It's time for the Melo-drama to end. Please!
As the years passed from my teens to my twenties to my thirties, and I matured (somewhat) from a kid to an adult, my taste buds matured along with me. Broccoli, brussels sprouts, cheesecake, coffee, hummus, crab legs, shrimp, a variety of spices (things I couldn't stand or wouldn't even think to put in my mouth as a young boy growing up on the mean streets of South Euclid) – they all became palatable. Some (cheesecake and coffee for example) even became something I craved, or in the case of coffee, needed on regular basis.That is not the case when it comes to athletes. As I've gotten older, my distaste has grown and is reaching the point of self-induced starvation. A hunger strike, if you will, because today's athlete is not only unpalatable, he's become down right rancid. Gone are the days of savoring every bit of your favorite athlete, every last crumb of your favorite Brownie. The Bernie Kosars, the Brian Brennans, the Minifields, the Dixons - yesteryear's athlete was endearing, was loyal, was team and city-first. That, unfortunately, has given way to today's loathsome "Generation Me" athlete.
Which brings us to this weekend's NBA All-Star festivities... or as it should be renamed... The Carmelo Anthony Show.
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