Heat snatches defeat from the jaws of victory

ALRIGHT, KIDS, ARE you ready? I am going to break down tonight's game, with or without Von Dacudao's (or Pablo Relampagos's) input. An interesting twist leading to tonight's game is Dirk's twisted middle finger. I know you sick perverted people are thinking all kinds of lewd things with that finger but let's focus on basketball and see how it impacts the Teuton's performance tonight.

Before we begin with the festivities, let's revisit Pablo's recent fight with the Arizona's finest one morning while he was touring with his family. As you know, Arizona has recently enacted one of the harshest immigration laws in the US: to wit, the police can and will stop you for any reason and ask for an identification to see if you are an illegal immigrant. So anyway, according to my spy, Pablo was stopped by the police.

COP: Sir, we are stopping you because we suspect you to be a Mexican illegal immigrant.

PABLO: You are wrong, I'm not Mexican; I'm a Filipino.

COP: What's your name, sir?

PABLO: Pablo --

COP: I'm sorry, sir, but you obviously are Mexican. Filipinos only have names like Boy and Jun.

PABLO: -- Relampagos --

COP: That sounds like a fake name, sir.

PABLO: -- the Fourth

COP: Even worse. Step out of the car, sir, and put your hands behind your back.

Thankfully Pablo proved his legality and was freed. Which brings me to my point: if your name is Pablo with a number after your last name you will be harassed by US authorities.

Okay, on to the game.

The more I look at JJ Barea the more I am convinced that he is over-rated. He stands 5'9" but looks considerably shorter because his legs are shorter than his upper body. And I don't care if you can run and dunk (see Nate Robinson), no short player (anyone under 6) can succeed in the NBA. You can be the most untalented center (and I'm looking at you, Erik Dampier) in the NBA and teams will happily throw money at you on the false assumption that you will bring them to the promised land. Shorties (see Earl Boykins), on the other hand, always end up playing somewhere in Europe or God forbid, China (see Stephon Marbury).

WELL THOSE WERE from last night before I got home. And of course we all know now how it all went down. But let's go back to the 7:13 mark on the 4th Quarter after Wade made that heart-stopping 3-point shot in front of the Mavs's bench. That shot just about made me upchuck my dinner. Dwayne drilled the shot and they were up 15. The party was on! Lebron and Dwayne were showboating, grinning from ear-to-ear and chest-bumping each other.

Timeout, Dallas.

When the game resumed an incredible thing happened: the Mavs clamped down on everyone and crashed the boards. You never saw anything like it. It seemed like Dirk told everyone at the break that he'd personally slit the throat any of his team-mate who wouldn't make an honest effort to snatch those rebounds. And it worked, hallelujah praise be to God! Even 39-yr old Jason Kidd was hopping on the boards like a man possessed.

But wait a minute: why were there defensive rebounds in the first place?

Because Miami stopped going to the paint!

With the Mavs clearly on the ropes, the Heat -- for reasons Pat Riley will take up with Erik Spoelstra today -- took its foot off the pedal.

Here's the blow-by-blow account:

6:30 ... Dwayne missed a 24-foot long jumper, 73-88 Miami.

5:50 ... Mario Chalmers missed a 25-foot long jumper, 75-88 Miami.

5:28 ... Lebron missed a layup, 77-88 Miami.

4:54 ... Chris Bosh (hello, Chris, where the hell you been?) missed a 21-foot jumper, 79-88 Miami.

2:20 ... Haslem missed a 15-foot jumper, 88-90 Miami.

1:31 ... Lebron missed a 3-point shot, 88-90 Miami. I was now delirious.

1:05 ... Lebron (again, wtf) missed a 3-point shot, 88-90 Miami. I was now screaming. My neighbor pounded my walls. Kids called 911.

0:57 ... Dirk made a layup, 90-90 ... Miami timeout ... the police surrounded my house.

0:36 ... Dwayne missed a 3-point shot, 90-90, more death noises from me ... the police called in the SWAT team.

0:26 ... Dirk made a 3-point shot, 93-90 Dallas ... Suzette and the kids scrambled out of the house.

0:24 ... Mario Chalmers (caught Jason Terry signing autographs while the game was on the line) made a 3-point shot, 93-93 tie.

0:03 ... Dirk -- he is Neo ... he is the One who will bring Mark Cuban to the Promised Land -- made a driving a lay-up (hello, Chris, wassup?) with his left hand -- the left hand oh Jesus! --, 95-93, Dallas. The SWAT team crashed through the windows.

0:01 ... Dwayne missed a 3-point shot! 95-93 Dallas.

0:00 ... Game over! Pandemonium broke out. Insanity ruled the house. The SWAT team and I hugged and kissed each other ... glory be to God in the highest ... and we all sat down and got shitfaced drunk.

What are the lessons to be learned here? One, never party while the game is still on (I'm talking to you Lebron); two, never trust your 3-point hero shot when clearly a dunk is called for (I'm talking to you Lebron); and three, will somebody please give Chris Bosh a bleepin kick in the butt for sleeping on the job (I'm talking to you Lebron).

And that, boys and girls, was how it went down. More on Game 3.