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Spent last Saturday evening amid the visual stimulus factory that is the ESPNZone in Baltimore, which could best be described as Disneyland with beer and a lot of TVs. Anyway, in the course of the evening, a colleague and I got to discussing that which people discuss at sports bars -- unrealistic scenarios. So here's one:

If you could compose a team of any five players with the intent of winning an NBA title this season, who would they be? You must take into consideration issues of team chemistry, the meshing of egos, health, defense, veteran leadership, etc. Also, this should be a team you want to watch, and that you think fans would want to watch.

In choosing my squad, I'm thinking offense. Meet the 2005 NBA champions, the Ballard Ballbusters.

At center, weighing somewhere in the neighborhood of 320 pounds and spreading love wherever he goes, Shaquille O'Neal. This is an easy one. He's still the most dominant player in the league, not to mention the most dominant personality. Yeah, he doesn't exactly run out on the pick and roll, and he's not as athletic as he once was, but he changes the game in so many ways -- freeing up the perimeter and lanes to the basket -- that there's no other choice. He's a winner, he's a leader and (most of) his teammates like him. He's also a great quote and, on my team, keeping the reporters happy and well-stocked with pithy comments is of the utmost concern. (for this reason, Brent Barry will travel with the team just to provide commentary. Eva Mendes will also travel with the team, but that's a different matter).

At power forward, I considered sticking in Kevin Garnett, Tim Duncan and even Brad Miller (who would complement Shaq perfectly by knocking down 18-footers and doing the dirty work) but the team I'm envisioning is all about scoring, and for that, I want to see Dirk Nowitzki lobbing up 3-pointers. This way, if teams try to collapse on Shaq, they'll get bombarded from deep (as you'll see, by more than one shooter). Nowitzki's a versatile player, if not much of a defender.

At small forward, I'll go with he of the weird kung-fu commercials, LeBron James. It's tough to pick someone this young, but James has been so impressive this season it's hard not to. He gets better every game, rebounds well enough to play the three and will fit right into the offense, as he has no problem giving up the ball. He'll also provide a slashing presence to work with Shaq and is good for some highlight material that will help move lots of those classy navy-and-yellow Ballbusters unis. Close second: Peja Stojakovic (who would have made this quite the shooting team).

My two guard would be Ray Allen. Just spot him up and let him wait for the Shaq kick-out. Another solid citizen, good guy and good passer. Second choice would be to free Ron Artest from Stern Lockdown and set him loose as a one-man defensive wrecking crew, but I'm sticking with my 120-point offense, so Allen it is.

With this many scorers, my point guard has to be a pass-first playmaker, so I'm going with Steve Nash (he's content averaging just 11.2 shot attempts a game this season, despite shooting 51.6 percent). Equally adept in the half-court or on the break, he can knock down threes and no one in the league, with the possible exception of Jason Kidd, is better at getting players the ball when and where they like it. Not a great defensive player, but he can funnel opposing guards to Shaq.

So there it is. I'm sure you disagree. Heck, after typing that, I'm already starting to disagree (maybe Shaq, Duncan, Peja, James and Kidd?). So send your rants my way.

Is this the Jets' year?

It seemed so fitting the way the Jets collapsed Saturday.

After defending that fourth down perfectly, batting down the desperation pass from Chargers QB Drew Brees, the Jets had the game all but won. From where I was watching, I didn't even notice the subsequent late hit. This was because my view was blocked by the quartet of Jets fans who lept to their feet while the play was still going on to prepare for some enthusiastic yet still totally heterosexual hugging. These four gentlemen were already celebrating even as the pass wobbled through the air and, moments later, Brees was toppled like a bowling pin. You'd think these guys would have learned after all these years -- never prematurely celebrate, especially with a team such as the Jets.

There was something both comical and sad about how these fans, unaware of the penalty, continuing to cheer, busting out a hearty rendition of "J-E-T-S, Jets! Jets! Jets!" even as the play was brought back and San Diego awarded a first down. It took another bar denizen alerting the fans to the call for them to realize the sudden, and sobering, turn of events. Naturally, the Chargers then scored.

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Not long after, as San Diego lined up for the winning field goal in overtime, the Jets fans sat sullenly, nursing their smokes and cursing their luck. Still, it did seem as if the game couldn't have ended any other way. These were, after all, the Jets. All the drama was just prelude to the inevitable.

But then something strange happened: the Chargers' rookie kicker, Nate Kaeding, missed. Then, even stranger, the Jets rolled down the field and won the game on a 28-yard field goal. Joy rang out in Jetsville, or at least one corner of one bar in Baltimore. Shots were purchased, palms were slapped, chants were chanted. Tears did not flow, but the beer did. The Jets lived.

How did this happen? To peruse the Jets message boards before the game was to navigate a bog of pessimism. Offensive coordinator Paul Hackett was rarely referred to without a "Can't" in front of his last name and the common sentiment seemed to be that the team would be better off if it fired him prior to even playing and allowed, say, a 9-year-old boy to call the plays. In addition, the offensive line was deemed practically worthless and the defensive schemes ludicrous. "Do the coaches ever watch film?" wondered one poster. Another simply wrote, "Why should I put myself out for this team?"

With those types of fans, who needs enemies? In light of the win, however, I'm sure there is optimism spreading. And while it's tough to see these Jets in the Boston Red Sox mold of defying the odds, I've decided to pull for them in the playoffs. Or maybe it is just that I will pull against the odds.

So why not believe it: this is the Jets' year. The defense is shaky, the head coach got into a yelling match with an assistant during the game last week, the team had only 10 players on the field not once but twice and Chad Pennington is a threat to lecture a sideline reporter on a moment's notice (which, come to think of it, would be most entertaining). It all sounds just crazy enough to work. So here is my first, and most likely last, football prediction of the season: Jets 24, Steelers 21.

Deep Thought from Owen

This week's e-mail from Owen described a new game, one which he (hopefully) has not actually played.

"How do you clear out two handles of liquor in forty-five minutes? Play the Color Commentator Cliche Drinking Game.

Drink when anyone says: "No doubt about it."
Drink when anyone says the word: "Incredible."

'Til next week.