Following a series of increasingly hostile negotiations with a certain Lalonde, I've been contractually obligated to subject myself to a screening of the 1997 cinematic masterpiece Air Bud, a landmark achievement in sports filmmaking wherein a golden retriever exploits a legislative oversight to infiltrate the world of competitive basketball. The founding fathers of the NBA, in their infinite wisdom, neglected to establish a clear precedent against canine participation, leaving the door wide open for some four-legged motherfucker to come galloping onto the hardwood and dunk on the dreams of every aspiring sixth-grade athlete within a twenty-mile radius. This is the sort of shit that would've had James Naismith rolling in his grave, assuming he wasn't too busy contemplating why he'd nailed a peach basket to a wall in the first place. Anyway, expect a comprehensive review in the near future. No spoilers, please. I don't wanna know who wins.