The Pacers love you

The Indiana Pacers love you. Each and every player and coach loves you. That’s you, personally. They don’t really intend to break your heart.

But for every 30-point loss, they have given us renewal with a key win. Each time they have fallen, they have gotten up. The Pacers love you.

Even a disappointing Game One loss to the Satanic, evil, malicious, deeply hated Detroit Pistons doesn’t negate what they did Saturday night in Boston, delivering the smackdown on an arrogant Celtics squad in a heroic Game Seven. It was a miracle finish to a series that defied logic in all seven games.

The Indiana Pacers love you.

They don’t mean it when they break your heart.

Reggie Miller was still wiping Game Seven sweat off his brow when the press asked him, Stephen Jackson and Jermaine O’Neal just How The Brawl Will Affect The Series.

Reggie, who’s taking no bullshit these days, called the media out on it. “You’re going to show the fight over and over again. It’s over for us and the players. We don’t think about it. We know Detroit doesn’t think about it.”

I believe he’s telling the truth. The players are going to play ball, period. But the media loves the images of the infamous Nov. 19 brawl, while telling you what a horrible thing it was and a cautionary tale about fans and athletes gone wild.

The Star will have you believe that the brawl was a shameful episode for both Indiana and “Detroitt,” as they misspelled it in Monday’s paper.

But Hammer will tell you the truth. The brawl was one of the single coolest things I have ever seen in my life. I can’t get enough of the brawl footage. Each punch thrown, each cup of beer tossed, even Jamaal Tinsley trying to fend off fans with a dustpan, I love it.

Ron Artest had a price on his head from day one of the season. If it hadn’t been this brawl, it would have been another one.

There was a fight. Some rednecks got punched by millionaires. It was scary and fun to watch. Some fellows from Indiana are facing some misdemeanor assault charges. Petty stuff. I know a dude who’s being framed on a weapons charge. One of my exes is back behind bars again.

So shut up about the brawl unless you want to discuss the persecution campaign against Artest and the Pacers in general. Remember, it happened only days after Bush won the rigged election. David Stern was afraid of the red-staters, people who don’t like the NBA as much as they do pickups and NASCAR.

He reacted hastily and in panic and we have had to pay the price. The punishment was out of proportion to the crime. That’s it.

Meanwhile, the Indiana Pacers have to find a way to win four games against the Pistons. Reggie is weary. Jermaine O’Neal is still not at 100 percent. Jamaal Tinsley is hobbled, as is Austin Croshere. Just being around the players makes you more susceptible to falls and accidents.

The team does, however, have several advantages over the Pistons.

First of all, Indiana the state is far superior to the hellhole Michigan calls home. Conseco Fieldhouse will never be set on fire by fans, while I’m not so sure that some knucklehead won’t torch the Palace of Auburn Hills someday.

As a pro basketball analyst, I look for the intangibles. James Jones is one. A springy, resilient forward, he has played like a young Charles Barkley at times. He can hit the three and drive the basket.

And, as always, I carefully analyzed the team’s dancers. It takes dedication and energy to compare the Detroit Pistonettes against the Indiana Pacemates, dancer versus dancer.

I am confident in my assertion that the Pacemates are the better dancers and are cuter besides. I used to cover Pacers games sitting next to a reporter for a small daily. He had powerful binoculars, through which he peered at the dancers and critiqued them. He knew the nuances of the dance team, which is actually a more valuable skill than basketball knowledge, if you think about it.

From him, I learned much. The 1999-2000 Pacemates squad helped lead the basketball players to the NBA Finals. There was Regina and Stacy and, um, Tiffany. They hyped the crowd. They got people on their feet, cheering. They caused girlfriends to cross their arms angrily, as happened to one of mine several times that year.

This year’s team is just as good as that squad. They easily outclass the trashy-looking Piston dancers. The media members I’ve spoken with agree with me that Johnica and Paige are two of the prettiest and best dancers in the team’s 38-year history. They rival the legendary ABA squad of 1972-’73, which wore James Brown hotpants and not much else.

(Not that I’d ever talk to one. Earlier this season, the entire squad passed by me in the catacombs of the Fieldhouse. I was panicked and pressed myself flat against the concrete wall as a breeze of perfume and postgame chatter wafted over me.)

So we have the advantages at small forward and dance team. DJ Paul B is not only a great mixmaster, but a good hype man. Reb Porter, one of the all-time AM radio greats in Indiana, is the best PA announcer in the league, much better than that moron in Detroit.

And I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that the elevator operator at the Palace is nowhere near as friendly as James, who runs the Fieldhouse elevator like Captain Kirk on the bridge of the Enterprise.

Like I said, the Pacers love you and do not want to break your heart.

Forgive them if they go down two games, or even three. Like Indiana itself, the Pacers do not go quietly. I think they have much more than a puncher’s chance to win the series.

I’ll be filing reports from the Fieldhouse Friday and Sunday on my blog, www.nuvo.net/hammer/

I say Pacers in six. Karma is on our side.