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A shocking admission

I'm not ordinarily a huge fan of watching women's basketball, but I'm happy that it exists. After all, I spent most of my childhood convinced that someday I was going to play in the NBA (despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary) -- if little girls want to have the same delusions dream about the WNBA, more power to them.

Last night while flipping through the channels, I happened to stumble across Game 3 of the WNBA Finals between the Detroit Shock and Phoenix Mercury. It was early in the first quarter ... and I ended up watching the rest of the game (the Shock won, and now lead the best of five series 2-1). I didn't plan on it, it just sort of happened.

Maybe I did it because it's September and there's no NBA action in sight, or maybe it was because Bill Laimbeer is miked up on the sidelines and I felt nostalgic listening to him ream out the referees. Or, maybe despite my best efforts to remain cynical, it was a close game and the play on the court was quite entertaining.

I'm not sure I'll ever change my schedule to catch a regular season game, but there's something oddly compelling about championship-level basketball. They're playing hard basketball out there, diving after loose balls, throwing elbows in the paint and basically showing the same level of intensity you'd expect from any professional athlete. I know that probably sounds condescending -- what else should I have expected? -- but it's an honest observation. And it's enough that I'll probably be tuning in on Thursday at 8:30 to see if the Shock can close it out.

Commence making fun of me in the comments starting ... now.