Indiana at Detroit, Game 6 -- The Torture Chamber

I do not have a child, but if I did, I would not allow him or her to watch the Eastern Conference Finals.

The Detroit Pistons celebrated as they earned a trip to the slaughterhouse. There is no positive spin that can make this seem pretty. Detroit scored 69 points and won an NBA game. In the preseason that would be considered troublesome. In the regular season it would be notable. In the Eastern Conference Finals, it's hilarious.

I do not remember what it was that drew me to watching NBA basketball in the first place, but it sure was not games like that.

69-65 is unacceptable! This game was a how-to manual of bad basketball. Ben Wallace and Ron Artest might be the reigning defensive players of the year over the last few seasons, but that doesn't mean they should ever get the ball on offense. How many layups did Big Ben blow? How many air balls did the MVP-in-his-own-mind Jermaine O'Neal put up? How about the greatest three-point shooter in history? Reggie Miller threw up his fair share of air as well.

Rip Hamilton couldn't even get to the ball thanks to Artest, and Rasheed Wallace was invisible for most of the game. It gets worse.

Jonathan Bender and Al Harrington, two of Indy's young future stars finally were given the opportunity to show what they can do. Here's what they can't do: shoot the ball.

Nobody was bringing anything to this game. Corliss Williamson was clanging away, and his shots were sort of like his nickname; nasty, but not big. Tayshaun Prince arrived when Detroit figured they should go ahead and win the game and he made some shots, but until that point I'm not sure if he was actually in the state of Michigan.

With Jamaal Tinsley limping around, the Pacers had to go to their backup point guard, someone named Anthony Johnson. To his credit, Johnson knocked down a few big shots, but the fact that he actually had the nerve to take nine shots gives an indication of how desperate his team was for points.

Hamilton came up huge at the end, actually delivering important baskets and baiting the volatile Artest into a flagrant foul that was the turning point of the game, powering Detroit to the Finals.

Congrats Detroit. You made it all the way by subjecting the basketball fans of the world to some of the ugliest viewing imaginable.

Why do people watch basketball? They want to see gifted athletes fly through the air, shoot with precision from far away, and run up and down the court at a frantic pace. Well, in game six between Indiana and Detroit, you would be hard pressed to find any of this. Maybe Williamson and Austin Croshere dunking gets your adrenaline rushing, but not mine.

And sure, the game was competitive between two teams with everything on the line playing hard, not giving an inch. However, there were times when open jump shots were available. They wouldn't go in, and many times didn't come close. Layups, leaners, floaters, runners, dunks... none of it was working for either team. When the signature moment of a game that sends a team to the Finals is a flagrant foul, you know it was ugly.

How often do we as fans complain that professional athletes don't play any defense? That can't be said for the Pacers and Pistons. Defense wins championships, but come on man! This was unwatchably horrific. Players couldn't move one foot in either direction without getting bumped, hit, or banged into. How do you expect O'Neal to go to the basket for a thunderous jam when he has to worry about his head getting ripped off? The defense in this series was of the highest caliber, that is true. But it got to the point that the two offenses no longer expected the ball to go in, and once confidence is lost, so is the entire game.

An October Baseball game with the score 2-1 going into the ninth inning and a dominant ace pitcher on the mound is a beautiful thing.

An NFL playoff game with linebackers zooming around the field delivering concussive blows while the offense looks for that one big play is equally beautiful.

A team scoring 33 points in the first half of an NBA playoff game, and leading by six is simply repulsive. Watching the painful struggle of professionals who are supposed to be jump shot machines capable of connecting on any open look at the basket, is a gruesome activity.

With every clank off the rim, eyes roll, heads are dropped into hands, shoulders are shrugged. This is not the "I Love This Game" NBA of oohs and aahs, of Michael Jordan switching hands in mid air, Magic Johnson to James Worthy on the break, Larry Bird cocking back for three more. It's despicable.

Would you tell your child about the time you saw Hamilton run into an Artest elbow to win a trip to the Finals? That's the memory they created.

Hey, at least it's not an airball.