Game Time: Mavericks 111, Warriors 86

This critical Western Conference game (aren't they all?) was chock full of surprises.

Surprise No. 1

Must-read:

• Rosenthal: Pedro injury fallout
• Goodman: It takes a team
• Sign up for Fantasy baseball!

Must-see:

• On the Mark: Donnie Walsh time
• NCAA tourney video central

For more videos, click here.

Must-know:

• Poll: Fans like Clemens over Bonds

For all of today's rumors, click here.

Top headlines:

• Pedro to miss 4-6 weeks
• Dirk returns; Mavs pick up win
• Pau back for Lakers in victory

For all of today's top stories, click here.

Worth a thousand words:

• Elite Eight hoops action
• Best Damn's smokin' 16

For more photos, click here.

The wind slices through the basketball court, shaking the two bent rims and bowing a clump of weeds that sprouts through the asphalt along the far baseline. A pair of nervous young men prowl one of the baskets and shoot junk shots with a faded ABA ball. At the other basket, six teenagers play hooky and 3-on-3. A tall player with a clean-shaven head and a menacing, Oriental moustache dribbles at the top of the imaginary key. He wears a short-sleeved maroon sweatshirt, cut-off jeans and Nikes. His defender is shorter and warmer in a shabby blue parka.

The taller player dribbles furiously in one spot, twitching and feinting until at last his opponent tilts to his toes. Then a sharp spin to the right, a high-flying jump shot that clangs against the backboard and springs off the front rim. There's never any "retrieving" in the playground, so the errant shot transforms all six players into offensive rebounders.

The clean-headed youth snatches the ball and uncorks a fadeaway jumper.

"In your face," he says, but the shot misses.

Then a blue parka leaps from the pack and taps the ball through the hoop. It's winners out and the ballgame continues.

Suddenly a fire engine screams down the street. The men on the benches crane their necks. The two junkies try to hide in each other's shadows, but the basketball players know that turned heads allow easy layups, and the game goes on.

"Hey, man! " one of the men yells toward the basketball court. "It's a fire! Look! You can see the smoke!"

But the ballplayers perservere.

"Check this out," the man says to his benchmates, giggling. Then he turns to the basketball court and cups his hands around his mouth.

"Hey, Curly!" he shouts. "Ain't that your house burnin', man?"

The ballgame stops. Curly has just missed another jump shot.

"Yeah," he snarls. "Who cares? Nobody's home anyway. ... It's my ball, man. That joker was yellin' at me while I was shootin'. That's offensive interference."

The men on he bench quake with laughter, and even the junkies smile.

"You hear that?" one of the addicts whispers.

"Yeah," clucks the other as he scratches his forearm. "That poor dude. He got the worst Jones I ever saw."