Sports desk: Dumptruq in tha house!

Ever wake up with Gary Glitter’s “Rock and Roll, Pt. 2” pounding between your ears? Typically, it’s a sign from On High that you’ve been indulging in too many sporting events, televised or live. Nevertheless, with the Kings in the Western Conference finals, how can anyone in this town avoid that grim fate? (At least it’ll erase any memory of that heinous Barenaked Ladies song from that Mitsubishi Lancer commercial, right?)

They kept going back to Gary Glitter the other night at Arco, when the Kings put the kibosh on any idea of a Lakers sweep. A friend with season ducats had called earlier, and so there we were staring at Charles Barkley 10 feet away in that butt-ugly camel-colored suit he was wearing, wanting to ask him about “Coors Light Buffoons Night Out” or whatever it is he shills, when that damned Gary Glitter started up again. You’ve gotta appreciate the irony that a jackbooted tune that’ll probably make the cut when Commander Bush moves into his Nuremburg Rally phase (“Ba na na na … Heil!”) was created by a guy who keeps getting busted for having pictures of naked lads in his computer.

As everyone knows, the Kings took care of bidness, which means they held Dumptruq O’Neal to 35 points, prompting him to whine later: “In order to beat us, you have to beat us fair and square. There is only one way to beat us. It starts with a ‘C’ and ends with a ‘T.’ ” Yes, it’s nice that Dumptruq has a firm grasp on his math; if you can count more points than your opponent at game’s end, you win! (Unless you have the Supreme Court in your pocket to change the count.) And speaking of cheating, why hasn’t Dumptruq complied with the DMV ruling that stipulates he needs to attach a heavy-equipment beeper to his ass for his post-up game, so opposing players who might get fouls called on them can get out of his path safely?

Not wanting to try to locate Jack Nicholson for our usual post-playoff game blunt (where’s Jack been, anyway?), I set off to try to locate the evil Burger King that served Kobe Bryant his poison Shaq Pack, as a dharma move to make nice with Phil Jackson Rinpoche for the Kings’ ugly win. After realizing that Kobe should stick with Mickey D if he’s gonna pimp their sludge to the kids, I motored over to the True Love Coffeehouse for some herbal tea, hoping to hear some soothing folk music or something suitably vegan.

Which was not to be. Stone Cold Steve Austin was on the tube, rasslin’ fans were in the crowd, and some guy in El Kabongo makeup was dissing Kings fans. Ever since I got booted for life from Memorial Auditorium for mixing it up with a drunk granny over “scientific wrestling” vs. “rulebreaking,” I’ve steered clear of that squared circle. But jeez, where in this town can a fella hear “Kumbaya” while sipping some Sleepytime? Out.