Don’t get me started.  I gotta tell ya, it’s been taking a lot of my energy and patience to keep from talking about the referees as much as I want to these days. My producers tell me that it "alienates some impartial viewers," but I could give a rat’s fig about that. I’ve been watching some of that NBA Sunday Ticket, and if folks in Cleveland and Chicago and Denver get to call that sort of announcing "impartial," then I’m Queen of Sheeba.   Never mind that Mason down in Detroit whose does the public announcing.  If I never again have to year him yelling about "the gritty city of Compton" or "All Sheed" or whatever mumbo-jumbo he’s saying, it’ll be about three years too soon.

But I digress.  The reason I actually mind my P’s and Q’s on the air is because every time I start to voice my well-justified displeasure regarding the quality of the league’s officials, I get this look from my broadcast partner Mike Gorman. It’s the same sort of look Red or Russell or Couz used to shoot me if I missed a pick or bricked an open banker or dribbled the ball off my foot. That "cut the ball-hog prep school shenanigans, Heinsohn, or I’m waxing the Parquet after the game with your face" look.  And after a certain incident in Sacramento some years back involving a Bic pen cap and a post-game encounter with a heckler which I will not discuss amongst mixed company, I don’t mess with Mike. 

But I’m gonna say what I gotta say, and if I can’t say it there, then I’m saying it right here. And after watching last night’s travesty of a game against the Utah Jazz, it’s gotta be said. I mean, first of all, who the heck are the Jazz that they can push and grab and punch and gouge like that? Since when did this game go from being about scoring the basketball to being about technical knock-outs? Is Jerry Sloan a basketball coach, or a self-defense instructor?  I’m all for "letting them play," but GIMME A BREAK BAVETTA! CALL IT BOTH WAYS! If Matt Harpring can have Paul Pierce spitting blood from a blatant shot to his kidneys, then let Gabe Pruitt play some defense instead of calling him for some piece of garbage touch foul against Deron Williams. And would someone PLEASE notice when Leon Powe is getting manhandled by guys twice his size?  It’s not like he’s missing those wide open layups on purpose! Contact is contact is contact, I don’t care who or what or where it happens! And David Stern’s gotta realize that. But, then, Stern’s part of the problem, isn’t he?

I see what’s going on, folks. I might not be the sharpest tool in the hardware store, but you can’t fool old Tommy. You see, since the NBA is all about LeBron James and Kobe Bryant this year after the Celtics got their one measly championship last year, they’re gonna make it harder than heck for Boston to get back to the Finals. And they’re gonna do it by hook AND by crook!  And by faceguarding, if they can get away with it!  Which they can! And it’s not just yesterday’s game against the Jazz. Look at any loss this year by the C’s, and you’ll find someone like Bavetta or Kenny Mauer or that beady-eyed black guy with the moustache making a TERRIBLE call that costs Boston the game. Like that foul against Kevin Garnett during the Spurs game. I mean, if all you have to do is whine to the refs like everyone on the Spurs does to actually get a call, then I suggest Doc spills some milk before every game and tell everyone that their mommies didn’t love them. I mean COME ON!

And while I’m here — now Tim Duncan’s a great player, sure. Great two-way player, great leader in the locker room, has nice soft hands and fantastic fundamentals.  And he should’ve been a Celtic, too, in case you forgot. But if there’s anything that’s going to keep him out of the Hall of Fame, it’s that pathetic groveling look on his face after he gets whistled for obvious contact. I’ve seen teenagers getting dumped by ugly fat girls show more self-respect! Believe it or not, Tim, even the most perfect players in the world foul other players. It happens. Just because you’re Tim Duncan, The Most Perfect Player In The World, doesn’t make you immune. And the same goes for LeBron, who’s developing a really bad habit of whining everytime someone actually dares to put a body on His Royal Majesty the King of James. All you fancy-pants prima donnas need to suck it up and PLAY SOME BALL!

And these Europeans and their flippity-flap flopping! Maybe Doc should have everyone in green grow a mullet and a beard so they get these calls that ALWAYS go against them. I mean ALWAYS. I swear, the next time I see some Luis Scola or Andres Nocioni or Chef Boyardee jump backwards fifteen feet into the stands when Perk turns his back to the hoop, I will climb out of my chair and kick that Eurotrash into the trash can! And I don’t care if these guys are from Argentina or wherever! I DON’T CARE! If you look like a scrubby walk-on from Easy Rider , and you fly through the air whenever Big Baby breaks wind on the other end of the court, then you are European, and you are KILLING. THIS. GAME. KILLING IT!

But, really, if I’m giving you my unvarnished opinion, and I am, it all comes down to the refs. I’d like to sit here and say that it’s just one or two that are spoiling it for everyone, but every single ref is responsible for this travesty. They are in desperate need of a refresher course on how to call a game. Like what the difference is between a charge and a block. Or what constitutes a moving pick. Or like what traveling looks like. I mean, did you see that clip of Corey Maggette traveling SIX TIMES before taking a shot? This isn’t the line-dancing bar! And there’s a ref RIGHT THERE in the corner looking at the play? What’s the ref looking at? Do I even want to know? Because I know for sure that he wasn’t watching the play, because if he was watching the play, he would have called a TRAVEL, and if he had EYES in his HEAD he would have called that travel SIX TIMES!

So, like I said, don’t get me started.  All I have to say is if it comes down to a Game 7 where Paul Pierce has five fouls, and LeBron James PUSHES Pierce away on a drive to the hoop to take the lead, I know which way the whistle’s gonna blow.  And don’t think I don’t know that you know I know, Mr. Commissioner.  Because I know.  Oh, I know all right.

Longtime Boston Celtics broadcaster Tom Heinsohn cares deeply for Big Baby & Brian Scalabrine, but his heart will always belong to WALTAH.