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The last few years have been rough on me as an LA sports fan and the recent resurgence of the 49ers and my cousin and uncle’s conniving happiness that their team is in the playoffs and my team is not have tanked me to the point where I need LA to win, in hockey and baseball and basketball for all to be right.

The Purple and Gold bandwagon is more spacious this year, diluted pre-season hype and bargaining agreements providing my television speakers, eardrums and nerves a slight reprieve from the all too obnoxious “Beat LA” chant that rings like broken bells chimed by repetition and all her annoyance.

And I am not sure a name change to World Peace is enough to temper the flurry brewing down in Miami or the harbingers of youth out in Oklahoma City. Age has settled down on the knees and ankles of the Lakers, who were recent victims of identity theft as Phil Jackson packed up his Triangle Offense into retirement and left a team that was built around that gem of a scheme.

My dad thinks I invest too much in my sports and he is probably right. It’s not like I can have an imprint on the game, even though I’d like to think I do when I am watching a taped Laker game that played three days ago and is already over…I’d like to believe that Kobe can still hear me as I yell at him to make that free throw in words much fouler than that.

So I sit on my couch with my remote in hand waiting to fast forward all the times when Bynum gets hurt or the Lakers blow a tremendous 4th quarter lead or when I have to see Luke Walton take one more ugly shot from the perimeter. And I am thankful again for DVR and the one who finally realized that sports would be way better without commercials.

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