Kevin Blackistone Nba

On the last weekend of June, a large white van pulled into the nation's capital and parked on 4th Street in a neighborhood in the city's tough Southeast quadrant. It was festooned with the words "Safe Easy Free" and a large photograph of Magic Johnson, smiling as always.

It was the Magic Johnson HIV Testing Van and it was making its last stop on what was a three-week long, 14-city tour through the South. By the time it stopped in Washington, D.C., its workers had provided more than 500 free HIV tests.

The work they were doing was the thrust of the Magic Johnson Foundation, which has awarded over $1 million to community based groups fighting the spread of HIV and AIDS since Magic Johnson revealed in 1991 that he was HIV positive.

That is how magnanimous Magic has become in retirement, as much if not more so than any other athlete. On Tuesday, he even went beyond the call of his conscience.

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"LeBron James, with no regard for human life!" – Kevin Harlan, NBA on TNT broadcaster, during the 2008 Eastern Conference semifinals

It wasn't just the most ridiculous hyperbolic description of a LeBron James dunk; it was also a gross mischaracterization of the Crown Prince of the NBA. (We'll call him by his preferred moniker of King when he has a ring.) For if there is one thing James possesses, which ought to make Cavaliers' fans sleep easier, it is consideration for others.

That is the overwhelming message from the premiering documentary More Than a Game about LeBron's basketball upbringing and that of his high school teammates. I caught the movie on Monday at opening night for the 2009 Silverdocs film festival in Silver Spring, Md., organized by The Discovery Channel and the American Film Institute and attended by the film's subjects, LeBron and his four best friends -- and ballahs -- from childhood. After all these years, after all those tens of millions of dollars, after all the awards and accolades, LeBron is still tightest with four guys with whom he grew up, not Jay-Z or Ice Cube or some other hip-hop-star-come-lately. How neat is that?

ORLANDO -- Dwight Howard entered his home arena here Tuesday evening, and departed it in the wee hours of Wednesday morning, sporting a pink v-neck sweater. In between, however, he donned the cape that he's adopted for his basketball persona as Superman.

The reason the Magic eked out a four-point win against the Lakers in Game 3 of the NBA Finals on Tuesday night, to cut the Lakers' lead in the best-of-seven series to 2-1, was because its Superman, Howard, saved the day.

Much will be said in the aftermath of the Magic's 108-104 victory about their torrid record championship series' shooting in the first half that was recorded at 75 percent. But it staked them to just a five-point lead at the break.

LOS ANGELES -- Late Sunday night in a corner of the cramped visitor's locker room in the bowels of cavernous Staples Center, Magic big man Dwight Howard was slumped back on a stool slowly stroking his face with one hand. His point guard Jameer Nelson sat on a stool next to him looking like The Thinker, his left elbow on left and his chin in his left hand. Their pensive look permeated the room, and it was understandable.

"We had our chances to win," Howard said later.

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LOS ANGELES – It was just a month ago when, after a playoff game like the one he just had – which resulted in a loss – Magic center Dwight Howard criticized his coach Stan Van Gundy's use of him. It is hard to win, Howard said, when a player as dominant as he is only gets no more than 10 shots in a game.

Thursday night in the Magic's blowout loss to the Lakers in the tip-off game of the NBA's championship series, Howard got off a grand total of six shots. He made one.

Howard didn't say the obvious after Game 1, but it needs to be pointed out, nonetheless: It will be impossible for the Magic to beat the Lakers with Howard, their most-celebrated player, getting so few shots and hardly making any. But Howard sang a new tune this time.

LOS ANGELES -- With a little more than seven minutes remaining in the opening act Thursday of the Finals on the grand professional basketball stage near Hollywood called Staples Center, the main star came out for what was nothing more than a curtain call.

After all, the show was all but recorded for posterity with the score 89-64. There was no need for a closing act.

But Kobe Bryant shed the purple and gold towel that had been draped around his shoulders like velvet around royalty and strode back to center stage.

It was, however, a welcomed sight, even if your allegiance was with the protagonists who were visiting from Orlando. Kobe had already put on a show worth the price of a $5,900 courtside seat with 36 mostly breathtaking points. But in doing so, he left the audience wondering what else in this renewal of the NBA championship series would be worth watching.

The girlfriend doesn't like Kobe Bryant. He committed adultery, she spat, and is forever tarnished. (Note to self: Not that you should have to be reminded, but stray at your own peril.)

Her sentiment is not among a small minority, like the fans of the Denver Nuggets in the state of Colorado where Kobe was infamously tried, but not convicted, half a decade ago for being a violent adulterer. In the wake of President Clinton's intern affair, a Time-CNN poll found that 35 percent of Americans are so put out by cheating that they think it should be a crime.

There is nothing Kobe can do to change those thoughts about him as a person, and maybe there shouldn't be anything. But he can still manage people's perception of him at what he does best, play basketball, and that opportunity has never been more defined for him in his 13 years in the NBA -- 13 seasons and he's still only 30! -- than it is now.

As it turns out, Glen Davis is not a Big Baby. He is a Magnanimous Man. And he's more magnanimous than I could ever be under the circumstances.

To be sure, what the husky 6-9, 289-pound Boston Celtics' forward did early Tuesday, two days after hitting the buzzer-beating shot in Orlando to even his team's playoff series with the Magic at two wins apiece, was absolutely unnecessary. Davis apologized for running into a 12-year-old boy, ensconced in Magic gear and seated courtside, as Davis turned to run to his team's bench to celebrate the biggest shot of his career.

King James. Big Papi. Ocho Cinco, a jersey number.

And those are our best sports' nicknames.

If that's not unimaginative and stale enough, try first initial plus first syllable of last name or first letter, like C-Webb and K-Dub.

Then there are the two-seconds-of-thought nicknames. They use the first and last initials, as in A.I. and T.O. I'll wake you when I'm done.

That is how boring our sports nicknames have become.

It is a good thing for Roger Federer that he isn't a woman. Or maybe it is too bad that Candace Parker is. After all, they are in the same boat, but in very different classes of travel. Federer is in first, while Parker appears to be in stowage.

The ship both are sailing on is the Love Boat. Federer announced happily on his Web site Thursday that he is about to become a father. Parker is pictured on the cover of ESPN the Magazine scheduled for release on Friday in full bloom – pregnant.

Federer is not married. Parker is -- now.