E-Mail This Article to a Friend I will not talk about the Red Sox BY MITCH KRPATA

I WILL NOT TALK about the Red Sox. Right now, the sports world is buzzing with drama, intrigue, and intense competition. To fritter away my time stressing about the fate of a .500 team more interested in patting itself on the back than in playing baseball would be a disservice to the fine tradition of athletic achievement, all the way from the first Olympic discus thrower to the "agony of defeat" guy from ABC’s Wide World of Sports. No sir, in the realm of current sports stories, the Red Sox are The Da Vinci Code going up against several copies of Crime and Punishment.

Take Lance Armstrong’s unprecedented run to a sixth consecutive Tour de France victory, for example. Barring any unforeseen catastrophe — like an ill-advised attempt at a fakey grind along a Champs-Elysées guardrail gone disastrously wrong — it appears Lance is all but assured of victory when the riders reach Paris on Sunday. Several riders have won five of the races, but no one has ever won six before.

We’re all familiar with The Lance Armstrong Story. He had testicular cancer that, left unchecked, spread to his lungs and brain. Through a series of inspiring events that even a Lifetime network executive would deem too melodramatic to be real, Lance beat the cancer. Then he got back on the bike and reeled off a string of Tour de France victories, thus ensuring a lifetime of lucrative endorsement deals and cameos in films like Dodgeball.

Still, all the cancer talk detracts from Lance Armstrong’s most stunning achievement: making Americans care about competitive bicycling in France. On the scale of unlikeliness in sports fandom, that’s right up there with the Soviets cheering for Rocky instead of Ivan Drago. What I find most inspiring is that, through dogged effort and a refusal to lose, Lance Armstrong is appealing to the winner in all of us, even guys who know nothing about France except that we saved their ass in World War II.

The early buzz says Lance is strongly considering hanging up his spandex shorts after win number six. He will have nothing left to prove. To me, that’s an act so classy that it effectively cancels out the ignominy of his dumping his wife for Sheryl Crow. Here we’ve got a competitor of the highest level, who thinks of nothing but winning. And once victory is his, he will step down gracefully and let the next generation compete.

What a refreshing contrast! I’m used to following a gang of rapscallions whose attitude during play resembles that of a child being forced to eat his vegetables before he can have dessert. Though at this rate, we’re never going to get to sweet October, not with our stone hands and untimely strikeouts –

Whoops! I said I wouldn’t talk about the Red Sox. Why should I, when the NBA is primed for its most exciting season since players had mustaches and wore booty shorts?

The Pistons’ dominance over the Lakers in this year’s finals effectively put the concept of the "Leastern Conference" to rest. While I’m ashamed to admit that the Celtics fielded the worst squad in the history of the NBA playoffs, the Pacers and Nets would have been competitive against any team from the West, and it’s hard to argue that anyone could have beaten Detroit. The West’s power has been further sapped thanks to the most intriguing storyline of the NBA off-season, Shaq’s move to the Miami Heat.

The buzz started shortly after the Lakers went gentle into that good night last June. Either Shaq or Kobe — maybe both — would not be donning purple and gold next season. Lakers general manager Mitch Kupchak made his decision and let Shaq go, which surely will go down as the most boneheaded move in NBA history — trumping even the Trail Blazers drafting Sam Bowie over Michael Jordan in 1984. Whether or not you believe the conspiracy theories that Kobe pulled every power play in the book to give Shaq the boot, everyone agrees that, in the 2004-2005 NBA season, Shaq’s going to be playing pissed.

He seemed not to disappoint in Miami when he pulled up to his introductory press conference in a huge, black semi with the words "Diesel Power" emblazoned on the side. It was like something out of a science-fiction movie. I half-expected Shaq to step out and start shooting laser beams from his eyes. Instead, he produced a Super Soaker and squirted the crowd in the most disappointing sports entrance since Sting introduced the Shockmaster as his new WCW tag-team partner.

Just trust me: Shaq will get angry. Sure, right now he might be joking around with the press and dropping Bartlett’s-worthy quotes like, "I’m like toilet paper, toothpaste and certain amenities — I’m proven to be good," but when it’s go time I predict the only ones needing toilet paper will be his opponents. And Shaq and Kobe always resented each other. When they square off, Shaq is going to redefine athletic intensity. The first Heat-Lakers match-up next year is going to make Ali-Frazier III look like checkers night at the old folks’ home.

When did Miami sports fans get so lucky? Not only have they got Diesel, but last year’s world champion Marlins were among the scrappiest, most likeable sports teams in recent memory. South Floridians don’t have to put up with a team whose players, by the fifth inning, look like they’re already trying to decide between going to Daisy Buchanan’s or the Rack after the game.

Sorry. I can’t help coming back to the Sox, even as more interesting things are occurring in Major League Baseball. For instance, when did the Cubs vs. the Cardinals become one of the best rivalries in sports? I feel like I’ve stepped through the wardrobe into Narnia. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Their series earlier this week was electrifying. That was playoff-caliber ball, right down to the bench-clearing brawls and pitchers getting ejected. Unfortunately for the Cubs, it seems the Cardinals might be unstoppable this season. Scott Rolen is indisputably the league MVP at this point. That’s all the more incredible because, theoretically, he’s not even the best player on a team that includes Jim Edmonds and Albert Pujols. He’s also single-handedly keeping me competitive in both of my fantasy baseball leagues. In gratitude, I’ve begun referring to him as "Scotty Too Hotty" without a trace of irony.

In many ways, it does appear that baseball is capitalizing on the momentum established by last year’s epochal post-season. Ordinarily, by late July the wheat has been separated from the chaff, but this year teams are competitive across the board. Only St. Louis has established a wide division lead in the National League. Any of the Californian teams could take the NL West, and the fourth-place team in the NL East, the Mets, is only three games back.

Here in the American League, things are a bit more spread out, but there is a four-team race for the wild card. I suspect the battle for that playoff spot will go down to the last week of the season. To go into further detail would require some serious discussion about the Red Sox, and as I said, I’m not talking about them — particularly not with the Yankees coming to town tonight.

God, the Sox are screwed.

Sporting Eye runs Mondays and Fridays at BostonPhoenix.com. Mitch Krpata can be reached at mkrpata[a]phx.com