I am rooting for the Miami Heat out of sheer, enlightened self-interest.
It is not because I am a fan of LeBron James, though I remain puzzled as to why an athlete who took less money in exchange for a better chance of winning remains vilified by the press. It's not because I have any love for The House That Pat Riley Built, or for the colorful bro-hood of burgeoning psychopath Chris Andersen, or the South Beach Home For Wayward Duke Alumni (c/o Shane Battier).
It is because, should they lose, I will be subjected to an endless barrage of stories about how the Heat Aren't Really A Dynasty and What Does This Mean For LeBron's Place In History and LeBron Failed Because He Didn't Score 115 Points All By Himself When The Rest Of His Team Was Off Playing Miniature Golf And Hiding Behind The Couch Because Roy Hibbert Is A Big Scary Man.
And I'm just bored with that.
Look, Indiana is a great story with some interesting players. Watching Hibbert come into his own this postseason has been fascinating to watch, idiotic post-game comments aside. San Antonio remains the paragon of quiet excellence it has been since the days of the Admiral, and rooting against that sort of professionalism seems counterintuitive.
But if the Heat win, the off-season chatter becomes exponentially less annoying and repetitive. And nothing - not Tim Duncan's grizzled tenacity, not Lance Stephenson going all Andrew Toney on the Heat, nothing - is worth more to me as a sports fan than that.
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