Today's NBA public-address announcers are completely out of hand. We're fairly lucky in Oakland, where Matt Hurwitz is among the new breed of high-volume types. I preferred the calm and measured tones of Dick Callahan, who worked the table for 18 years, but Hurwitz respects the game. He coincides his enthusiasm with that of the crowd, which makes him somewhat unusual among a crowd of complete idiots.

It's totally common now for some PA guy to blurt out "Dee-fense!" or "Hey, let's make some noise!" as the opposing team comes down the floor. At any moment in Salt Lake City, you'll hear a screeching "How 'bout them Jazz!" In the hallowed halls of Madison Square Garden, once home to John Condon and the essentially classy "That was Walt Frazier or whomever" after a bucket, the new guy embarrassed the Knicks' Danilo Gallinari this season by drawing out his name in a thick Italian accent, mispronouncing it while the sound system played "That's Amore."

Then there's the current den of modern-day sin, Denver, where announcer Kyle Speller might yell, "That's what I'm talkin' about!" after a home-team dunk, or ask, as the ball goes out of bounds, "Whose ball?"

The Nuggets' fans are supposed to answer, "Nuggets ball!" Sadly, they do.

To me, this will be part of Commissioner David Stern's legacy, blithely standing by while the atmosphere in his cherished arenas went to hell. He goes along with it, claiming it appeals to the new demographic and that attendance would drop if things were quieter, but he's wrong. As such, he disrespects the game as badly as those NBA players who carry guns into strip clubs or get arrested for late-night street fights.

I was fortunate enough to visit the old Boston Garden seven or eight times, and for anyone with a sense of the game's history, it was a bit like walking into an ancient European church. You got the feeling not much had changed since the Bob Cousy years, and the only nonbasketball sounds - at the breaks, not during play - came from organist John Kiley, cranking out cheery old standards on his Hammond C-3.

Philadelphia, back then, was a different story. The PA announcer was Dave Zinkoff, who was in his 70s by the time Dr. J took on Bird's Celtics. He was a crusty old sort, with a style all his own, belting out "Two minutes left in the quah-TAH!" and other gems, including a gentle reminder after the first of two free throws "He has ... anotha". It was hard to take issue with Zink, who, for all anyone knew, had been born in the building and could do anything he pleased.

It's uncertain which organization committed the first unspeakable act, but things began going sour in the late '80s, when the Chicago Bulls turned the pregame introductions into a three-act play, and few organizations resisted the temptation to dive straight down the sinkhole. Oddly, the "Tinseltown" Lakers set the tone for integrity, leaving the PA up to stately Lawrence Tanter a cool, quiet presence since 1982, while the Laker Girls entertained during the breaks.

Everywhere else, you don't know what might happen, even during a 20-second timeout. Here come six clowns with gymnastic mats, people actually taking shots at the basket a sacrilege or guys wearing funny hats as they hum along the floor on roller wheels. It's amazing to me that the Warriors , or any other team, actually believe they'd lose fans if they stopped all this nonsense.

"There's far too much noise," says ABC/ESPN announcer Mike Breen, "especially for fans who actually care about the game and like to talk Basketball during the timeouts. And I hate pumped-up music when the ball is in play. I see no reason for it."

No kidding. I'd love to get a close-up look at any marketing person who thinks it's funny when the foreboding "Jaws" music gets played during an opponent's possession, or how "The Addams Family" theme is supposed to brighten the mood. That's a person who wouldn't know good taste from a rotten tomato.

Lakers coach Phil Jackson said he was watching the introductions in Cleveland one night, "thinking how ridiculous it is that we spent four or five minutes of national television time on this. If the commissioner said, 'Let's just cut this out and go back to basic introductions without the fanfare,' we'd be a little more green, I think, in the NBA."

Stern did speak up once. That's when a San Antonio-New Orleans playoff game was delayed 20 minutes last year when they couldn't put out a flaming hoop. "The noise, the fire and the smoke is the kind of assault we should seriously consider reviewing," Stern said, "whether it's really necessary, given the quality of our game."

Result: No more setting fire to any arenas. The rest of the garbage goes completely unchecked, led by the men armed with microphones. One of the Warriors' executives recalled a game in Denver two or three years ago, when the Nuggets had taken a 20-point lead with two minutes left and the PA guy shouted, "And the Warriors' team bus is warming up."

That's the league you've got right now, Mr. Stern. Class act.