Whenever LeBron James and Carmelo Anthony come to town, I am happy to see local folks wearing their jerseys. I respect other people's basketball passions, even if they are vaguely treasonous. But whenever Kobe Bryant comes to town, my stomach burns with hate. So last week when I walked into KeyArena and saw at least a thousand people wearing Kobe-fucking-Bryant jerseys, I almost vomited.

Bryant is magical, mysterious, and completely terrifying—like Darth Maul in high tops. What kind of twisted person roots for Darth Maul?

Well, last week, those twisted fans cursed and sulked when a referee gave Bryant two technicals and kicked him out of the game in the middle of the third quarter. Those fans had spent their hard-earned money to buy too-expensive tickets and were now temporarily living in a Kobeless world.

I rejoiced and gave a one-man standing ovation for the Jedi referee who'd booted Bryant.

"That's a moral victory," I shouted to no one in particular, but the Bryant-jersey-wearing fan in front of me turned and gave me a sympathetic smile. "Moral victories are all I got left," I said.

"I know," he said. "I'm with you."