One of my favorite things about professional sports is that you never have to wait very long for something forehead-slappingly-amazing to happen.

You have the biggest, strongest, fastest, fittest athletes the United States has ever created, men making more money, individually, than the entire payrolls of some small-and medium-sized schools across the country, men who live in houses so large there are often entire rooms they've actually forgotten, men with cars by the six-pack, cars with wheels that spin ALL THE TIME, cars with wheels that spin NONE OF THE TIME.

It is impossible for these guys to go too long without doing something guaranteed to absolutely blow you away. Maybe if you work for a daily, but for a monthly? Puh-lease!

And the best part? You don't have to go to a game or watch the highlights to see some of their best material!

T.O. and his Eagles induced TO? Off the field.

Kwame Brown and his latest potshot at the Wizards and his former teammates? Off the court.

Latrrell Sprewell and his I've-got-a-family-to-feed-and-can't-do-it-on-$10-million-a-year-nonsense? Off the court. (Choking his coach was on the court, but it was at practice so you wouldn't have been able to see it anyway.)

Rafael Palmeiro and his horrifyingly transparent attempt to blame his illegal use of steroids on a teammate, a teammate who had done nothing but support him through the whole ordeal? Off the field.

Every one of these, and more, just as good, reside in Big Al's Pantheon o' Sports Greatness, otherwise known as my special place. Every one of them, however, is going to have to make room, for a new and remarkable moment o' Sports Greatness is in the oven, and I'd say it's just about done.

David Stern, the Commissioner who turned the National Basketball Association into the cash monster that it is today, wants a new and improved dress code for his players. The dress code, as I understand it, would not be onerous. It is what most of us would recognize as business casual: a pair of slacks, a shirt with a collar, maybe even a jacket if a player were feeling particularly crazy. The dress code, as I understand it, would be no more invasive than any other dress code at any other business, i.e., when you are working or traveling with the company, you should not be wearing what many five and six year-olds wear to bed.

There's a reason to Stern's madness, of course, there always is. He's no fashionista, mind you, but he's no fool either, and he's tired of seeing his players dress like hoods rather than the professionals he pays and expects them to be. This is tricky, of course, because years ago Stern decided the best star to hook his wagon to was the hip-hop, urban style / culture that was so "in" at the time. And like most marriages, the union of NBA and hip-hop was all warm-fuzzies for a while. Recently though, with violence, drug use, and fatherless children grabbing more and more of the headlines when it comes to the NBA, Stern thinks it might be time to reassess this particular union. Hence, the dress code.

And, as day follows night, here comes the head-smacking…

Marcus Camby, he of the Denver Nuggets, formerly of the New York Knicks, the Toronto Raptors and the University of Massachusetts, is up in arms. Marcus Camby, he of the nearly $8 million a year contract, doesn't know what to do. Luckily, Marcus Camby, he of quite possibly the smallest brain ever found in a human being, has a plan.

Marcus proposes the NBA give every player a stipend to buy clothes.

In a league in which the average salary is approximately $4 million a year, Marcus Camby feels the players need a back to school clothing allowance. Who IS this guy?!

Richard Hamilton, he of the Detroit Pistons, formerly of the Washington Wizards and the University of Connecticut, is just plain baffled. Richard Hamilton cannot BELIEVE what he is hearing. Richard Hamilton feels that if this craziness he's hearing is for true, well, the league is just going to have to start handing out fines like bubble gum. Richard Hamilton, need I remind you, is the same guy that once took a sponsor's money to wear his braids so they resembled that sponsor's newest tire tread.

I have an idea. The best dressed player I ever saw was Charles Oakley, he of the Grape Ape purple zoot suits and bling so bright you had to wear sunglasses just to be near him. Stern should call the Oak up and offer him a job. He can be the NBA's fashion police and style maven all wrapped into one. Martha Stewart and Robin Givhan whipped together and squeezed into a 6 foot, nine inch, 245 pound body. He'll be diving for loose pants, throwing elbows at do-rags, and generally out-hustling everybody in a pair of too-large, unlaced high-tops.

I love this game, indeed.

Smack!

cuda24@yahoo.com