Who says Vince McMahon isn't running the NBA? This was a throwback weekend in the truest sense of the word. Seriously, you couldn't have scripted it any better than it actually played out. What am I talking about, you ask? Okay, here we go.

In 1986,
Larry Bird -- the tallest, whitest guy in the Three-point Shootout -- won that contest. A little later, Spud Webb -- the shortest player (at 5 feet 7 inches) in the league -- won the Slam Dunk Competition.

In 2006, Dirk Nowitzki -- the tallest, whitest guy in the Three-point Shootout (who is, in fact, often compared to Larry Bird) -- won that contest. This despite the fact that he never should have made it out of the first round (his final shot came after time expired...but nobody except the announcers, the audience, and the other participants noticed).

The tallest, whitest, and ugliest
Three-point Champ since Larry Bird.

A little later, Nate Robinson -- the shortest player (at 5 feet 9 inches) in the league -- won the Slam Dunk Competition. And he did it by, get this, dunking over Spud Webb.

Yeah, it's impressive. I guess. But he is only 5'7".

I mean, come on. To have not one but both of these things happen on the same night would be one thing. But to have them happen on the 20th anniversary of the last time the same sort of thing took place? This can't be a coincidence. It just can't.

What made me absolutely sure that McMahon is running the show was
David Stern's interview with the TNT cast. Did you see him? He looked like a animatronic puppet. A cheap one. I'll believe Triumph The Insult Comic Dog is a real Yugoslavian Mountain Hound before you convince me that...thing...was the real David Stern. I know Bill Simmons supposedly interviewed Stern this week, but that's just part of the conspiracy.

Which might make for a different, much scarier point. Maybe Vince McMahon has nothing to do with any of this. Maybe it's all part of a
Terminator-style robot conquest of the planet. And if that's the case, we're in more trouble than I thought. So consider this fair warning. Don't get the wrong idea, though. I'm not trying to save the world or anything. If I gave a crap about saving the world, I'd be a parking lot attendant. Or a rodeo clown. No, I'm warning you now so that when robots are walking across the landscape of our laser-blasted skeletons, I can say "I told you so."