It happened only days ago. I awoke in my Washington D.C. room, where I was living for the summer. The bags forming under my eyes would have sent even Jeff Van Gundy

The ball careened off the rim and into the hands of Pietrus, another clutch jumper missed by Kobe Bryant.

Magic, 87. Lakers, 82. 1:02 left.

By all indications, the Lakers were done. They were visibly weary and deflated from battling the Orlando Magic. The 17k+ packed inside of Amway Arena. The whistles, or non-whistles, of Bennett Salvatore, Mike Callahan and Scott Foster. The mounting pressure of not having won a Finals game away from Staples Center since 2002.

This was supposed to be the defining moment for the Orlando Magic.

Let’s say I’m an ABC executive. I walk onto the 63rd floor of my office building on a rainy Friday morning. I reach deep inside myself and find the goodwill to utter a few shallow good mornings to the cubed peons that do all the work so I can drive a different colored Porsche every day of the week. I pass by my secretary’s desk, who I shamelessly hired over hundreds of qualified applicants. Sure, she can’t read and her favorite word is like, but I’m 70 and senile, this is as good as it gets for me.

Right before I open the door to my 2,000 square foot office, she pops a bubble and says, “Hey sir, umm, like, GM; and, like, here’s a list thingy that I was totally supposed to give you.” I grab the piece of paper and it says this:

The following is a blog/note conversation between Celtics fan and Laker-hater Mark Church, and Lakers fan and Celtic-hater J-Ri.Feel free to jump in the conversation, as I’ll continually update it as our debate continues.

Enjoy!

It’s been said that you can live your whole life in one manner, stray from it for just a single moment, and be judged by that moment for the rest of history. History is not a record of lengthy accounts; it’s a record of defining moments. If you think about it, we only read a story if the ending is worthy of enduring the journey it took to get there. Why suffer through the expedition if the destination is never realized?

The Los Angeles Lakers are on the threshold of history – A chance to erase the bitter memories of last years’ NBA Finals. Perfectly interlaced in the Lakers story looms a surplus of subplots anxiously waiting to be defined.

For once, can I please write this column after a Lakers’ win? I customarily have only one rule I adhere to when it comes to my own writing. Don’t write angry. And when we win this series on Friday (fingers crossed), I’ll be sure to follow that rule. Until then, this is just going to have to do.

During the pasting at the Pepsi Center last night, I couldn’t help but draw the parallels between this years’ Denver Nuggets and the Portland Trail (I.e. Jail) Blazers of the early 2000′s. Both teams were a collection of players whose talent was only paralleled by their idiocy; and I say was because that’s exactly what the Denver Nuggets will soon be. Check out the matchups:

Only Jeanie Buss saw less of last night’s game than Dick Bavetta. In between twitter updates on her friend annoying Adam Levine from Maroon 5 and Will Ferrell near the Lakers bench, Dick Bavetta was busy staggering around the court pretending like he was not on the Mayflower when it shored up in America for the first time. You know the Lakers were jobbed when Laker-hating ESPN analyst Bill Simmons said, “They (Lakers) blew Game 2 thanks to some typically brutal officiating in a league that’s slowly becoming defined by its typically brutal officiating.”

There are any number of things I could choose to write about here. The Lakers not showing up to another game in Houston. Phil Jackson’s curious coaching gaffes throughout the series. Derek Fisher’s disappearing act. Pau Gasol’s slow transformation into a marshmallow. That really tall guy wearing #17 and pretending to be Andrew Bynum.

The media has blamed Phil Jackson. They’ve pinned it on Kobe Bryant. They’ve pointed in the direction of the role players. Some fans have blamed the meager refereeing; others have cried conspiracy theory by the NBA; most have said the Lakers have no heart. The deplorable struggles of the Lakers have been dissected, re-examined and dissected again on radio broadcasts, TV shows, podcasts, newspapers and blogs from Los Angeles to Tatooine (Yes, that was a Star Wars reference).

Just for a moment, I want you to imagine a movie starring Keanu Reeves.

… I know, you’re right and I’m sorry. I should have given more notice. Hang with me here.

Let’s say that Keanu plays a cocaine addict who suffers from aspergers syndrome. In between emotionally riveting outbursts, he develops a friendship with a shrewd and astute psychologist, played by Dolph Lungdren, and suddenly becomes inspired to recover the lost pieces of his life. I see several captivating performances from Pauly Shore, Larry the Cable Guy, Steven Seagal and of course, the whole thing could be interlaced with witty and dramatic narration provided by Sylvester Stallone.

Now, let’s say that movie stopped by Wienerschnitzel, got really sick and couldn’t find a bathroom anywhere. The disgusting result leaked all over the car seat would look and smell a whole lot like the Lakers mortifying performance in game 4 at the Toyota Center.

Not the haunting loss in last years’ NBA Finals. Not a Christmas day rematch with the Boston Celtics. Not a regular season faceoff between Kobe and Lebron. Not the continuance of a four-year losing streak at the Rose Garden. Not a pesky Utah Jazz team in the first round. Not even a clich