man love

Sorry there's no Worst of the Night post today. Let's just say that the Lakers making it back to the NBA Finals was the worst thing that happened last night -- for me, anyway -- and leave it at that.

Pucker up, Ray! Your jump shot may be cheating on you with Jason Kapono, but Lindsey Hunter has something special for you: It's called the anatomical juxtaposition of two orbicularis oris muscles in a state of contraction. Which is just Einstein speak for kissy-face.

Basketbawful reader ari responded to today's Spurs-Lakers love post with the following comment: "You missed one crucial man love incident, but I couldn't find a picture for you.

There was a whole lotta man lovin' going on in last night's Spurs-Lakers game. Package grabbing? Check. Ass grabbing? Check. Suggestive lip smacking? Check, check and check. (I apologize if I missed a submission or forgot to credit someone. If that's the case, email me or leave a comment and I'll get it fixed up quicker than a Tony Parker flop.)

Dear My Jump Shot, Hey, baby. It's me. Your wittle itty Walter Ray bear. It's been so long since I've seen you, baby. So damned long.

Riddle me this, Batman: If the Celtics are secure enough in their masculinity to get all jiggy with LeBron's man region, why did Rajon Rondo look so awkward during this fist-on-ass butt slap of Paul Pierce?

The only way to ease the bitter taste of that Kobe post is to wash my mouth out with a little man love. (And I realize how tragically bad that sounds.