There isn’t much that’s less enjoyable these days than being an Indiana Pacers fan. I mean, this guy and this guy, not to mention sick boy, really hung us out to dry. Then we trade for a guy with tats like this (just look at the bottom right one).

Anyway, one thing that is worse — being a Pacers fan that’s not also a Colts fan. You see, growing up in Missouri I had my Kansas City Chiefs (who the Colts have knocked out of the playoffs twice in a row) and Royals, but no basketball team (unless you count the Kings, who were only in K.C. briefly during times I barely can remember). I loved watching Reggie Miller play in college. So, when the Pacers drafted him they automatically became my favorite NBA team and have been ever since. When everyone else was booing on draft day back in 1987, I was chanting “Reggie… Reggie… Reggie…”

Fast forward about 20 years.

The Pacers had zero draft choices tonight, so I don’t exactly know why I even watched. Even the Stephen A.-Vitale screaming matches have grown dull, and I’m so sick of Jay Bilas and his lingo that I want to slap him “tremendous upside” his head. Still, I tuned in and watched the whole thing. Maybe it was just the allure of Kevin Durant and Greg Oden? Or maybe I thought that Jermaine O’Neal was actually going to get dealt?

The night was pretty damn exciting for the rest of the league, but it completely sucked for us Pacer fans.

Two homegrown Indy natives with All-Star talent — Oden and Zach Randolph — went to other teams.

Three sharpshooters that all were attainable — Morris Almond, Ray Allen and Rudy Fernandez — went to other teams.

Very, very disappointing, man. We had absolutely no chance to get Oden, but those other four guys were there for the taking.

In fact, the only player we landed was a 7-foot-1 Croatian ogre named Stanko Barac. “Stanko, you ‘effing stink!” I yelled at my bro’s big screen when he got selected. You know what’s even worse than drafting a white 7-foot stiff named Stanko? The fact that the Pacers traded for him, yet don’t expect him to be available for three or four years. I might get banned in both Beantown and Naptown for saying this, but maybe it’s about time we strip Larry Legend of his nickname. At least when we are referring to him as a basketball executive.

I have absolutely nothing to look forward to Pacers-wise next year — well, save maybe the No. 1 pick; my Royals just had their first winning month in 22 months; and my Chiefs are starting a rookie QB that was picked in the third round. Ouch. Hopefully, my K-State Wildcats can mount good seasons sans Huggy Dusche and King Snyder.

Other highlights:

• My B.W.D.K.I.Y. (you can figure that one out yourself, but the “B” doesn’t stand for boo) Rachel Nichols only blinked 11 times all night. Then she disappeared after mentioning a “long” chat with His Airness with a naughty twinkle in her eyes. Maybe that’s where she disappeared to. I don’t care — I’d be proud to follow in his footsteps. Hell, I’d be doing something Grant Hill, Jerry Stackhouse and Vince Carter could never do, and those guys are multi-millionaires.
• If Mike did shag my B.W.D.K.I.Y., he must have taken a brief intermission to deal away Brandan Wright. Wright told Stuart Scott that he could take M.J. one on one. Less than two hours later he was traded. Nobody talks shit on Mike, let alone some brace-faced eighteen-year-old twig. Wright’s lucky he didn’t send Oakley after him.
• My boy Mark Jackson tried to say that he didn’t like the Sonics big trade with a straight face. C’mon, man, you wouldn’t take Ray Allen and Big Baby Davis for Wally Z, Delonte “Red-Headed Black Guy” West and Jeff Green? Stop lyin‘.
• Sal Paolantonio blinked 768 times in just about the same screen time R-Nick saw. Nobody — and I mean nobody — can do what she does.

Other than that, my night Stanko.

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