Tom Talks

NBA draft's allure strange, confounding

   I know people who care little about the NBA who have spent a week talking about the NBA draft. They'll tune in for the pre-draft show tonight and watch the first round and some or all of the second.

   It's like caring nothing about cooking but watching "Hell's Kitchen."

   There's color and glitz and drama, and all the drama is real.

   Some players mysteriously rise. Hooray.

   Others mysteriously fall. We watch intensely as they tumble. What's it like to sit there and anticipate your name being called and repeatedly hear a name that is not yours? What's it like as the room full of players projected to go early slowly empties and soon you're alone?

   I guess we could ask former Notre Dame quarterback Brady Quinn. We also could ask former Florida center Dwayne Schintzius. Schintzius sat with the other players expected to go early in the 1990 draft. He didn't.

  He waited a long time. While he waited, children were born. Marriages dissolved. Countries were toppled. Somewhere in Union County, a house was built. Finally, San Antonio took the big man with the 24th pick.

  I ran into Schintzius and his diminutive girlfriend in a Manhattan deli after the draft. He didn't look angry. He looked numb.

  By the end of the second round, most of us are.

My mock draft picks

If North Carolina's Tyler Hansbrough had made himself available for the draft, and were still around when the Charlotte Bobcats made the second of their first-round picks, he'd be the perfect Bobcat.

Any player you draft at No. 22 is a gamble. But with Hansbrough, you know exactly what you get -- a limited offensive player who will work harder than anybody in practice and help shame those who do not.

Hansbrough rerturned for his junior year. A guy I like with the second pick is Glen Davis, Big Baby, out of Louisiana State. He's smart, has some pretty moves for a thick 6-9 guy, and will be able to get his shot off against bigger (OK, taller) men.

At 3:18 p.m. Monday, here's the top 10 of my mock draft.

1 -- Greg Oden.

2 -- Kevin Durant.

How am I doing so far?

3 -- Al Horford.

4 -- Joakim Noah.

5 -- Yi Jianlian.

6 -- Mike Conley Jr.

7 -- Brandan Wright.

8 -- Corey Brewer.

9 -- Spencer Hawes.

10 -- Jeff Green.

Bonus pick:

11 -- Acie Law.

My top 10 movies all-time

You see the American Film Institute’s list of the top 100 movies of all-time last week?

I don’t have a top 100, but I have a top 10. Some of my movies made the top 100 and some did not. The folks who compiled the list know more about movies than I do. But I know more about what I like than they do.

Incidentally, if you ask a guy to name his favorite movie of all time, and he can’t, be wary.

1. Shane

2. Cool Hand Luke

3. The Godfather

4. Casablanca

5. Godfather II

6. Apocalypse Now

7. The Wild Bunch

8. From Russia With Love

9. The Hustler

10. Lawrence of Arabia

Hated to omit Dances With Wolves (also known as Costner’s good movie), Play it Again Sam and The Waterboy. But life is full of tough choices.

I'm hungry for a win

There are lots of ways to prepare for a hot dog eating contest and I've come up with a new one. I haven't eaten a hot dog for months, probably since last summer.

The way I see it, the other contestants in today's Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Championship qualifier could be burned out. Eight ranked eaters are expected to show up, along with local talent. At some point, don't those dogs lose their appeal? I'm salavating just thinking about them.

We're going to try to earn our way to the July 4 championship, which will be televised by ESPN. We start at noon today in the AMC parking lot at Concord Mills.

The folks putting on the contest asked if I wanted to write about it and, since I was there, if I wanted to eat and compete. Oh, yeah. I'm in. And I'm in to win.

Just as a pitcher who has been out of the game for several months comes back fresh, strong and throwing in the 90s, a guy that hasn't eaten a hot dog for almost a year will come back hungry, rested and ready to consume.

What do you have for me Super Paul Bonebreaker Bigmouth Barlow?

Here's where I have an edge? The hot dogs are free for contestants, right? Never undestimate the ability of a sportswriter to eat free food.

Forget about it, Tony won't die

Only three things can happen to Tony Soprano Sunday. He can go Witness Protection Program, he can die or he can live. For Tony, the Witness Protection Program isn't living.

Look, Tony is going to live. If he runs to the state and offers to turn evidence, they might tell him to take A.J. and Carmella with him. Carmella has been mean lately. And A.J. is enough to make Tony take out a hit on his own son.

I think Tony leaves them all. I think he drives into the distance with cash in his SUV and a song in his heart. And it will be a good song, too.

Coliseum draws final crowd, cheers

There were 30 cars in the line to get into the Charlotte Coliseum parking lot Sunday at 9:15 a.m. Traffic moved slowly and sometimes not at all. It was like the old days when traffic was clogged because the New York Knicks were in town. That people cared about the Knicks attests to how old those old days were.

Adults, kids, old dogs and a Beagle puppy came to see the Coliseum come down. Some dressed in church clothes, some in rain clothes and some in biker clothes.

Despite the Knicks-Charlotte Hornets analogy, it wasn’t like being at a game. It was like being at a drive-in movie. Fans of the Coliseum and of explosions got comfortable in their cars or looked for a vantage point that offered a better view. I ran into so many people I know, most of whom had come to say goodbye.

When the implosion was pushed back 30 minutes to 10:30 a.m., I drove around the building, encountering hundreds of people with cameras and video recorders in every parking lot along the way.

The media entrance through which we entered the past 19 years was closed, so I drove to the Raycom sports building, which offered a great view of the Coliseum and of the VIPs below. I saw a lot of khaki among the VIPs. Everybody is wearing khaki to implosions this summer.

Then came sirens and countdowns and then it was time. There were a series of blasts, each amazingly loud. There was a cadence to them, like a big man hitting a heavy bag the same way at the same interval every time.

There were at least 15 blasts. Then the building crumbled and everybody cheered. Then came dust, just a wall of dust. Few of the spectators left. The present had been unwrapped; what was inside?

When the dust faded, everybody cheered again. Rubble! Hooray.

The sight and the sequence that led to it really were remarkable. It had been a long time since the Coliseum got anybody excited. I was happy the building could do that one last time.

Don't feed me gossip, I don't care

The New York newspapers have had fun with the Stray-Rod story. They caught Alex Rodriguez with a woman who was not his wife, found out who she was and wrote about her and A-Rod.

   These things happen. I left a Charlotte Hornets game one night, hit a bar and ran into a Hornet. He was with a woman. She was not his wife.

   He was one of the first people I saw and when we made eye contact he turned nervous. I had never seen him nervous. I let him hang for a minute and then nodded. The nod meant, it's none of my business.

   He walked over later, as nice as he could be, and I told him he was safe. What he does with a consenting adult after a game is no business of mine.

   A few years ago Charlotte had a celebrity athletic divorce. A woman called me at work to talk about it. She wouldn't offer her name, but said she was a friend of the woman being dumped in the celebrity divorce, and had some dirt on the husband.

I told her I wasn't interested.

She was incredulous. You're supposed to be a reporter, she said. Why aren't you interested?

Because I can't justify writing about it, care little about gossip,  care little about what a guy did when his wife wasn't looking and care little about what a guy allegedly did when his wife wasn't looking.

I also have no interest in Paris Hilton. But I am glad she is going to jail.

I'm boycotting, Lebron or no Lebron

   After the NBA ruined the playoffs by suspending two Phoenix players and undoing the Suns, I wrote that I would boycott the playoffs.

   I have not watched a minute of a game since. If I'm in a bar and a game is on, I look at the TV that's showing baseball or baseball highlights, poker or tennis.

   I wish I could have watched LeBron's viruoso performance against Detroit Thursday night. Friends that know I love the game but committed to the boycott will email and call to tell me how good the game was and promise the next game will be even more entertaining.

   My friends are like that.

   But you know how it is. If you commit to a boycott you can't let it go. There's a popular restaurant near SouthPark that I boycott because our first time there a big deal wine guy was at the next table.

    Management and staff hovered around him but served us fast-food style. This is an expensive place, and they all but kicked us out after 45 minutes. Their attitude was, are you still here?

   I won't go back. I boycott other restaurants, bars, people, products, streets, dogfighting and dogfighting proponents. Despite LeBron, I will stay strong and continue to boycott the playoffs.

   I hope the rest of you enjoy them, however. I also hope the winning margin the rest of the way is 15 points a game.

   

Have something you boycott? Tell me what and why in the comments section.