Ron Artest (left) will face high expectations with Yao Ming and the Rockets, who haven't gotten out of the first round since 1997. Streeter Lecka/Getty Images; AP Steve Aschburner's Mailbag Submit a comment or question for Steve. Name: Email: Hometown: Question: SEND

It's either a tribute to the security preparations for the 2008 Summer Olympics or a reminder of the NBA's soap-operatic tendencies that basketball's next international incident likely will occur not in Beijing but in Houston.

Ron Artest and Yao Ming, at some point in the next two months, will step onto a court together as new Rockets teammates and, no doubt, get pushed into each other's personal space by the crowds closing in around them. These are players who speak, self-appointedly or not, for vast constituencies well beyond their individual voices; Yao is the NBA's biggest, most recognizable international player with a vast global fan base, while Artest represents (his words) "the ghetto'' as well as the sanctity of manhood.

No wonder the hardwood rectangle beneath them has gotten so small, so swiftly, long before they even break a sweat. Or show up in the same gym.

The initial flare-up in the new Houston colleagues' relationship came Wednesday all the way from China, when Yao shared his thoughts on the Rockets' trade for Artest. He made a reference to a Houston Chronicle reporter about the November 2004 melee with Pistons fans that led to Artest's 73-game suspension and said he wondered how the Rockets' chemistry and attitude might be altered.

Artest introduced the culture clash in his response to the Sacramento Bee, saying, "I understand what Yao said, but I'm still ghetto. ... I'm never going to change my culture. Yao has played with a lot of black players, but I don't think he's ever played with a black player that really represents his culture as much as I represent my culture.''

A day later, Artest and Yao spoke by telephone, pushing a reset button that probably will need to be hit a few times during the season. "Yao reached out,'' the talented and erratic Artest said. "He said some real nice things. I really appreciate it. It was nice of him.''

Fine. Because, let's face it, the only culture that matters to the Rockets in this move is winning. The culture that matters most to the NBA, in Houston and elsewhere, is profits. Everything else is gravy. Or duck sauce, depending on your cuisine.

Yao was well within his rights to stake out the fans' point of view on Artest, whose reputation is entirely earned and absolutely current. His questionable shot selection, some other spotty on-court decisions, his provocative comments and behavior, and his embrace of the media as the World According to Ron-Ron's first draft of history still are issues, nearly four years removed from the ugliness at The Palace of Auburn Hills. If the worst that Artest faces these days from an incident that could have torpedoed his career is an off-hand remark from another player, he ought to be grateful. In fact, Yao's wondering aloud about Artest, then making peace with him a day or two later, provides a primer, and nice spin, for casual Houston NBA fans.

It's a nifty follow-the-leader strategy, with Yao again as the emerging leader on a team in need of one. Besides, everything that Artest gets questioned about or criticized for, he made fair game himself. It is no more out of bounds than if Artest were to question Yao's durability or wonder about Tracy McGrady's history of first-round eliminations. No one -- not Yao to the reporter, not Luis Scola in his text messages to Yao -- has said anything that everyone wasn't already thinking.

If Artest can focus his energies on disrupting opponents rather than the Rockets, if he can stash that "disrespecting me'' chip in a drawer at home, he has a chance to simultaneously stiffen his new team and refurbish his reputation. If, on the other hand, Artest persists (with his fourth NBA team now) in pressing Play on an endless loop of I've Gotta Be Me -- close your eyes and imagine the late, great Sammy Davis Jr. singing, "Whether I'm right or whether I'm wrong / Whether I find a place in this world or never belong ...'' -- then Yao will have been right to question the trade.

Seeing how the sausage gets made

Now that shamed referee Tim Donaghy is headed out of sight, out of mind for some significant portion of his 15-month sentence, let's focus on something that the NBA can take front-and-center: the draft lottery.

No offense to the serious-looking gentlemen from Ernst & Young who stand by in their dark suits, lending veracity to the TV presentation each May of the draft order of the league's 14 lottery teams. I have no doubt that they soberly oversee and verify the actual ball selection process -- although we're all taking the NBA's word for it that those guys are actual actuaries or accountants, rather than cameo players direct from central casting. There just seems to be no good reason why the tumbling balls can't be out front with the team reps, the broadcasters and the super slo-mo replay cameras to track any suspicious bounces or flight paths.

Transparency, transparency, transparency should be the mantra in boosting the league's credibility, from the faintest allegations against a ref to the resolution of a game-clock controversy. The distribution of new, exciting talent to the league's 30 markets, via the draft, deserves no less.

Reader mailbag: Clean-up time

Astute NBA fans already have suggested several moments that rival, if not top, the NFL's Brett Favre mania, answering a question that I posed here earlier this week. I'll get to some of their nominees -- along with another one I had neglected -- soon. But for now, we have housekeeping to do from some other recent columns.

Paulo Kastrup Ferreira, of Rio de Janeiro, wrote: "Although Tiago Splitter plays in [the] Spanish [league], he is Brazilian like [Leandro] Barbosa, Nenê and [Anderson] Varejao, and he plays for the Brazilian national team.'' Paulo, you're absolutely right. Splitter moved to Spain when he was 15, and my casual reference to his current location looked like a blown heritage.

Justin, a smart guy from NYU, corrected my use of "cognitive dissonance'' when writing about the undue attention paid to the balance of power between the two conferences, noting that it is a "psychological phenomenon whereby the conflict between one's expressed attitudes and actions cause the individual to shift their attitude into line with what they do.'' Apparently I had stopped at the supposed stress level of seeing and grumbling about something annoying, a step shy of altering one's view to make peace with it. A career as a professional second-guesser will do that to a fella.

Lisa Mansueto, of West Chester, Pa., caught my miscalculation by a day of the one-year anniversary of commissioner David Stern's angry, wounded news conference last summer after the initial Donaghy revelations. "It was actually July 24, 2007. I remember distinctly asking the TV vans to move out of my driveway so I could go to the hospital to give birth to my 3rd son,'' wrote Mansueto, a Donaghy neighbor who had run-ins escalating to a lawsuit with the tainted ref. "We watched the press conference in the delivery room!''

A belated happy birthday to your boy, whom we're presuming isn't named Timmy.