There is a draft blowing in the NBA and it is blowing East. After years of Western supremacy, the tide seems to be shifting, finally, to the Eastern Conference. The Celtics championship romp over the Lakers not only established Boston as the league's top team, but suggested that Detroit, which in the Eastern Conference Finals also fell to the Celts in six games, may have been the runner-up. The Celtics provided further evidence of that--evidence most experts ignored in their playoff predictions--by going a remarkable 25-5 against the West during the regular season. And the Piston's mark of 22-8 against the rival conference represented a higher winning percentage than any Western team managed against its own. (The Lakers' 37-15 was the West's top interconference mark.)

And at last night's draft the only two players regarded as true difference-makers, Memphis' Derrick Rose and K State's Michael Beasley, both landed in the Eastern Conference--and both with teams that are considered far better than their record. Rose went to the Bulls, which got lottery lucky to snare the first pick despite having only the 9th worst record in the league. The Bulls have an impressive array of young talent, even if is mismatched and overlaps too much at the guard position, and was actually expected to contend in the East this past season. The addition of Rose should move Chicago quickly into the East's upper echelon.

Miami, which got Beasley with the second pick, will be three seasons removed (and minus Shaq) since its NBA championship. But the fastest way for any decent team to make a big leap forward is to sink all the way to the bottom because its best player is injured, enabling it to snare a second superstar in the draft. San Antonio did that in 1997 when, after losing center David Robinson for the season, it managed to draft Tim Duncan to twin with Robinson. Two seasons later the Spurs won their first title. With Dwyane Wade returning from injury and Shawn Marion, the key addition from trading Shaq, the Heat has an impressive triumvirate to rebuild around.

Other top teams in the East, like Orlando and Cleveland, are built around young superstars Dwight Howard and LeBron James and should continue to improve. And Toronto appears to have pulled off the coup of draft day by landing a perennial all-star in Jermaine O'Neal to play alongside Chris Bosh at a price of only their second best point guard, the talented, but oft-injured T.J. Ford, and a middling first-round draft pick. Label the Raptors instant contenders. While plenty of talent and talented teams--L.A., New Orleans, Utah--remain in the West (including the two difference-makers out of last year's draft, Greg Oden and Kevin Durant, neither of whom made any difference this past season), contenders like the Spurs with Duncan, the Suns with Steve Nash and Shaq and the Mavericks with Jason Kidd all appear to be be showing signs of age and inevitable decline.

Tides do shift. The East won the NBA Title. The NFC won the Super Bowl. And maybe the National League can finally win an All-Star Game. (Reader warning: Don't bet on the latter.)

There is so much good to write about Euro 2008, starting with the fact that ESPN/ABC's live telecast of every single contest suggests that American soccer fans need remain in the closet no longer.

The games themselves have been stellar. I could write about the robust Germans and the rekindled luster of their captain, Michael Ballack, who, at times, this season had seemed less than himself in Chelsea's star-studded attack. Or I could write about Turkey, the "Cardiac Kids" as the announcers have dubbed them, who have won over the fans with their heart and resilience in last-second, comeback wins over the Czech Republic and Croatia. Or I could write about Russia's relentless, attacking football, defying conventional strategy by keeping the pedal to the metal in overtime to dispatch the heavily favored Dutch. Or I could write about the young Turks of Spain (and one brilliant elder in the goal), who apparently weren't aware that it is always Spain's place to fold in a crucial match, especially against Italy--and outlasted Italy for their first win over the Azzurri in a major tournament since the 1924 Olympics.

But first I really need to rant about the Italians. Italy was my first love in international soccer, the byproduct of a long-ago assignment to profile the great Roberto Baggio. Today there is no trace of the stylish and creative team that won my heart. Indeed the Italians are the most cynical, unappealing squad in the upper ranks of the game. Offense is a secondary (or thirdary) consideration. Sure, Italy will counterattack on occasion and hope Luca Toni can get his head on the ball for a goal. But they are more fearful about getting caught without at least seven men back on defense. Spain outshot Italy by about 3-1, but most were futile, frustrated blasts from too great a distance. Italy's defense clogs the middle and seldom finds itself out of position. From the opening touch against Spain you sensed that Italy has but one mission--to defend for 120 minutes and wait for the penalty shootout. To abet the team's goal, the Italians dive, they flop, they feign injuries, they shove, they grab shirts and anything else within their reach and, of course, as we remember from the 2006 World Cup, they taunt and insult. And they don't care that nobody likes them or their game much any more.

Much like the NBA's famed "Bad Boys" in Detroit, Italy defies the ref to blow his whistle all match long and count on him, as he grows accustomed to the Italians' high level of mischief and mayhem, not to make any decisive calls against them. In Sunday's quarter-final, the German ref did, in fact, blow the whistle all match long. But he never dared penalize Italy for their worst offenses; he certainly missed one penalty kick for Spain and possibly a few more. And for some reason, he was willing to halt Spanish attacks to tend to Italian players faking an injury back downfield. (Credit to ESPN's Andy Gray for noting this wretched officiating performance as it was happening.) One notable faker, Antonio Di Natale, was jeered by the crowd for the rest of the match and some kind of justice was served when he missed his penalty kick in the shooout. When Spain survived, thanks to some heroics by its goalkeeper captain Iker Casillas, my elation far exceeded that of a few hours later when Kevin Youkilis smashed a walkoff home run for the Red Sox in the 13th inning. Viva Espana!

The officiating has been the spottiest part of the tournament and, particularly in group play, there were a host of botched calls--offsides missed both ways, questionable penalties, dubious cards both yellow and red. That is more the rule than the exception in these big soccer tournaments. The European like their game the way it is and are more tolerant or at least understand that bad officiating is an inevitable byproduct of soccer's refusal to avail itself of modern technology. If some of these games were NBA playoff contest, a fullscale Congressional investigation would already have been launched.

Now that I have all that off my chest, on to the Final Four, though it is hard to imagine the semi-finals Wednesday and Thursday, Germany vs. Turkey, Spain vs. Russia, matching the excitement of those riveting quarter-finals.

Yesterday afternoon I told all my Boston buddies that Game 4 was the Celtics' best hope to win a game in L.A. because the "fix" was in.

Not the kind of fix alleged by disgraced ex-ref Tim Donaghy, himself a convicted fixer for gambling interests, who said that some refs affected the outcome of games at the behest of the NBA--prolonging series, favoring marquee teams and protecting star players. But rather the kind of fix that is repair or damage control.

Earlier in the week NBA commissioner David Stern had hoped to make the embarrassment that was the Donaghy mess go away with his trademark, withering glower and a few dismissive "consider the source" remarks. But a few days later Stern was still playing defense, if only because every NBA fan believes, at the very least, that league's officiating is often inept and biased and too many believe there is some core truth in Donaghy's charges.

The result of all that was advantage Boston. The NBA clearly preferred the Lakers to win Game 4, tying the Finals at two games apiece and setting up a ratings blockbuster Sunday night. But with Donaghy's allegations hovering, you just knew that the the officials would do everything in their power to call a fair game, unlike the previous two games where--first in Boston, then in L.A.--the refs appeared to be wearing home uniforms and produced huge free-throw discrepancies in favor of the home side. In fact, before the game I bet a pal that the two teams would wind up shooting an identical number of free throws and I consider L.A. 29 attempts, Boston 28 well within the margin of error.

With as much attention on the refs as on Kobe and KG, the Lakers lost the biggest part of the home-court advantage--it isn't having Jack Nicholson and Dyan Cannon courtside--at the Staples Center, where the team hadn't lost since March. Of course, my homecourt disadvantage theory looked pretty foolish in the first half when the Lakers went up by as many as 24 and walked off the court with an 18-point lead. The Lakers got most of the calls in that half too, but deservedly so as the far more aggressive team. But when the Celtics went on a second-half tear and a few ill-timed whistles or marginally bad calls might have derailed them, the calls went their way--again to the more aggressive team. And a fair shake from the refs turned out to be just enough for Boston to produce the greatest comeback in NBA Finals and take a 3-1 lead in the Series.

In 1973 I fell in love for the first time--with a horse that is. I had never even been to a racetrack when my newspaper sent me to cover the Kentucky Derby. When I watched "Big Red", aka Secretariat, work out for the first time, well it was love at first sight. To this day, I  have never seen a horse with more intelligence and character in his face. On Derby Day, I backed my guy to the hilt, which back then meant a $10 play on the nose. I knew this was no place or show kind of animal.

That may seem obvious looking back, but not so that day. Secretariat had stumbled in his prep race, losing the Wood Memorial. And a lot of the smart money was on the great Sham, who would challenge Secretariat all the way to the wire in both the Derby and the Preakness. (Sham's time in the Derby would stand as the second fastest ever for another 28 years.) I confess I was so small-time that I even cashed my winning ticket.

My love affair never abated. When Secretariat won the Belmont Stakes by the still take-my-breath away 31 lengths to become the first Triple Crown winner since the great Citation back in 1948, I began weeping with several furlongs to go. A portrait of Secretariat by the wonderful photographer Henry Horenstein hangs in an honored place in my home, far bigger and more prominently displayed than any family picture.

I was and remain for "Big Red" forever. And, frankly, I admit I was a little distressed when both Seattle Slew and Affirmed won Triple Crowns so soon after, as if that made it seem too easy and somehow depreciated Secretariat's accomplishment. Of course the next three decades have disabused us of that notion. Since Affirmed in '78, 11 horses have won the first two legs only to come up short in the Belmont. I confess I rooted against some of those lovely horses in the '70s and '80s--Spectacular Bid, Pleasant Colony, Alysheba and Sunday Silence. But by '97, with Silver Charm, I was ready for another horse to pull of the feat and I have rooted fervently for them all--Real Quiet, Charismatic (especially Charismatic, a horse in Secretariat's family tree), War Emblem, Funny Cide and Smarty Jones. Of course, to no avail.

But I draw the line at rooting for Big Brown, who is not only going for the glory in tomorrow's Belmont Stakes, but eliciting--for my taste--far too many comparisons to Secretariat. I knew Secretariat and Big Brown is no "Big Red". His winning time at the Derby would have had him too far back even to eat Secretariat's dust. His opposition has been especially undistinguished. Secretariat not only beat the great Sham, but a fine horse in Our Native; Forego, who would go on to be Horse of the Year three years in a row in the mid-70s, finished fourth in that race.

Big Brown appears to be a fine horse, but every revelation about the horse and his team is a turnoff. I understand that steroids are legal. Still, the revelation that Big Brown ran on steroids in the first two legs is dismaying, given what we have learned about the advantages they provide human runners. His trainer, Rick Dutrow, has a checkered past, with a number of racing violations on his record, and for some reason he feels compelled to show his confidence with the kind of trash-talking that has even gone out of fashion in the NBA. His ownership team, which includes a principal with a background of financial irregularities on Wall Street, has appears so anxious to cash in on a champions that some expect Big Brown may never race again after the Belmont--retiring to stud after only six races without invigorating the sport as only a Triple Crown winner can.

While the Big Brown team has said they intend to race the horse in the Travers at Saratoga and in the Breeders Cup Classic this fall, a cracked heel provides plenty of retirement excuses. One can understand the lure of easy money at stud. Smarty Jones, even after losing the Belmont, commands six-figure fees. for his services. But a rapid retirement for Big Brown would further damage a wounded sport, confirming what many already feel--that the sport has become all about investment rather than racing and the fans. Even if Big Brown wins and goes on to fulfill the commitment with two more races, nobody expects the horse to race past his three-year-old season. Affirmed, by contrast, raced after the Belmont, losing twice to the older Triple Crown winner, Seattle Slew. And in his four-year-old season, Affirmed would win his last seven races, capping his career by defeating the great Spectacular Bid to capture Horse of the Year honors.

As I said, Big Brown is no Secretariat. And he's no Affirmed either. I can wait another year, or even ten, for a Triple Crown. With Secretariat's place in the pantheon secure, I am happy to share the glory. It's just that I prefer the horse and his team to be truly worthy.