Disillusioned veterans, wannabe rap artists and rapists–just your average NBA superstar. So let me get this straight. Latrell Sprewell is worried that his $14.6-million salary won't be able to feed his family, Ron Artest needs time off to promote the release of his upcoming rap album, and the happiest player in the game is Kobe Bryant, who is savoring the idea of carrying a sorry Laker team to a .500 record.

I'm an NBA fan. For now. I used to be that tireless crusader who would rant and rave to anyone who would listen about how great the NBA truly was, but the lack of defense and abundance of low-scoring games (which seems a bit paradoxical) turned people away from the league en masse. Nowadays, I'm not trying to pique the NBA interests of others; I'm trying to keep my own. The truth is, it's becoming far too difficult to find a legitimate reason to follow professional basketball. What has me reeling isn't the quality of play in the league–it's the personnel.

Take Latrell Sprewell for example. I had all but forgiven him for choking former coach P.J. Carlesimo at Golden State a few years back. But now, Sprewell, a slasher in his mid-30s with limited range is insulted that the Minnesota Timberwolves are paying him $14.6 million this season. Most players who are fortunate enough to be on a legitimate title contender even though his better days are clearly behind him would take whatever he was given and shut up. Sprewell, however, isn't most players.

When asked about helping Minnesota win an NBA Championship, Spree said, "Why would I want to help them win a title? They're not doing anything for me. I'm at risk. I have a lot of risk here. I got my family to feed. Anything could happen."

At risk? At risk for what? Sprewell will get more money for putting a ball through a hoop for one season than I will earn in my entire life. I spent 15 bucks at Schnucks a few days ago for groceries for the week. At that rate, I would spend $780 this year on food. If Spree did the same for each member of his eight-person family, he would have over $14.5 million left over, you know, for a rainy day or something. As hard as I try, I just cannot find the sympathy to feel sorry for the guy. How could anyone be that selfish?

Ask Ron Artest. He seems to know a lot about being selfish these days. Artest, who will earn $6.2 million this year and $24 million over the next four, is a shut-down small forward for the Indiana Pacers, one of the top two or three teams in the Eastern Conference. Artest was benched for two games by Pacers coach Rick Carlisle after asking for time off to promote his rap album, which is coming out Nov. 23.

"I've been doing a little bit too much music, just needed the rest," Artest said. Just needed some rest? Five games into the season? "If they would have let me [take a month off], I would have been gone for a month or a month and a half and not worried about the pay."

I thought that was what the off-season was for. Let's see. Rest. Promote rap album. Play basketball. Where do I sign up? If I asked my future employer for a month off to endorse my rap album, I would certainly have plenty of time to do so–mainly because I would be unemployed. Time off to promote a rap album? Get serious.

And then there's Kobe. After years of constant bickering over whom was the true leader of the Lakers, Shaq and Kobe's separation played out like some divorce on a low-rent daytime soap opera.

How disillusioned do you have to be to demand that your team trade the most dominant player in the history of the game? Anyone who thinks that Kobe was the key to the Lakers three-peat needs to have his or her head examined. Kobe wanted his own team. Be careful what you wish for, Mr. Bryant, because you're in for a very rude awakening. You weren't able to win a title last year with the best center in the league. How many times this season will you have to score 40 points and drop six of seven dimes in losing efforts before you realize that you're not as good as you think you are?

Yup, I got it straight. Disillusioned veterans, wannabe rap artists and egomaniacs. Wow. Thank God for the college game– that's all I've got.