U.S. Expects Iraq to Settle Down for NBA Playoffs

espite escalating violence across Iraq, US Marines remain confident that all will be well in the country once the NBA playoffs begin this week, distracting Iraqi insurgents from their anti-occupation agenda with dazzling basketball action. However, though the mesmerizing influence of fantastic NBA drama may likely sooth the current conflict, experts warn that new tensions could arise between the San Antonio Spurs-loving Iraqi populace and the largely Laker-friendly occupation forces.

The nation's Shiite majority is comprised overwhelmingly of San Antonio Spurs supporters, led by Muqtada al-Sadr, a Shiite rebel cleric and hardcore Spurs fan who is often photographed wearing a Tim Duncan jersey along with his traditional turban during basketball season. Experts are at a loss to explain Iraq's passion for the San Antonio team, which may be caused by that region's similarity to Iraq in arid climate and close proximity to hell. Despite their underdog status, Iraqis seem convinced the Spurs will prevail against the great white dragon of the Los Angeles Lakers.

"Fallujah my noojah, bitchaz!" al-Sadr mugged for television cameras on Monday, flashing some kind of bizarre Iraqi basketball gang signs.

"The thing you have to understand is that these fanatical loyalties in Iraq go back hundreds of years," explained Iraq expert and big eater Dr. Erwin Stagg. "Or however long the NBA's been around, that long. Imagine you were a Spurs fan and a bunch of Laker fans burst into your house and started bossing you around and eating your chip dip. How would you like that? Not much, I think. Now imagine they had guns and your house was the size of Iraq. Pretty weird, eh?"

In an effort to keep the peace, troops stationed in Iraq have been admonished to keep their team biases to themselves when dealing with Iraqi civilians, though President Bush did the coalition efforts no favors when he ended his news conference last week with a fist-pumping cry of "Go Lakers!" Pundits are calling this move a ploy to boost Bush's flagging public support, a desperate change in tactics after the president realized he had milked the tit of conservative Christian dogma drier than Phyllis Diller's snatch.

Complicating matters further, considerable pockets of Detroit Piston-loving Sunni Arabs dot the Iraqi landscape, increasing chances of further tribal violence in this already war-torn land should the Spurs and Pistons meet in the NBA finals.

"Yo, San Antone gonna smack you down when you come wit dat weak-ass shit," an Iraqi youth said through a translator, seeming to address more than the upcoming NBA finals. Though when asked to elaborate, he just pantomimed slam-dunking a basketball, which may or may not reflect upon the US's long-term prospects for democratic nation building in the region.

Even terror mastermind Osama Bin Laden wants a piece of the playoff action, offering an Arab cease-fire in exchange for US and European forces putting down a dime on New Jersey for him and maybe hooking up a little courtside seat action. Negotiations with Bin Laden apparently stalled out after coalition negotiators were unwilling to budge from their best offer of a generous satellite TV package and a game-worn jock strap from Nets point guard Jason Kidd.

The NBA finals are scheduled to wind down in June, which coalition planners feel will be close enough to the June 30th hand-over date for Iraqi sovereignty to allow US forces to get the fuck out of there before anything else blows up. Though if the Spurs are eliminated from the playoffs in an early round, the US may have to choose between extending their occupation of Iraq, or teaching the Iraqis to love baseball.

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I've never been one to player hate; you all know that about me. And sibling rivalry is so last decade. So you know I'm serious when I tell you that those of you worshiping my brother are making a big mistake.

Phil's got good hair, I'll give him that. That's always been his strength. And I can understand people seeing that, and thinking "You know, that guy's got great hair. I bet he's got it all figured out" right before they shave their heads and start wearing the periwinkle jumpsuits.

But hold on one second, Philgrims. Have you really thought about what you're doing here? Don't throw your life away worshiping a second-rate deity. For one, Phil grinds his teeth in his sleep. That's the truth, honest to Phil. Take it from someone who's shared a bunk bed with the man. Grind grind grind, all night long. And I don't think you'll find any reference to rubber sleeping teeth-guards that in your precious Gospel According to Phil.

Secondly, this isn't the first religion Phil has started. I know, the truth hurts sometimes, but you people aren't his first followers. The Philologists were the first, and those guys had it way better than you.

The main difference between Newphilonomy and Philology was that back then Phil didn't have a mustache, and you were allowed to eat meat. I know, don't you envy those lucky bastards? They could grill up a juicy porterhouse any old time they liked, without any celestial recompense. While you poor suckers are left eating warm oats in mushroom broth. You ask me, and I say you guys got the shit end of the Phil's-religions stick.

I mean, what can you do for fun? You can't play dominoes. And no water-skiing, you know that's out. And I'm not sure I understand why, but somebody told me humming is totally forbidden. Hmm. Oops, sorry, didn't mean to blasphemize.

And I can't imagine anybody really likes going door to door, selling condoms. I don't know whose idea of a religious hallmark that was. Or rather I do: Phil. And aren't you guys tired of wearing those adult diapers all the time? I don't care if a fallen angel invented the toilet; I'm still going to shit in one. And you should too. You really should, especially if you want to be invited into my house ever again.

Sure, I understand Phil's got his pleasant attributes, but have you ever considered Roger Andrews? That's me. I'm doing all right, and you could certainly worship worse. Like that fat guy from Korea, what's up with that? I'm way better-looking than him and his creepy eyes.

And my religion is way less uptight than Phil's, you can trust me on that. Actually, I'm taking suggestions right now, how's that for flexible? So what do you want the modern Church of Roger to look like? Smart outfits with matching shoes? Done. Holy Communion with nacho poppers instead of bread? Gotcha. Sermons in under 35 seconds? I can do that. Let's see, what else? We've got to ban something. How about oatmeal cookies? Never liked those. And I'm allergic to pecans. But I'll leave that part up to democratic vote at the next meeting of the Rogerists.

So remember, for your worshiping needs, why not consider Roger Andrews? He's like the savior's cooler brother who just got back from Europe. Say, that's kind of catchy. I feel a bumper sticker coming on.

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I am royally bummed, good people. I can say that without fear of contradiction. For one, because anyone can verify how true it is, and two, because I'm simply not afraid of contradictions anymore. The therapy is working. I can't control when someone else disagrees, so I just have to let it go and move on with my life.

But back to business—my bummed nature. It's nothing too severe, but I'm quite disappointed that I've exhausted my supply of Haitian cigarettes. I knew they wouldn't last forever, but I had no idea they would go so fast. It seems no sooner had I stepped off the plane than I completely emptied my little baggy full. What a shame.

I should explain myself, since I haven't informed you of my wonderful find yet. On vacation in Haiti with the Mrs., my Mrs., just in case you wondered, I discovered the one high-quality product they make in Haiti: cigarettes. If you think you've smoked wonderful, mind-blowing tobacco before, good people, you haven't smoked anything like Haitian tobacco. It makes your mind come alive with possibilities, and suddenly everything becomes funnier and more important than it previously had been. Now that's good tobacco.

In truth, I had intended to do more on my honeymoon—parasail, scuba dive, leave the hotel in some fashion, but I had to let Mrs. Finger run off by herself, because I so enjoyed sitting in my room, smoking Haitian tobacco and watching cartoons on television. It is that good, my friends. You can bet I packed a healthy supply of handrolled—they're all handrolled down there—cigarettes before I came back to the States.

I worried about having trouble with them on the plane, if you know what I mean—smoking's prohibited. Well, of course, I knew it would be difficult to resist the fine, fresh flavor of Haitian tobacco for the entire plane ride, so I taped all my cigarettes under my armpits before departing for home. The customs official gave me an odd look when he searched me, and I was worried he might jostle them loose and, well, I'd start smoking all 635 of them right away, right there in the airport. Ha! What a sight that would have been. But he didn't even touch them, really. So I got back to our fine country with all my cigarettes intact.

But, alas, they're all gone now. I've never been much of a smoker, really, even though I like to try new things and I always do what people on TV do. These are good, though, I smelled them at a party the first night I was in the country and knew I had to try them. Still, as I said, they're gone now. I finished the last one two days ago and have been, how you might say, "jonesing" for a new one ever since. I've tried regular cigarettes in their stead, but none of them have that smooth, uplifting feeling of real Haitian tobacco.

I'm not saying I'm desperate or anything, but I have taken to driving around bad neighborhoods, looking for Haitians who can hook me up, give me just a little "fix"—since I do feel like I need a tune-up that only satisfying Haitian tobacco can give me. When I see a Haitian, I roll down the window and yell, "Smoke, smoke!" I hope I'm not underestimating their language skills, they may even speak English, but how am I to know that? I'm just anxious to get my hands on some of their nifty cigarettes, and don't have time for lengthy conversation.

Lee says he knows a fellow in some sort of "joint" that knows a guy who can get me Haitian tobacco. Not that I don't believe him, but I worry he's holding out on me, in some fashion. I told him I have the money, or I will by the time I get my next paycheck, or I get paid for the TV that I sold to the neighbor. Right now I need just a little taste—the taste of fine Haitian tobacco.

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