Sunday , Nov , 19 , 2006 C.Y. Ellis

Ron Artest to Ben Wallace: Suck My B*lls

Ron Artest to Ben Wallace: Suck My B*llsBefore we begin, readers, I’d like to take a moment to give thanks for the great bounty before us. I’m not a man of belief myself, but I ask the faithful among you to offer a hearty “Good job” to your deity of choice for smiling upon us on this beautiful November day. This is undoubtedly the finest moment in league history since ‘Toine revived the infamous shimmy and once more treated us to the sight of a 6’9’’ four-point-shooting extraordinaire shaking his jelly like a fat lady’s belly.

What magnificent event has passed, then, that I should drop my super-sour style in favour of such unmitigated joy? The answer lies within this newly unearthed document pertaining to the “Malice at the Palace” incident. Read on for an excerpt from an interview conducted with Matt Dobek, a security official present at the scene.

”I was sitting at the corner of the court by Pistons bench, holding Coach Brown’s crutches. I observed Jermaine O’Neal punch a fan in the face, in front of the Pacers’ bench. I observed Artest laying on top of the scorers’ table and heard Artest tell Ben Wallace, “You can suck my balls.”

I’ve read that last sentence out loud a few times, and I encourage you all to do likewise. After all, who should be denied the right to utter such a glorious phrase? “You can suck my balls.” Classic. Though more frequently spoken by Eric Cartman and other smart-mouth nine-year-olds, it was put into service here by Ron Artest, whose monstrous physique, it is said, is thanks to a daily workout routine in which he bench-presses a bison, then eats it. What’s more, he directed it towards Ben Wallace, who once gave the Incredible Hulk a wedgie before stealing his lunch money and telling him to “Get [his] skinny, green ass back to the salon with the other women.” In short, I thought that the showdown between the two meanest motherfuckers outside of the UFC would have been caused by more than a playground taunt. But who am I to judge what should constitute sufficient incitement?

While I was hoping the inflammatory phrase was something a little more epic, “suck my balls” seemed to do the trick just as well. While we may never discover where Jimmy Hoffa’s body is buried or who it was that told Anderson Varejão that the Sideshow Bob look was in this season, we can at least rest easy in the knowledge that the most shameful event in basketball history was initiated by one millionaire athlete inviting another to nibble on his nuts. Well, that sure takes a weight off my mind. 

Who knows how this might have turned out? If Ben Wallace was the type who blocked shots for the other team, and had taken Artest up on his offer, this might have been an entirely different – and significantly more unsettling – story. I’m all for progress, but if the thought of “Big Ben” and “Ron-Ron” moving to Massachusetts and adopting a kitten together doesn’t disturb your constitution, you’re a stronger soul than I.

So, to move the conversation away from mental images so unpleasant that I’d happily replace them with that of Chris Kaman in a bikini, what repercussions should we expect as a consequence of this new nugget of information? Well, it’s only a rumour at present, but I’ve heard that David Stern intends to introduce a series of new rules governing the protocol of on-court sexual propositions. From now on, all requests for the opposition to suck one’s balls must be mediated by the league office, who will judge whether it is appropriate on a case-by-case basis. With the dress code instituted and the officials free to drop T-bombs as and when they desire, this is pretty much all they have left to legislate.

(Honestly, I don’t know why I write these things.  It may be because I grew up near a power station.  I used to be an NBA columnist, you know.)