Dear NBA,

Quit with the rolling over.

Enough of the whining.

"Oooooh, the Lakers are so good, oooooh the Lakers have four Hall of Famers. Nobody can beat the Lakers."

	Sure, they look intimidating. But they could be as vulnerable as Shaq's big toe.

Shut up.

You still have to play them, right? And if you're going to play them you should come ready and looking to beat them, don't you think?

Yeah, they've won 10 straight and 18 of the first 21.

So they're good. So what. Be a man, Mookie. Take it to 'em.

You don't see it? All right, I'll get you started. Here are six ways to beat the Lakers six ways from Sunday and, listen up Dallas, once tonight.

1. Make it a road game. The Lakers are only 6-3 on the road so far. That's hardly intimidating. I know tonight's game is at Staples, but come on, Steve, Dirk, Antoine, you guys have seen "Bull Durham," right? "You want a rainout? I can get us a rainout." Somebody find the sprinklers is all I'm saying. How hard can it be? Next thing you know, you're playing at the Pond in Anaheim. Karl Malone is stuck in an Orange County traffic snarl and misses the first half. Gary Payton and Shaq are all out of sync because of the way their uniform colors clash with the hideous green on the arena floor. Bingo. You're right in it. Oh, and as long as we're doing the "Durham" thing, don't forget to breathe through your eyelids, and, if you're ready to go all the way ... the rose goes in the front, big guy.

2. Psychological warfare. Forget the Colorado court thing -- they're all inured to that talk by now. And never mind the Shaq-Kobe rift -- that's tired, too. You want to strike deep? During warmups, float down to their end of the floor and tell a few of the guys how much you're enjoying the books Phil sent you. The public word is that the players think Jackson's book club is a joke, but privately the guys are way into it. They see each hand-picked recommendation as a sign of approval and affection, as a secret bond between themselves and their leader. If they thought for one moment that Phil was reading with somebody else they'd lose it. I can see the first time-out huddle now: Phil says to Devean, "I want you to trap when the ball comes across half-court." Devean says to Phil, "Why don't you ask Antoine to do it, you like him so much." You know what Willie Shakespeare said: "Jealousy is the green-eyed monster that does mock the meat it feeds on." Hmm-hmm. That's what I'm talking about.

	C'mon, even Reggie Miller took on Kobe. And let's not forget Doug Christie getting the upperhand on Rick Fox.

3. Kung Fu. The bully is too big, strong, and mean. You're too small, slow, and timid. You're ripe for a world-class beating. You know it. The bully knows it. The bystanders gathered around all know it, too. Then, just when this entirely predictable and unbearably ugly scene is about to be played out, you go fists of fury, arms akimbo, and feet flying, and you let loose a cry that comes from the diaphragm and reaches for the rafters. After that, you're a bad, bad man capable of anything; a crazed warrior whose appendages ought to be registered as lethal weapons. And the bully? He's a quivering mass of jello, jiggling as far and as fast as he can in the other direction. It works. You see it in the movies all the time.

4. Believe. You think Mike Eruzione and the boys at Lake Placid hit the ice meek? Hell no. Those plucky little madmen knew, the way you and I and Annie know the sun'll come up tomorrow, that they were going to kick the big, bad bear's wooly behind. You think Jimmy V hoped his kids could take down Phi Slamma Jamma? He was sure of it. You think the Sports Guy and the Pats maybe, kinda, sorta gave themselves a chance against the Rams in XXXVI? Look back at the tape: they all had the sneaky grin of self-certainty and fearlessness. It's the underdog's edge. It's a heart and soul thing. It's a self-actualization thing. It's an American thing, going all the way back to a pissed-off, disrespected, and scrappy militia going head-to-head with a fat, confident, well-dressed band of blue-bloods. Tap into it.

5. Get yourself an old-fashioned, brass-tacks coach. Two of the three Lakers losses so far this year came at the hands of Memphis and Detroit, which is to say they came at the hands of Mr. Hubie Brown and Mr. Larry Brown. The Zen Master is good, no doubt, but he can be had by a master of the old ways it seems. So start making some calls. I hear Bill Fitch is still available and still alive. Ditto Cotton Fitzsimmons, Red Auerbach, and the venerable genius, John Wooden. If you're willing to think outside the box, I understand Earl Weaver is considering a return to coaching, as well. And if you're willing to think way outside the box, you might want to enquire about hiring the disembodied spirit of Billy Martin, George Halas, or Red Holzman as a special consultant in charge of Zen trumping and back-to-basics, teach-these-whipper-snappers-a-thing-or-two strategizing.

	Looks like Shaq might have trouble with checkers, too.

6. Change the game. Sure, they're real good at basketball, but do we know what they can do beyond that? I'm saying show up to the arena with chess boards, maybe darts, or a foosball table. I'm saying, maybe you can take 'em in Xbox -- Karl and Gary are old, Shaq's got those big, clumsy fingers. Or Trivial Pursuit. Scrabble? Bocci ball? Marbles? There's gotta be a weakness somewhere. It won't count in the standings, sure, but a win's a win. And every time you hit the floor against them from here on out, they'll know, whatever happens, you own them in some small way. It may take some time, but after a while, that'll wear on them. After a while, they'll show up to the arena with chess boards, looking to get even.

6a. Kidnap Jack. (I know I said 6, but you look so pathetic, sitting there waiting for the executioner, so I'm throwing in a freebie.) Get your hands on the Hollywood legend and the whole town grinds to a halt. The mayor cancels games, shuts down freeways, and holds tearful, desperate press conferences pleading for Nicholson's safe return. Studio execs run through the streets starving, hysterical, naked, howling at the moon. Underfed starlets and menopausal moms throw themselves in front of buses, unable to go on without him. You hold Jack for a few days, let things bubble up to a nice, hot panic level, and then you make a call and say you'd be willing to return him in exchange for a W, or, if you're feeling lucky, for a series full of them, say, come May.

There. See? It doesn't seem so hard to take them now, does it? I didn't think so.

Now get to work.

Oh, and if none of this stuff seems to do the trick, you might try, I don't know, pressing them for 94 feet, aggressively defending the high post pick-and-roll, fast-breaking on every missed bucket, pulling Shaq out of the middle with a good shooting night from your post man, and tying Kobe's shoes together.

If none of that works, you probably want to think about signing Stone Cold Steve Austin away from the WWE to play the 5 spot, or, better yet, the other Steve Austin. You know the one I mean: "We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to make the world's first Bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better ... stronger ... faster." I hear he's a monster on the blocks.

Eric Neel is a regular columnist for Page 2.