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I used to love the Lakers. They were my team. Magic high-dribbling down court with Byron Scott and James Worthy flanking. “Slaaaaaaaam dunk!” yelled Chick after Worthy punched the orange through the basket again. High-fives all the way back to where Kareem started the break.

It was not only Showtime, but a good time. That’s how I remember it. The Lakers as the good guys – knights in yellow and purple defending the NBA universe from shifty Irish leprechauns in Boston, tough guys in New York and pumped-up Pistons. They were golden basketball goodness and even if you desperately wanted to “Beat LA,” you couldn’t help but marvel at the show.

When I first saw the Chevy Chase film, Fletch, my Laker love was in full bloom. Not only did I laugh uncontrollably but I really related to the scene in which Fletch dreamt he was a Laker. I had that dream, playing along side Magic and Kareem, albeit with Chevy’s four inch afro. But it rang home a truth of the times – that the Lakers were not just basketball, they were pop culture. They were Pat Riley-cool.

Something happened on the way to the new millennium that seriously messed up the mystique though – probably that damn Y2K bug. The Lakers transformed. They started looking like evil Superman, a little off-color and in need of a shave. They were uninventive and unemotional. They were arrogant. They were just plain unfriendly! The lovable Lakers were no more.

Don’t remember the lovable Lakers? Well there was Mikan, he was pretty good. Had this drill where he’d lay up left to right without flinching. The guy would’ve been perfect to watch your house while paint dried. Baylor had style. And how about West – he invented “clutch”. Wilt was a monster. A friendly one though, like Shrek. Kareem’s hook was more addictive than the one the DJ revolved on Ice Ice Baby. Worthy, more than lived up to his billing and not even Copperfield knew Magic’s tricks.

When the Lakers won in 1988, their second straight, there was hardly a better team in pro sports and there was certainly no one more fun to watch. Just ask Jack and Dyan. A lil’ diddy, I Love LA, echoed through the Forum and had fans dancing. The Lakers were FANTASTIC.

But as these iconic Lakers faded from our sets like the color in Del Harris’ hair, we were presented with an inferior alternative. The post-Jerry West managed, post-Great Western Forum residing, post-Chick Hearn called Lakers resembled nothing of the organization I had grown to love over the years. Nothing of the class that embodied the team through decades of success and stacks of Hall of Famers. No, these were imitations – Fakers.

Even during the recent Lakers championship run, I didn't feel real love for the team as I had in the past. Kobe Bryant doesn't do it for me.

I want the magic feeling of old back in Los Angeles.