Have a nice day. No really.

King James decided to head South. And I don’t care.

It is doubtful that I am the only person in the country who doesn’t care that LeBron James took his act to Miami. He’s from Ohio and knows how crappy the weather is in Cleveland, even though the game of pro basketball is played indoors. Too bad, actually. The NBA ought to have some outdoor games like the NHL does with their Winter Classic — the 2011 game is New Year’s Day at Heinz Field in Pittsburgh. I would love to see Shaq and Kobe and some of the big men shoot it out in Lambeau Field in January.

Of the most popular pro sports, basketball is my least favorite. That is part of the reason I didn’t care one way or the other about the super-hyped LeBron Sweepstakes. Sure it was a lot about LeBron saying: “Look at me.” Although the whole deal with Dewayne Wade and Chris Bosh along with the possibility of Hall of Famer Pat Riley coaching, if he returns to the bench from the Heat front office, could turn out to be one of the most brilliant moves in professional sports. Or not. I just don’t give a flying puck.

One thing I will say for pro basketball: Stamina. But that is a quality required in large doses in many other sports, yes, even in futbol. Oh, and there is one more word essential to the NBA: Money. Lots and lots of money.

Those poor schmoes in Cleveland who had their hearts broken by LeBron King James, one has to believe, just didn’t have enough money. What makes a young man stray long distances from the only home he has ever known? Money. Or the military. Or a two-timing girlfriend. Or college. Or the circus. Or San Francisco. There is a long list after all. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe the “Deal of the Century” involving the Miami Heat doesn’t evolve around money. But I don’t think so.

That is because money is so, so important to so, so many people. Why this woman from the billing office of a local Catholic hospital was just plain un-Holy this morning when she called me out of my late-sleeping slumber and asked why I hadn’t paid my bill. The reason was that it was a worker’s comp claim my employers owe. But you’d have thought I had taken all of the money straight out of this woman’s pocketbook and snatched one of her babies. She ended the phone conversation with one of those really snide “Have a nice days.”

I had a lady tell me “Have a nice day” at the dump other day. As a matter of fact, she got really into telling me to have a nice day and then finally said she hoped God would take away my pain that made me so angry. I told her that He needn’t bother, that my pain would disappear in about 10 seconds when she was no longer in my rear view mirror.

Well, I’ve strayed off the path now. My whole train of thought has just jumped the tracks and started folding down a cliff like a Cajun accordion at a fais-do-do. Ay-yee!

It is time to put a merciful end to this post. So keep cool and well fed. Until next time, this is your old buddy EFD saying “Your feet only smell when someone can smell them.”