To the Friends of Man's Best Friend

Over the last month or so, we have been hearing more and more information coming to light concerning the investigation of dogfighting allegations in a Virginia home owned by Atlanta Falcons' Quarterback Michael Vick and any involvement he may or may not have.

Big Daddy Graham, a comedian and host of his own night owl show on 610 WIP Sportstalk radio, sums it up best when describing the nonchalant-like attitude of Mike Vick, his supporters and people involved with the case. The most important reason that this investigation has picked up steam from people across America is because we all love dogs! Plain and simple. Man's best friend and best friend for a reason. There are not a lot of people that don't love dogs and the reason why anybody wouldn't like a dog is because they are scared of them, giving more weight to the issue at hand.

My own love for dogs is evident by those who know me. My family owns two papillons, Sammy and Boomer, and have had these dogs for years. If you are unsure of what a papillion is, watch the movie Gremlins and look at little Gizmo's face (or check out the pictures with today's article). Large ears, colorful fur and easy to fall in love with. We have had Sammy and Boomer for almost nine years and it really feels like we just welcomed them yesterday.

Unfortunately, Sammy and Boomer were not our first dogs. I say unfortunately just because of the story I am going to tell you. I warn you, it isn't the easiest of tales to tell and gets very, very, very bad toward the end. Even though it happened so long ago, I still get caught up when we reminisce about it.

Years and years and years ago (seriously, it was a while ago), my Mom took me and my brother to the pound to pick up a dog. The dog belonged some friends of hers and their son went into the hospital and could no longer care for it. We never had a dog before, but Mom was willing to do so to help out her friends. Her name was Trixie and she was an old Cairn Terrier and apparently on her last limbs, so to speak. We were told at the time that she probably wouldn't live any longer than a few months and they preferred that they just put her down then and now. My mom wasn't having it and we brought Trixie home with us.

Trixie wasn't playful for obvious reasons but she was a great companion. Everyone found her to be a pretty little dog, similar looking to Toto in the Wizard of Oz but a little bigger and not as loud. Trixie never barked a day in her life until she was outside in our yard. She usually just ran around the property and exploring the world before her and the first time she barked, she actually scared herself and jumped back a bit. Odd to say, but Trixie was fearless. The one lasting memory that everyone loves to bring up is the time when Dad was cutting her hair and actually cut her face with the scissors. And Trixie never flinched or cried or anything. She was fine though but Dad felt so bad afterward (and he probably hasn't been allowed near scissors since).

Then one day in April, Mom, my brother Bryan and I all found ourselves at the Neshaminy Mall shopping for God knows what. We ended up in this pet store called Kritters and just wanted to look at the new kittens and puppies. There was one dog going crazy for our attention, so the staff asked us if we wanted to take him into a little play room. This dog went crazy, playing with toys and crowding all around us for our affection. We all fell in love but we couldn't stick around so we left him behind. The car ride home was anything but civil. We all were gushing about about how adorable he was and Bryan already named him Max. Mom doubted Dad would go for the idea of another dog. After long discussion, the idea of another puppy coming into the house for the kids wasn't such a bad one especially considering we weren't sure how much longer we would have Trixie. My Mom went back to Kritters and was immediately discouraged when hearing that the price for the dog was $500. She told the woman there that "her husband would kill her if she spent $500 on a dog." The lady explained that after a few weeks, they have to send the puppies to the local SPCA to make room for more and, without hesitation, said she'd cut the price in half. Mom responded: "His name is Max and he's coming home with me!"


Trixie was getting old though. We were told she'd only live six months but she was in our family for several years. She started losing her sight after a while and running into things. She developed a bad limp and was often sick toward the end. We weren't sure how the young pup and the old dog would get along. As if it were out of some Disney movie, the two became fast friends. They slept together at night, barked together at the nothingness beyond our gate and Max took care of Trixie when she was slowly dying. When Dad put food out for them, Trixie just lay underneath the dining room table perhaps saving her strength or just unable to get up. Max would grab a mouthful of food and carry it back from the kitchen and to where Trixie was and helped feed her. Eventually, we all had to come to the understanding that Trixie was blind, def and having trouble walking and going to the bathroom. We had to do right by Trixie by making the hardest decision any pet owner has to make. We kids said our goodbyes to Trixie and then my Dad carried her out of the house and that was the last we seen of her.

But my Mom's plan to help ease the pain with the new puppy worked like a charm. Max was still a playful puppy who loved running full speed from the kitchen and jumping onto someone's lap in the living room. Our favorite memories of Max-Man, a nickname my Mom easily formed after only moments of goofing with him, were when we had these rope bones that he would drag around and chew on. Max would grab one end of the rope while we had the other and we would wrestle around with him in our own tug of war. One day, Max wised up and while he and my Dad were battling for the rope, Max waited 'til Pop was putting extra effort into the fight and then Max let go of his end and watched it fly and smack Dad right on his head. Max then grabbed the other end and ran off while Dad recovered.

One day in December of '97, Max seemed to be getting sick because he wasn't his playful self. He'd lie around and often had coughing fits. We thought that Max maybe swallowed something that got caught in his throat. It was Christmas time, so perhaps a decoration hook or something. He also enjoyed those Tostito tortilla chips and they do have an odd shape that might get caught. Our neighbor Jimmy was a veterinarian and advised us that we'd get him to a animal hospital because even he had no clue what wrong with Max. Mom and Dad took Max to the University of Pennsylvania Animal Hospital, the best place in the city to take your pet. They ignored our description of what we've seen at home and advised us that he would be fine and whatever he may have swallowed would eventually pass. My Mom felt like there was something more to his symptoms and requested they X-ray him. The doctors adamantly denied our requests several times because they thought it'd be too much money for us to spend. Despite the cost, Mom wanted it done but "U of P" never allowed it. Later that night, Max got worse, coughing up blood periodically and Mom really got worried and called the doctors back. Again, they said it was natural and said an X-ray was completely unnecessary. We all went to bed hoping Max would be okay in the morning.

Warning:

What you are about to read is both sad and graphic.

I still remember that morning waking up and seeing Dad meet Mom at the top of the steps. It felt like a dream . . . it still does in a way. Dad just said to her "he's gone." Whether I was ignorant or perhaps just denying what I was hearing, my mind refused to comprehend what was really going on. My parents had to break it to us that Max had died over night. Despite what you believe right now, this is not the most tragic aspect of the story.

For some reason, our parents did not shield us from the horror that was lying before us. Max had bled out over night. Our puppy, barely two years old, was laying right in front of our kitchen gate in a pool of his own blood. The images you only see in movies and the beginning of every Law and Order were now burned in the minds of two 13-year old boys and the rest of the family that just had our hearts crushed instantaneously.

My Mom sued the University of Pennsylvania for malpractice and wrongful death. Kritters also had a policy on their animals that if they passed away within two years, they would replace the animal. That is how we have Sammy and Boomer today (Boomer was actually rescued from an abusive home). We also got to know the breeder that we purchased Sammy from and when he was closing his business, we helped find a home for Sammy's mom, Suzie. Suzie is an older dog with a young heart and my sister Karyn and her husband Chris take care of her now.

The saddest memory about Max is just the few words my Dad said about his passing. I never seen my Dad cry before that day as he said goodbye to Max. When I finally got the courage to ask him what made him cry, he said: "all he could think about is that he was all alone. He must've been so scared and no one was there with him. He died all alone." I still get choked up on those words even as I write them right now.

Rest in Peace Max

Back to my original thoughts, this investigation is a much more serious matter now. The Federal Government has taken over the case from Virginia prosecutors and executing search warrants throughout Michael Vick's property. Profootballtalk.com, a website that features clips from various news sectors and extensive commentary on the NFL, has dedicated a page for the continuous updates of the investigation and even made a funny yet insightful Goodfellas comparison to video of the federal investigators digging up areas on the property.

While listening to comments that Virginia prosecutor Gerald Poindexter made to the media about the Feds getting involved, I was confused because it sounded like maybe I was listening to Mike Vick's defense attorney. Poindexter wondered about race being an issue, Vick's celebrity status and why the Federal Government was involved at all, saying that it is foreign to him about "the federal government getting into a dog-fighting case..."

Would you want this for your furry loved one?

I am not a judge, jury or a powerful figure in the media (despite my wishful thinking) that can convict Vick of these allegations. As a NFL fan, I hope that Vick is not involved and that he cooperates with investigators to put an end to this ugly situation. The only guilt that is on Vick is through public opinion and the media. He is innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. But the fact that some involved in this case are not showing the seriousness that this deserves is disturbing enough.

To everyone reading, think about visiting a local SPCA or pet store and bringing home a dog. Young or old, big or small, you'll never regret it. I promise you.

NBA FINALS UPDATE

Larry Hughes is killing Cleveland's chances to be competitive in this series. His numbers: 21+ minutes per game, 1 point per game, 2+ rebounds per game, 1 assist per game and is shooting 1-10 combined in both games. He isn't committing many personal fouls, which if its a hard foul could be useful to at least give speedy point guard Tony Parker something to think about when he tries to go to the paint.

Pardon me if I boost Eric Snow's ego up, but playing only 11 minutes in game 2, and only because LeBron was in foul trouble early in the first quarter, is not enough for this team. The minutes are right, but not the situation. Snow is someone who can control the tempo and manage the offense for LeBron. His lack of a jump shot is troubling for the Cavs but his ability on the defensive side of the ball would give them an asset they need to stop Tony Parker.

The thing that the Cavs must do is not to play Eric Snow in Larry Hughes place, but to use a point guard by committee approach with Daniel Gibson's shooting touch and the fearless approach he has had throughout the entire playoffs. Snow can give you the balance on the defensive side of the ball the Cavs need with James and the long Pavlovic (who has really improved his shooting in the series but most make better decisions with the ball). The threat of Damon Jones long range shooting stroke has been an empty one until he hit two big shots in the Cav's near fourth quarter comeback Sunday night.

Hughes is not getting rebounds, playing quality defense or doing anything on the offensive end except being incredibly offensive. If the Cavs hope to turn things around, their big men have to play bigger and LeBron has to play smart and not allow this team to dig another hole to big for them to get out of in the fourth.

Our 42 of the Day

My Godson, Lil' Seanny, wearing the 4-2

Now . . . Down to Business

Tonight marks the beginning of the NBA finals and thank God its not Spurs-Pistons 2.0. A few seasons ago, we were treated to this match-up that left us sunken in our seats. Two casually boring teams battling for seven long, drawn-out, gun-to-my-head-and-pull-the-trigger, action-less games. It was Larry Brown's last stint in a respectable role (although Philly fans still called him a cut-and-runner of sorts) as the Pistons coach before he got himself fired and then robbed Isiah Thomas and the Knickerbockers for something like $300 million dollars for coaching one long bad season with New York.

The Spurs won that series, helping put Tim Duncan and the Spurs on dynasty alert. However, LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers crushed Detroit in four straight games after going down 2-0 to the Pistons and made an improbable run to the finals. King James' performance in Game 5 (in case you missed it because you were in a coma: 25 straight points to end the game; 29 of team's last 30 points; 48 points in total; many emphatic explosions to the rim) was inspiring and completely annihilated any hope the Detroit faithful had in their championship tested team. Play-by-play Legend Marv Albert called it "one of the greatest performances in playoff history." Hall of Famer and TNT analyst Charles Barkley could harly contain himself and keep repeatedly bursting out the phrase "He's unleashed the beast!" ESPN.com's Bill Simmons simply dubbed it "LeBron's 48-Point Game" before adopting colleague Jason Whitlock's designation as Lebron's "48 Special." Point is, we all had to take a breath after watching LeBron constantly pound Detroit defensive interior and then hitting improbable long fadeaways with two or more defenders on him.

I, unlike others, would like to discuss my unsung hero for the game. It will shock most people when I tell you my favorite player in the NBA is veteran point guard Eric Snow. Eric has always been the consummate professional who prides himself on his intensity on the defensive end of the court and his focus when running the offense. Eric Snow doesn't give up easy points. Eric Snow doesn't turn the ball over. And Eric Snow rarely succumbs to pressure situations.

Without playing a minute in Game 5, Snow came in during the waning moments of the fourth quarter and made an immediate impact. Rookie Daniel Gibson was being abused by Piston guards Richard "Rip" Hamilton and Chauncey Billups. Snow immediately made things difficult on Billups and came up with two steals on consecutive possessions, one of which led to a fastbreak opportunity, and also forced an errant pass from Billups that resulted in another Detroit turnover. While on the offensive side, Snow controlled the half court possessions while letting time drain off the clock and eventually went to the line and made one of two free throws (hey, he didn't touch a basketball since the halftime shootaround, lets see if you can even brush the rim). The Cavs won because of James' heroics, but it would've been for nothing had Snow not been there to apply the defensive pressure to secure Cleveland's chances at more valuable possessions and the frustration that Detroits' guards faced then and now as they join 28 other NBA teams that have to focus on NEXT season.

Eric's leadership alone for this finals run makes him arguably the next most important player for the Cavs after James. He will not play nearly as much as fellow guards Gibson, Larry Hughes or Sasha Pavlovic, but his timely defense and the focus he brings on the court are valuable assets to Cleveland's chances.

(Side note: Speaking of Sasha, just because he's 6'8 like James, where does he get the idea that he can go to the hole like him!? Pavs almost corrupted the Cavaliers chances when he would receive a pass and make a desperate attempt at a pull-up or trying a suicide slash and drive to the basket and realize in mid-air that he isn't as strong as King James and would see the Pistons running the opposite direction with the ball while he was still sprawled on the hardwood drenched in sweat and shame. He serves two purposes until he regains his stroke back: rebounding and remaining 6'8 when in front of a San Antonio guard.)

Now, what I have to say next is both uninspiring and hopefully will not contain as many expletives that I scream at the TV when watching the Spurs play.

I hate the Spurs. I mean really, really loathe them at an extraordinary rate. I don't hate any one player for anything they do. But collectively, they are a team full of punks (the term I want to use would definitely ruin any chances I wanted at being professional here). They are known throughout the league as a team of academy award winners with the extracurricular activities they participate in after being grazed by an opponent. I swear if I see Manu Ginobili on the street, I want to have one of those moments where two guys are walking toward each other and they are inevitably in each other's foreseeable path and they have this mini-game of chicken and see who backs down first, only to have both guys bump shoulders, stare back with our egos ready to flare and then kind of cool off and continue on our way . . . because I have a feeling Manu will go flying off the curb.

Tim Duncan, as great as he is and he is incredible and arguably the best power forward to ever play, constantly gives the "who? ME!?" face with hands above his head after hacking another player. Since he had such a difficult time guarding Nene Hilario in the Denver series, he would literally fall to the floor on various possessions while trying to get a call. In some instances, the refs weren't buying it and Timmy would be curled up along the baseline while everyone took off to the other end of the court.

The one instance when you knew that the Spurs had a soft side was toward the end of Game 1 in the Phoenix series when Tony Parker bumped heads with Suns' all-star point guard Steve Nash. Parker lay on the court that required the attention of the Spurs medical staff and the stoppage of play. Steve Nash barely recoiled, never flinched and walked over to make sure Parker was okay . . . while he was gushing blood from the bridge of his nose. Nash tried desperately to get back on the court but the Suns' trainer couldn't stop the bleeding and the "Magic Johnson rule" requires to keep blood off the court during play. It shows you the toughness of Nash and the lack thereof that is the Spurs. I won't get into the constant dirty play of Bruce Bowen and the controversy that was Big Shot Bob's cheap shot that ultimately turned the series.

That does bring me to this realization, the Spurs are still good (disregard for a second the constant trash I said about them just now). I respect the way they play together and as a team. Tony Parker is a speedy threat on the fastbreak as well as a great pull-up jump shooter. Horry has hit more big shots in his career than the number of shots you and I have hit at the playground with no one guarding us. Michael Finley (the only guy I like on this team and that I have a rooting interest for) is an assassin from beyond and the one guy who seems to keep his head down and eyes looking forward. Bruce Bowen . . . sorry, he's dirty. He commits so many cheap fouls on opposing players, the NBA lets him get away with it and that reputation, as well as his on the ball defense, makes him a premier defender. Manu is such a streaky shooter but really catches fire when the team needs him to and always finds the easy seams in a defense to squeak in for lay-ups and dunks.

Like I said, Tim Duncan is arguably the greatest power forward in the game's history. He always seems to trod around the court, force a few turnovers, make some stops on "d" and snatch a couple rebounds. When I watch him, I feel like he's not doing much. Then they put his stats up and he has something like 29 points, 16 boards and 4 blocked shots. He dominates the paint but he does it in such a way where he isn't flashy and that it looks like a Sega Genesis version of NBA Live because he uses the same repertoire of moves to score. High basketball IQ and a insurmountable amount of toughness when he needs it. The defining moment for me with Duncan was during the Denver series when the Spurs were down and there was a timeout on the floor. Now, the cameras cut to Duncan and were focused on him where it was almost like he was looking into the lens. He just shouted one word at a teammate and gave this look that gave me that feeling in the pit of my stomach when my Mom used to yell at me. Duncan commands respect from his teammates and the opposing players . . . and from me as well.

I'm gonna be frustrated watching this series. San Antonio is going to get phantom fouls called, Duncan will give his "who?? ME!?" look, Manu will hit the floor when Lisa Salters approaches him for an interview following the game and San Antonio's coaching staff will dissect everything the Cavs bring out on the court. Having LeBron in this series evens things out with the refs because he'll get the superstar calls that he earned from the Detroit series.

If I could tell you my dream scenario, Cleveland comes out firing, LeBron barrels through every Spurs' guard like a running back running through would-be tacklers and somehow Eric Snow is named Finals MVP.

Hey, its my dream!

But in reality, I think Cleveland have a chance in this series. But San Antonio is too good and won't make give the Cavaliers a breath to breathe. If I was a man judging on emotions, I'd say Spurs in 6. If I was a betting man, Spurs in 5.

Pretty boys...

Our 42 of the Day
Former Cavalier and NBA great Nate Thurmund
with his number 42 jersey, now retired for the Cavaliers' franchise