just hope he wasn't pulling a John Henry Williams and shilling for someone on this august occasion.

They all look pretty good, starting with 90-year-old Bob Feller. I won't embarrass the woman I sat next to by mentioning her name, but when they showed a nice close-up of the ever-dapper 73-year-old Sandy Koufax, she blurted out "He's hot!" Any time the mysterious Koufax shows up anywhere in public, it's a show-stopping event.

Speaking of events, it's always a big deal when Yaz pops up. True to form, as soon as Jim Rice made his speech, he was outtathere. I'm sure he couldn't get out of that suit quickly enough. The same was true, I suppose, of Ford Frick (Broadcast) Award winner Tony Kubek, who felt the need to inform us that, no, he had not purchased his suit for this occasion, but for his daughter's wedding two weeks ago. Tony is a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, I guess.

The idea of baseball being invented by Abner Doubleday is a myth, of course. But it doesn't matter. Cooperstown is a beautiful slice of America, and any legit fan should put a Hall of Fame visit on his or her must-do list before heading off to that Big Ballpark In The Sky. Hall of Fame induction weekend is probably not the best time for a one-time visit. If you want to come then, fine, but it is crowded, and stores, restaurants and bars are jammed. You need to go there when you can move about more comfortably.

But you do need to go there.

I have never made any secret of the fact that Antoine Walker was among my least favorite players -- ever. He was that rare player whose whole didn't come close to equaling the sum of its parts.

I thought he was brash and immature, but I never thought he was a bad human being, and I certainly didn't wish anything bad on him.

So the news that he is in very big trouble with the law over his wayward gambling habits strikes me as, well, sad. What with all the talk of drugs and that age-old celebrity nemesis alcohol, people often forget that gambling is always lurking about as a source of misery. In recent years Las Vegas has become the No. 1 jock destination to, you know, blow off steam, and people seem to take its inherent danger for granted.

'Toine has been charged with a felony bad check charge. Seems that he is accused of writing bad checks to cover upwards of a million dollars of debt incurred at Caesar's Palace, Planet Hollywood, and Red Rock Station. We learn that casinos routinely extend credit to jocks/celebs, allowing them to sign markers which are treated as checks by the state of Nevada. 'Toine's bounced.

A week or two ago I was reading that 'Toine, who was out of the NBA last year, was hoping to make a comeback. I guess that's on hold now.

It's all sad and pathetic. What else is there to say?

Just this: perhaps other jocks might now reconsider Vegas as a vacation spot.

Albert Pujols is the man of the moment in St. Louis baseball. He is properly acclaimed as the best player in the game.

But he is not The Man.

In St. Louis, there is only one "The Man." There will always only be one "The Man." Albert Pujols is slugging and fielding his way to the Hall of Fame, but the best he can hope for in St. Louis is to be included in the conversation with the player who will always remain the greatest of all Cardinals, and that, of course, is Stan "The Man" Musial.

He came by that nickname in Brooklyn, either in '47 or '48. The way the story goes is that he was wearing out the Dodgers yet another time, and as he came to bat in Ebbets Field one exasperated Dodger fan said to another, "Here comes that Man again."

The great thing for us is that Stan The Man is still among us. The three great Elder Statesmen of the game left are 90-year old Bob Feller, 88-year old Stan Musial, and 85-year old Yogi Berra. Joe DiMaggio clung to the title of "Greatest Living Ballplayer" to his grave, insisting he be introduced as such at affairs and events including the Yankee Stadium Old-Timers Day. Now that he and Ted Williams have both passed, there is no doubt who deserves that designation. It is Stanley Frank Musial.

During the 40's and 50's, the Big Three were indeed DiMag, The Thumper, and The Man. DiMaggio had the shortest career (1936-51). Williams went from 1939-1960. Musial went from 1941-63. So there were various periods of overlap, and, therefore, countless discussions and comparisons. DiMaggio and Williams have auras and mystiques extending beyond the playing field. Stan The Man never had that. But he was every bit their equal as an all-around ballplayer.

Start with essential career numbers. BA --- .331 HR --- 475 2B --- 725. 3B --- 177 RBI --- 1951 TB --- 6134 Batting Titles --- 6 MVP --- 3.

Good start, huh?

Oh, it gets better. Let's start with Stan The Man in 1948, age 27 and at the peak of his powers.

BA --- .376 HR --- 39 RBI --- 131 2B -- 46 3B --- 18 TB -- 429 XBH --- 103 OPS --- 1.152

Impressed yet?

Here's more. In addition to the three MVP's Musial finished second four times, fourth once and fifth once. He was Top Ten 13 times. In addition to his six batting titles he finished second twice and third five times. He was in the Top Five 16 times! No one knew what OPS was in those days, but he led the league in that category seven times. He also led the league in doubles eight times, triples five times, and extra base hits (XBH) seven times.

Take note of those triples. He twice hit 20 triples. So he could run a little.

In 1962, at age 41 he hit .330 with 19 homers and 82 ribbies.

Oh, and check this out: career SO --- 696 career BB --- 1599. Season high SO --- 46 (You read that correctly).

One more Stan The Man tidbit: He had 3,630 career hits, 1815 at home, 1,815 on the road.

Actually, he really does have something of a mystique. He had that famous batting stance, which is only the most famous coiled crouch in baseball history. His lefthanded stance was described in many ways, most notably as "a kid peeking around the corner to see if the cops were coming."

And he is the only Hall of Famer, past or present, who can whip out his harmonica and give you a tune.

What he's most known for, however, is being a truly great and gracious man. There was never a hint of scandal attached to him. He was an admired ballplayer and he remains an admired man. DiMaggio was aloof. Ted was often prickly. But everybody loves Stan The Man.

The inscription on his statue in front of Busch Stadium starts off "Here stands baseball's perfect warrior. Here stands baseball's perfect knight.." And goes from there.

Albert's great. But he's never going to top that.

I'm not Mr. Tennis.

It's in my sporting portfolio, and I've been aware of it for a long time. I was a kid in the time of Jack Kramer and Pancho Gonzalez, and I remember the well-deserved fuss when Althea Gibson won her titles in the fifties. But I'm no tennis aficionado.

I've never been to any major tennis event, save the 1999 Davis Cup against Australia, which we had right here at Longwood. Nope, no Wimbledons, nor even a US Open.

But that doesn't mean I don't like it, or follow it to some degree, and so I was pleased when, after driving from Manhattan to Fenway on Sunday I arrived while Roger Federer and Andy Roddick were in the fourth set. It was approximately 11:30.

Good, I thought. I'll watch this match 'til its conclusion, then get something to eat, and then get ready for the Red Sox and Mariners.

Ha.

We all know what happened. Those two kept hammering away at each other. Soon it was noon, then 12:30, then 1 p.m., and now it was getting serious. Would they, in fact, conclude their business before the game began at 1:35?

By 1 p.m. I knew food was going to be a casualty. Maybe I'll grab some ice cream (which is exactly what happened). They did beat the first pitch, but not by much. And I hated the ending. That match should have been capped off by a winner, not a weak pop up of a return by anyone.

But, wow, what we had seen! There are times when it doesn't matter of the sport you're watching is your sport. All that matters is that you are a true fan of sport, and if you are, you don't have to be told when you are bearing witness to both legitimate greatness and history. And what does this say about Federer? This is two years in a row he has been involved in an epic match that will go down in the annals of his sport as among the very best ever staged. He is great, and he brings out greatness in others.

On Sunday we were all reminded why we are sports fans. For the umpteenth time, I say that I am truly sorry for those among us who aren't.

There are many things I like about Sport, among them the discovery of a talent I had no idea existed.

Now I don't want to exaggerate this. I don't want to go overboard. I don't want to get excessively hyperbolic. I want to frame this correctly.

So understand when I say that I have not enjoyed anything more during the first two months of the 2009 Red Sox season than watching Nick Green.

Yes, I think I know how many players on this team are better than Nick Green. That's not the point. It's just that what he's doing to help this team win ballgames is a) unexpected and b) very exciting to watch.

I understand he is what he is, a 30-year-old utility infielder who spent five years in the Atlanta system and who has banged around with Tampa Bay, Seattle, and the Yankees. Everybody in baseball knows who he is and what he has shown, so his talents can't be a secret. But after watching what he's been doing for the Red Sox, aren't you, like me, asking the following question?

How does a guy this good spend the entire 2008 season in Scranton/Wilkes-Barre?

The obvious answer is, "Because he wasn't exactly going to beat out Derek Jeter." But you know what I'm saying. A guy this good should not be spending his 29-year-old summer in Triple A.

Anyway, he's here now, and every night he's in the lineup I want 27 ground balls to short. Yes, I realize he's booted a few, but he'll catch most of them, and then the fun begins. The arm!

Omigod.

This past week he's made two sensational plays. There was the spin-o-rama against the Yankees last week and there was that play he made in the hole on Wednesday, when he knocked down the ball, jumped up and unleashed that laser, the ball reaching Kevin Youkilis at chest level.

He's been a consistently tough out all year at the plate, too.

It's just a complete feel-good story. He's got a major league job. The Red Sox are getting a major bang for their buck. And we get to enjoy the entire show.

I miss Jerry Remy. Who doesn't?

By this time he makes it sound easy. He can get technical without going all MIT on us, and he sure has a sense of humor, even mischief. He knows how serious a business the game of major league baseball is, but he also knows it beats working.

He's got it all figured out.

But he wasn't always this good, and he might not have become the RemDawg of New England lore were it not for Sean McDonough. Make no mistake: no Sean McDonough, no RemDawg. Period. I'm sure Jerry Remy would acknowledge that. Hope so, anyway.

Sean invented Jerry Remy the broadcaster. He recognized what Jerry had to offer and he knew how to get it out of him. As people should know by now, Jerry Remy is not naturally outgoing off the air. He is extremely private, and he doesn't need much in the way of people outside his family. He's not, shall we say, naturally chatty away from the mike.

RemDawg is his alter ego, and it took McDonough to unearth it.

It's still kinda spooky, by the way, to tune in, hear Don Orsillo's voice, and have to remind yourself that he isn't McDonough. He's at least a 90-percent voice-alike. He and Jerry have an excellent rapport, I must say, and at times it's almost as if Sean never left.

Almost.

Anyway, the color man's job isn't easy. Only the real good ones know how to strike the proper balance of insight, criticism, wit, etc. Remy has it, and the drop-off has been rather evident when we listen to the parade of nightly replacements.

That said, it is clear that Dennis Eckersley does indeed have the potential to be a good color man. I know he had a rocky start, and I'm not even referring to his oops moment a little while back. He's been a natural in the studio, but in-game analysis is a far different thing, and he wasn't so coherent in the beginning.

I thought, however, he made a breakthrough Tuesday night in Detroit. Maybe it just took the presence of a 20-year old pitcher to unleash him, but I thought he was sensational.

Here is where Having Been There is a priceless advantage. Dennis Eckersley is not only a Hall of Fame pitcher, but he is also a Hall of Fame pitcher who broke into baseball as a cocky 20-year-old in 1975. He could put himself into the head of 20-year-old Detroit rookie Rick Porcello as few on this planet could.

Once upon a time, he was Rick Porcello.

He started warming up when he addressed the subject of Porcello's alleged poise. I can't quote exactly -- sorry, I wasn't taking notes -- but the gist of it was this:

"Sure, he's got poise -- now. I remember when I was 20 and throwing the gas and everything was going great. Let's see how much poise he's got when he starts getting knocked around a little, and he will get knocked down a little."

Eckersley was almost laugh-out-loud funny describing Porcello's trials and tribulations attempting to get through a game when he only had one pitch working (that's not to say he was making fun of the kid, because he wasn't. He was empathizing). And he was terrific as he pulled Papelbon through that wild-and-woolly ninth, in which the ever-entertaining Papster loaded the bases before striking out the side.

Knowing The Eck's credentials and his engaging personality, he ought to be good. But the job is not easy, and he's a long way from being the RemDawg. But Jerry Remy wasn't always so good, either, and remember: He'd still be Just Another Guy (if employed as a broadcaster at all), were it not for Sean McDonough.

That's what they called him. He was an odd sight in his time. NOBODY wore glasses and lived to tell about it in MLB, back in the day. Well, almost nobody. There was Dominic DiMaggio, Specs Toporcer, Walt Masterson and Clint (Scrap Iron) Courtney, but not many others.

Dominic DiMaggio. I wish I had seen him play. The same goes for brother Joe. People talked about the way each glided around in center, and there was honest debate about who had the better glove.

The old timers all say he belongs in the Hall. The big numbers aren't there, with WWII being the primary reason. Like so many others, he lost all of '43, '44, and '45, when he was absolutely in his prime. Give him three average Dominic years and he'd have the 2,000 hits, at least.

What strikes me when I look at his record is his amazing consistency. He came in good and went out good, with no embarrassing end-of-career dropoff. His batting average range was .283 in his rookie year of 1940 to a high of .328, winding up with a career batting average of .298. His on-base range was similarly impressive, with a low of .367 and a high of .414. Career: 383. Wish Jacoby Ellsbury could do that.

Dominic was a table setter, scoring more than 100 runs six times in 10 full seasons, while leading the AL in runs in both 1950 and 1951. The walk-strikeout totals were typical of the times (750 of the former and 571 of the latter).

For the old-timers, he passed the smell test. He was a player who commanded respect.

But his greatest legacy was the way he led his life after baseball. He was smart and he was a good businessman with ethics off the chart. The word most associated with Dominic DiMaggio was "dignified," although "charitable" might have been a close second.

It was a good life, and he was a truly great man. The world is a lesser place today.

It seemed like a simple enough request.

"Would you mind switching that TV set to TNT? It's channel 25 in the room."

We were in the bar of the spanking new Marriott City Center Hotel in downtown Raleigh. There were a half dozen TVs, and I was fairly certain no one was watching whatever was on Fox at that moment. I wanted to keep tabs on the Cavs and Hawks.

Long story short: they couldn't do it. We were told they had a different TV contract in the bar than in the rooms. No TNT and, of course, no Versus, in case we felt like checking out the Canucks and Black Hawks.

Excuse me?

This is a Marriott. People come into Marriott bars nationwide to watch sports. And how could they have a different deal in the bar than in the rooms? What kind of total corporate idiot could sanction such a thing?

So, no Hawks-Cavs and no Canucks-Black Hawks. But if we had come back last night I'm sure we could have had a nice "American Idol." No sound, but what the hell?

Thursday night we take our business to the Oxford up the street. They have both TNT and Versus, we're told. And I'm sure it will be cheaper.

Sometimes people really amaze me.

I've actually read stuff from people questioning the greatness of this Celtics-Bulls series on the basis of Chicago's regular-season record. What difference does that make? For that matter, what difference does it make that Kevin Garnett has not played when we're discussing the historic relevance of this series? The games either did or did not unfold as we've seen them. They either were or were not superb sports entertainment. And we all know they were,

It doesn't matter of the Bulls were 21-61, 31-51, 41-41, 51-31 61-21, or whatever, What matters is how they're playing now. Once again I remind people they are putting out on the floor a No. 1 (Derrick Rose), a No. 3 (Ben Gordon), a No. 4 (Tyrus Thomas), a No. 7 (Kirk Hinrich) and a No. 9 (Joakim Noah). That's a lot of raw talent. Whatever problems they had they don't have now. And they became a much better team when they added John Salmons and Brad Miller in that Sacramento trade.

Why can't people simply sit back and enjoy the show? You can nitpick specifics all you want. But all the couldas, shouldas and wouldas are what make the enterprise worth talking about. If every team played a perfect game in every sport every time out, no one would ever lose.

This will be a tough series for someone to lose, sure, but it's pretty obvious it will be tougher on the Celtics, who, Garnett or no Garnett, were expected to win and who have blown more chances to win games that they eventually lost than the Bulls have. So much for "experience."

They should win Game 7. But if they don't, it would be nice if people would give the Bulls proper credit and move on. This series isn't solely about one team or the other. It's about two teams giving us the kind of sports experience to tell the grandchildren about. One of them happens to be a defending champion trying to make do without its true leader (Kevin Garnett) and an important auxiliary piece of its puzzle (Leon Powe). The other happens to be a relatively young team with some extraordinary talent that may have finally found itself.

What they've given us is sport at its best. Anyone who doesn't appreciate that should stick with UFC.

It's Game 5, and I say the Celtics are about 80-20 to win it.

Traditionally, when the Celtics are 2-2 coming back home you can book it. I still think they're going to win this series. But I'm not betting the kids' inheritance on it; you know what I'm sayin'?

C'mon. Admit it. The Bulls are better than you thought. And admit something else: they're fun. Some of the shots Derrick Rose and Ben Gordon make are just plain sick. And, personally I love Joakim Noah, and I'd say that even if he didn't graduate from The Lawrenceville School, my alma mater, and Armond Hill's, too (honest).

This is not much of a turnaround for a Celtics team that logged heavy minutes in that double OT thing on Sunday. The starters played 241 of the available 290 minutes. Rondo went 55. Pierce went 52, and did not have enough legs left to even get off that final shot without having it cleanly blocked by Chicago's John Salmons. The Bulls are really making them work for this.

About Rondo. Geez, I don't know, really. What is left to say, other than you just can't take your eyes off him when he's on the floor? He may be the most dangerous two-way player the Celtics have ever had. I mean, John Havlicek was a great defensive player, but he wasn't a threat to steal the ball every time the other team has it.

Rondo is.

Maybe you knew. I sure didn't.

I wasn't surprised the Celtics played well in the United Center on Thursday night. I thought there was a pretty good chance they'd play a solid game, but it never entered my mind the Bulls would come up so amazingly small.

Common sense dictated that the Bulls, having played so well in Boston, being so full of confidence, and backed by what was sure to be a boisterous home crowd in what was being billed as the biggest professional basketball game in Chicago since Game 2 of the 1998 Finals, would ride the tide and come out strong.

But this was a wire-to-wire beatdown. The Celtics played better defense, sure, but the Bulls were incredibly tentative and extremely sloppy with the basketball, and the Celtics made them pay. You can't hand the ball over to Rajon Rondo in the open floor and not expect to get burned. The Bulls did not seize the moment. They could win Game 4, but the Celtics have done what they needed to do already.

Paul Pierce earned his money. That was a bravura performance by a star who played like a Star. Big Baby played another sensational game. I was happy when he accompanied Ray Allen from Seattle on that draft night deal, but I certainly didn't think he'd get this good this fast.

But the most interesting development of the evening was the play of Stephon Marbury, who really helped the cause when it was still a game. If this is the way he's going to play ...

We'll see about that.

Meanwhile, I can't tell you how much I admire Gregg Popovich. Yes, I've seen teams come back from 26 in the second half. I've even seen a Sixers team come back from 31 down to beat the Celtics -- in Boston. But Pop knew that particular game against Dallas was over, and he started coaching for Saturday. Pop is the NBA's ultimate pragmatist, and he is also the NBA's best coach, period.

We're two games into the 2009 Celtics' playoff run. Here are a few random thoughts:

• Rajon Rondo needs to be on the floor for at least 40 minutes a night, and perhaps 45, and, hey, what's wrong with 48? The Celtics can't play without him.
• Aren't we veryveryvery close to declaring Stephon Marbury as being useless? It just ain't happenin'. Either he passes up obvious shots or he clangs 'em, but he is contributing zero to the effort, except, perhaps, a little effort.
• Don't forget the Bulls are playing without Luol Deng, who is long and athletic and just plain pretty good.
• Derrick Rose looks like somebody, right? Please tell me who.
• Tyrus Thomas may be better than I thought.
• Big Baby sure isn't bashful. And I love his footwork and his left hand.
• It's one thing to get an offensive rebound, and it's quite another to do something useful with it other than pitch it back out. Kendrick Perkins does both. He is that rarity of rarities, a big man who doesn't have to dribble before going back up for his follow-up attempt. And he is totally unique in that very often he puts it up without leaving his feet. I've never seen anyone at this level do that. He just catches it and shoves it back without jumping.
• Paul Pierce is being humbled. Can't recall the last time I've seen a great player get so many shots blocked, not even Larry. And the refs aren't giving him much love when he takes it to the hoop, either. He needs to figure something out before Game 3.
• But how wonderful is Ray Allen? That was one of the all-time clutch playoff performances in Game 2. They'd be 0-2 if he hadn't gone off in the fourth quarter, capped off by a very difficult shot with a 7-footer flying at him.
• Speaking of that 7-footer, you've got to admit that Joakim Noah is both fun and efficient. He has no face-up shot, and may never have a reliable face-up shot, but he has many other attributes, starting with the fact that he is a tough-minded, and surprisingly rugged, rebounder at both ends. He and Cleveland's Anderson Varejao each have the knack of being around the ball so often that it makes up for some other things they can't do, like shoot. Noah will be with us for a long, long time.
• Wouldn't you love to have Brad Miller? I stumbled upon this undrafted gem back in 1998, when he was a member of the Team USA crew that played in the World Championships in Athens the summer of the NBA strike. He was one of those guys around whom things just always seemed to happen. He then made himself into an All-Star, and now he is a very important core member of this Bulls team that is giving the Celtics so much trouble.
• Losing Leon Powe is huge. Must amend my confident prediction the Celtics would win this series to 50-50 at best. Scal's a wonderful guy, but if he does play he's no savior. Now perhaps Mikki Moore is about to channel his big Nets' season. That would help.
• If Del Harris and Bernie Bickerstaff aren't there to remind Vinnie Del Negro to save a timeout, why are they there? Or is it possible they told him and he ignored them? Nah.
• If it gets to a Game 7, I promise you the Bulls won't wee-wee in their shorts the way Atlanta did last year.

  If.

People have this all backwards. It's not all about the Celtics. A lot of this is about the Bulls.

Could the Celtics have played better in Game 1? Well, sure. But even with Ray Allen going 1 for 12, they win that game if Paul Pierce hits the second free throw, and the discussion is totally different. It's "oh, we dodged a bullet."

That won't be the only bullet the Celtics need to dodge. These Bulls are frighteningly talented. Don't people do any homework?

The team Chicago put on the floor Saturday afternoon had six first-round draft picks. It had six top-10 picks. It had four top-four picks.. It had a No. 1 pick named Derrick Rose. There would have been yet another Top 10 if Lual Deng had not gone out with a season-ending injury.

Susan Boyle's not the only person on the planet with talent.

The Bulls finished the season on a roll. They had beaten the (Garnett-less) Celtics the last time they played them, and in that game John Salmons, the lowest of all their No. 1s (26th), had 38 points. The Celtics certainly knew this was going to be a challenging series.

The Bulls looked very much like the Hawks of a year ago, only better. That's because they can bring veterans such as Brad Miller and Kirk Hinrich off the bench.

That said, even with all that went on, the Celtics would have won with relative ease if Tyrus Thomas had not had an out-of-body experience. He is a Sky Pilot, not a jump shooter. But he hit his first jumper and never stopped. It couldn't happen, but it did.

You young'uns may not know it, but we've seen this phenomenon before, too. Back in the early '80s, the Celtics lost a home playoff game to the 76ers because Caldwell Jones hit five jump shots. Caldwell Jones was a Samuel Dalembert/Joaquin Noah type, a long, tall fellow whose game was defense, rebounding, blocking shots and all that stuff. You would, you know, never run a play for Caldwell Jones. But on this one inexplicable evening he was Larry Bird, knocking down jumpers. There's no explaining these things.

The Celtics must play better, and they will. I would expect them to eliminate those killer run-outs. I would expect them to move the ball better. And I would expect Ray Allen to make more than one 8-foot floater.

But don't make the mistake of putting it all on the Celtics. The Bulls have a lot to offer, starting with Rose. Noah and Thomas are an intimidating inside shot-blocking duo. Ben Gordon is a latter-day Microwave.

Philly's not too bad, either. They're going to make Orlando play.

It's called the playoffs. Calm down and enjoy the show.

DETROIT -- I think we can safely say that Jim Bartolotta was the only player in the Hershey's College All-Star Game with a double major in Management Science and Physics, with a minor in Economics.

MIT, you know.

Thanks to the largesse of the National Association of Basketball Coaches (NABC), both the Division 2 Player of the Year, Josh Bostic of undefeated Division 2 champion Findlay (Ohio) and the Division 3 Player of the Year, our friend Jimmy Bartolotta, were invited to participate in the annual college All-Star game, which was played this year on Friday afternoon at Ford Field, and which was televised nationally by CBS College Sports.

Bartolotta didn't know anything about any of this until he returned home from a spring break trip to Mexico with his MIT basketball teammates. It had been a no cell phone, news blackout, get-away-from-it-all holiday on the beach. Upon arrival back in the states, he phoned his parents in Littleton, Colorado to let them know their boy Jimmy was back in one piece and he was told he'd be going to Detroit, both to play in this game and to receive the Division 3 Player of the Year award at the annual Guardians of the Game gala at the Max M. Fisher Music Theater on Sunday afternoon.

"I was really excited," he says, "but there was one problem. I'd been away from the game for a few weeks. I needed to get ready. So I called Coach (Larry) Anderson and said, 'I need a workout.'" So that's why you may have seen the light on at the MIT gym around 1 a.m. a week ago Friday. That was Jimmy B., hoisting jumpers and the like.

Bartolotta averaged 27.6 ppg this season as he led the Engineers to both their first NEWMAC Conference championship and the first Division 3 NCAA tourney bid in the school's history. MIT defeated Rhode Island Collge in its first game (73-68 in OT) before losing a 67-61 decision to Farmingdale State in the second round.

Bartolotta's "Hershey's" team was defeated by the "Reese's" squad, 105-100. His coach was ex-Arkansas mentor Nolan Richardson, who was accompanied by his long-time lieutenant, Missouri coach Mike Anderson. Predictably, his eight minutes of playing time were the fewest of anyone, but he didn't mind.

He had one basket, a nice lefty put-back in the lane. He had an artful lefty scoop shot spin out. and he rushed an open straightaway three-pointer he can ordinarily make in his sleep. Like just about everyone else involved, he was startled that sly old fox Richardson, in violation of every unwritten rule ever laid down in any All-Star Game, ordered his team into a dead-serious, major full-court press with about 10 minutes left and his team trailing by eight or so,

That press definitely rattled the opponents, and indeed the Reese's squad would take the lead before the Hershey team asserted itself behind BC's Tyrese Rice to secure the W.

I just had to ask Nolan if he realized that he had broken every rule known to man by putting on a press in an All-Star Game.

"Had to get back in the game, baby," he shrugged.

Tyrese had a game-high 24, to go along with three official assists (I promise you the stat guy robbed him of one assist and that three or four of his excellent passes were mishandled by not-too-alert big men). He was named the Hershey teams's Most Outstanding Player.

"I call this "Grind Time,'" he said of this period between the end of the season and the NBA draft. "Just working hard and getting ready."

He plans on being in the famed Portsmouth Tournament. What he needs is a chance to get into a more up-tempo style than he was allowed to by BC coach Al Skinner, who favors a more controlled half-court offense known as the "flex." It is well-known that Tyrese often chafed under that system.

As for Jimmy B., he, too has plans to play professional basketball. He is in the process of selecting an agent. He's already heard from Denmark, and he might also get involved in Australia.

He thoroughly enjoyed his experience, which, frankly, was unique in that this was an All-Star Game with some structure. People actually passed the ball, for example.

"I was sitting there with Josh Carter of Texas A&M," he says, "And we were agreeing it was nice to be in an All-Star Game that wasn't just a launchfest."

Now about those majors. I kidded him about being a Business major, since those people are now society's pariahs. "You think that's bad," he replied. "My Economics minor is actually in finance. Those people aren't too popular these days, either."

If all goes well, that stuff will go on the back burner for a while. "I'd like to play ball in Europe or Australia for a few years, and then see what happens," he said.

They told me this was a blog topic, but I didn't believe it. Now that I know it's true, I guess it's time to set the record straight.

I appeared on ESPN's "The Sports Reporters" on Sunday, March 8, as well as on "Around The Horn" on Monday, March 9, and in each case I looked like hell.

My face was red and cracked and,just plain yucky. I have been made aware that theories to account for this ranged from plastic surgery to an auto accident. Relax. It was nothing quite that drastic.

In the summer of 2007 I decided to have a dermatologist take a look at a couple of . . . let's call them "things" on my face and forehead. I mean, who wants skin cancer? The doctor was able to eliminate these particular "things" easily by zapping me with that freeze stuff, but she did say that, while those "things" were not cancerous, I was a candidate for skin cancer if I didn't remain careful.

She strongly recommended a procedure called "ALA," a laser deal. This is a preventive strike against skin cancer.

I had it, and you never knew it. The procedure took place on a Tuesday. It left my face red and sore and within a few days it began to peel. The peeling process was completed by Saturday night and I did a "Sports Reporters" five days after the procedure. No one said a word about my face.

On Tuesday, March 3, I had another one, a second preemptive strike. This time it also included spending five minutes in a thing called the "Blue Light," which was very unpleasant.

The doctor thought I might need a week to recover, but I figured, "Hey, it only took four days last time," and so I decided to keep my commitments to do "Sports Reporters" on Sunday and "Around The Horn" on Monday. As a bonus, I decided to keep a long-term commitment to moderate a panel at a Sports Symposium at MIT on Saturday.

Big mistake.

The doctor knew best. I should have listened to her. I wasn't much better by Saturday. The first person I ran into on my way into the building where the event was held was Mark Cuban. I'm surprised he didn't jump into a cab and head back to Dalllas on the spot.

So I did the panel and I did "Sports Reporters" and I did "Around The Horn," in part because I love doing the shows, in part to keep a commitment, and in part due to greed (got to be honest about that).

If I had to do it all over again, I never would have done those shows. It was unfair to the producers in question, as well as to the audience.

Now I must report to you that the procedure was a big success. My face is in better shape than it's been in years. And I would like to urge all you people out there who may have spent more time in the sun over the years than you realize to go get checked out. You, too, might benefit from an ALA. It's well worth a few days of moderate discomfort, during which, I can attest, you may look as if you've either had plastic surgery or been in an automobile accident.

But I promise you -- it beats the alternative.

I confess to a guilty pleasure: I love "Dancing with the Stars."

Don't mean to alarm anyone, but I like dance. I was quite the 10-year-old tap dancer, if I do say so myself. I am a huge fan of Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, especially Astaire.

I'll watch any Astaire-Rogers movie (I mean, she was flat-out gorgeous, which is a nice bonus), and Kelly's acrobatic style is amazing, but I am here to say that the single greatest dance number in the history of Hollywood was the Astaire-Eleanor Powell "Begin the Beguine" collaboration in "Broadway Melody of 1940." This premise is completely non-negotiable.

So what does any of this have to do with sports? Simple. My initial interest in this particular program was Jerry Rice. I was curious, and he delivered the goods, finishing second. This made dancing chic, and so we have had the succession of athletes, from Emmitt Smith, who won the whole thing; to Clyde Drexler, who was horrible; to Appolo Ohno (another winnah); to Gille Villeneuve (yet another winnah); to Kristi Yamaguchi (yup,still another winner); and now to Lawrence Taylor, who is a middle-of-the packer.

This year we are, I think, four weeks in, and I am here to tell you it is over. For in this year's competition we have the single greatest dancer in the history of the show. His name is French actor Gilles Marini, and he is astonishingly good.

On Monday night he danced an Argentine Tango. Omigod. I thought Carrie Ann Inaba was going to leap over the table and rip off his clothes (she's pretty hot herself). I mean, she needed to get hosed down. Bruno Tonioni is naturally exuberant, but this performance taxed even his enormous powers of verbal approbation I'm telling you; Gilles Marini is both disgustingly good-looking and even more disgustingly talented.

The judges gave him three 10s. It's hard to get a 10 out of salty Brit Len Goodman, who twice gave scores two rungs below each of his colleagues last night. Three 10s is rare.

The public may not agree, but my advice to the people who run this show is do whatever you have to in order to make this "competition" come out right. It would be a collosal embarrassment, as well as a laughable miscarriage of justice, if this man does not win. I really don't see any reason to continue. Gilles Marini is the best dancer DWTS has ever had.

About halfway through his number, I said to my daughter, Jessica, "This guy is so good I don't think you could tell which was the professional and which was the amateur." Keep in mind that his partner is two-time winner Cheryl Burke.

And what does Carrie Ann Inaba say? "You can't tell who is the professional and who is the amateur!" Swear to God.

Case closed.