UP FRONT

Be afraid: I have all summer to get on your nerves with the truth.

Ronald Martinez/Allsport

Here I am, soaking up the sunshine and ambience of Hollywood, living the life, far from the rigors of a 9-to-5, chilling in Tinseltown with Denzel on one side of the court and Jack on the other. That's me at the NBA Finals, right?

Dream on.

This year, the Finals felt more like a nightmare. It's bad enough that a pathetic, disgraced felon like Tim Donaghy would stain the Finals with allegations that the fix was in on two playoff games in the past. But what really struck me is how fans and the media are so quick to believe the worst about the NBA and obsess over it. If this were happening in the NFL, where players hide their faces behind helmets, or in baseball—and let's be real, it isn't called America's pastime for nothing—the rogue accuser would be an afterthought the moment the games began. But even though Donaghy is white, the NBA always loses the benefit of the doubt in the court of public opinion because pro basketball is a sport dominated like no other by African-Americans.

My NBA sources tell me the league's marketing people are painfully aware that they exist on the edge of a knife, and whenever bad publicity happens, justified or not, they know they're going to get cut. There's always an undercurrent of suspicion directed at the league and its players. It's as if Freddy Krueger is lurking in the shadows, ready to slice and dice at any moment.

This topic is rich with possibilities, and I'm going to get into it in greater depth as time goes on. The good news is, I have all summer to get on your nerves with the truth, just like I always do. In the meantime, I've got a bunch of opinions and stuff to clear off my seat-back tray table. Starting with …

GET OFF CHAD JOHNSON'S BACK!
I'm not saying this because he was guest editor of the last issue of The Mag, but I'm sick of folks ripping the guy. That includes Carson Palmer proclaiming that "Chad is not going to break apart what we have." If Palmer listened instead of falling for the okeydoke like all the other haters, he'd see CJ is mainly complaining about the Cincy defense. Chad knows these guys are sorry on D, and they're fooling themselves if they think they'll make any noise in the AFC.

By the way, when CJ swore he wasn't going to show up for minicamp, I knew he was just talking smack. He loves the game too much. Loves making money too much. "Everyone thought I was going to Europe to watch my favorite sport, which is soccer," he told me. "But I wasn't about to do that."

COME BACK, PRETTY BOY!
Floyd Mayweather better not retire on me! I'm on the record stating I don't want him to leave until he beats Miguel Cotto, the new Latino sensation and, as far as I'm concerned, the heir apparent to Oscar De La Hoya. "I'm gone, Stephen A!" Mayweather kept telling me during Game 4 of the Finals. "I've got nothing left to prove. These cats in boxing just want me to stick to see me lose. It wasn't going to happen, anyway, but I'm not interested." We'll see what happens when another $20 million presents itself in the very near future.

THANK YOU, JT!
He didn't bring over Jessica Biel, but Justin Timberlake was nice enough to stroll over to me at the Staples Center and say, "I'm a huge fan of yours. I watch you all the time. Keep doing your thing." I know it's name-dropping, but I appreciate the love.

BROOKLYN'S IN THE HOUSE!
Spike Lee deserves a mention in this column just for walking up to the struggling, forever-timid Lamar Odom before Game 4, looking up (way up) and asking him, "Where are you from?" When Odom answered, "Brooklyn" (which was strange, because he's from Queens), Spike shot back, "Well, damn! Start acting like it!"

ANOTHER REF SCANDAL REVEALED!
When Gabrielle Union and I coached together in the ESPN celebrity all-star game at NBA All-Star Weekend, our team was falling way behind. I was coaching my butt off but nothing was working, so I called a timeout and told Gabrielle, "Go over there and smile at the referees." And lo and behold, we pretty much had our way in the fourth quarter—Terrell Owens was our secret weapon—and we came all the way back. "You know how much I love winning," she joked.

I'm not saying it's right, but I understand.

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