'Lex,

I have to admit, Harlan had me falling off the divan with that line. The TNT crew—all of them—are a good bunch with whom to hang for an evening, and let us not forget the invaluable contributions made by Kenny "The Jet" Smith, with whom I go back to the Riverside Church AAU crew helmed (as we veteran scribes say) by that oily amphibian stockbroker whose name escapes me right now. After all, somebody's got to be in the middle when Ernie Johnson and Charles start talking music. (Charles pronounced the title of Jimmy Buffett's favorite song, as we are approximating here, "Makaroonaville" or something, and if you think Charles doesn't know how to pronounce "margarita" correctly, I've got a genuine University of Minnesota paper on the Borgia popes I'd like to sell you.) The Jet is the Great Stabilizer, and he knows his Eminem cuts, too.

As to Charles, well, he's an authentic phenomenon now, so I suppose he ought to be treated as such. (Among other things, he's got the biggest squash on TV this side of Bill O'Reilly, whose grill occasionally lops over onto the set of Hannity and Colmes.) He clearly loves what he's doing, which wasn't always the case at the end of his playing career, but he occasionally gets cut a lot of slack for saying dumb things simply because "he's honest enough to speak his mind," which is a perfect statement of TV morality, straight out of the playbook of my gal Annie Coulter, Queen of the Ultravixens. That riff on the PETA folks the other night was gratuitous—does anyone CARE what Charles Barkley thinks about animal rights?—and all it did was remind me that, if that guy he tossed through the window had bounced the other way, Charles'd be cracking wise in Starkville right now.

I still am fascinated by that Mike Bibby-Jason "White Chocolate" Williams trade last summer. I think it's going to be looked at one day the way the deal that brought Robert Parish and the rights to Kevin McHale to Boston is. What were the Grizz thinking? And, while we're on the subject, what is Jerry West thinking? Now, Memphis has its charms—ribs at the Rendezvous, Sunday services at the Rev. Al Green's church, the Jungle Room—but that team is about 10 years away.

Boy, that Chris Webber is still a rock in the clutch, isn't he? Depositions on his mind, maybe? And watch that "best swishes" stuff, OK? There may be clergy online. And, as our boyz in Slam say, I'm out like Newt's second wife.

Pierce