Sometimes, journalism is pretty stupid.

After spending most of last semester with BBC News as my homepage, I realized that I rarely ventured to read anything past the headlines and recently switched back to LATimes.com. It was during this rediscovery that I began reading more of T.J. Simers’ sports columns and, subsequently, noticing how annoying this man is.

It’s not that he fails to make any valid points in his writing — it really doesn’t take a genius to analyze sports — but rather that he goes about it in such an obviously pompous manner. There’s a fine line between being provocative and being an ass, and Simers definitely crosses it. From what I’ve read, it appears as if his reporting skills consist of baiting and insulting people, and then writing about how ridiculous they are for getting angry at him.

Sometimes his columns just lose focus from going after too many different topics. In his efforts to come across as witty and scathing, Simers has gratuitously attempted to mock such targets as a Hall-of-Fame coach, a mid-major college basketball team, and an entire city. He also has a disturbing fondness for using crappy nicknames.

With his latest column responding to the Lakers’ 15th championship run, Simers has officially secured his spot as my least favorite sportswriter. I suppose I could just stop reading his stuff, but I have too much time on my hands right now and too big of an appetite for almost anything sports-related (especially when the MLB is the only league not in its off-season).

Here are my step-by-step responses to some of his comments.

(Normally I would just bitch about this to one of my friends over AIM, but my post-Taiwan jet lag has me waking up much earlier than I normally would — sometime after 3 a.m. today — when most of my friends aren’t awake to be bitched to.)

The Lakers won. Yippee, hooray for them and all that stuff.

Um … right. Interesting way to start your article, seeing as how you cover sports. Last time I checked, championships are sort of important in sports.

Kobe did it without Shaq, because he had Pau.

Yes. And Shaq did it without Kobe, because he had Dwyane.

Enjoy it while you can, everyone, because Councilman Bernard Parks is already predicting there will be no Lakers dynasty, no back-to-back championships in his argument to have the city pay for a parade.

Fuck, Bernard Parks doesn’t think we’ll win next year. Why bother even playing next season then? How can the Lakers possibly succeed when someone with the basketball knowledge of Mr. Parks believes otherwise?

At the risk of being blasted as a hater, so much anger out there and everything in sports today taken to the extreme, a victory doesn’t suddenly make unlikable athletes likable.

A lot of athletes aren’t likable. As long as they win, though, it usually doesn’t matter. That’s sort of the way sports works. You being a dick about it doesn’t really change anything.

The folks who live in San Francisco came to their feet cheering a malcontent and social misfit like Barry Bonds because he wore a San Francisco Giants uniform and was a great baseball player. I would imagine most of you considered that foolish.

Keep that in mind as Phil, Kobe & Co. pass by on Wednesday.

My memory’s a little fuzzy, but I seem to remember that Barry Bonds was on ‘roids. Yes, Kobe was on trial for rape, but he’s done a spectacular job rebuilding his image. While that might not count much toward his actual character, it certainly does count when you try to market yourself to a consumer base. Bonds never bothered with that. A lot of jerks have been and will continue to be celebrated as sports heroes; winning erases a lot of misdeeds, especially when they’re not connected to cheating on the field.

But now there will be a parade here, so everyone can pay homage to a bunch of people blessed by God with extraordinary athletic ability, but in some cases, the social skills that would make them outcasts in many workplaces.

Wouldn’t you like to see the look on Gasol’s face if your boss yelled at him?

Social skills aren’t necessary in every line of work. If Gasol can finish a lay-up on a behind-the-back dish from Kobe, I could care less whether or not he gets yelled at by my boss.

You want to have a parade and scream your lungs out for a job well done, then invite the young men and women returning from Iraq and Afghanistan to walk down Figueroa Street and be feted like heroes in the Coliseum.

That’s actually a good idea. So again, why did you decide to cover sports instead? I admit that in the big picture, sports aren’t important, especially relative to the amount of time and attention given to it. In some cases, though, sports can still uplift and inspire.

My head hurts a little now.

2009 WORLD CHAMPIONS.

99-86. 4-1. A video to commemorate the Lakers’ 15th championship in franchise history:

Thank you, Derek Fisher.

Here's to the beginning of another dynasty.

That’s not what a hamburger’s all about.

I haven’t had a burger in a while.

I haven’t had a good burger in an even longer while.

Taiwan will not be the place where this while ends.

Socially conscious rap not included.

According to Wikipedia, the MOS in MOS Burger stands for “Mountain, Ocean, Sun.” I dunno about you, but I’d assumed it was just short for “most.” Sort of like Mos Def. (Speaking of whom, “The Ecstatic” apparently came out two days ago and was rated 8.0/10 by Pitchfork. I didn’t even realize he’d made anything since “The New Danger.”)

You don’t see too many burger places on the rough-and-tumble streets of Taiwan. (Yes, the Arches here are just as golden, but the Californian in me refuses to acknowledge them as anything other than restroom stops.) After seeing the Japanese franchise’s large M signs around — what is it with fast food places and M signs? — I finally decided to give the place a shot at the high-speed rail station in Taoyuan.

When I was ordering, I failed to realize that my selection wasn't limited to those five photo panels.

While we stared up at the menu from the line, a woman walked out and asked to take our order. Being illiterate in Chinese, I just pointed out the one that looked like it was beef. (It was.) While my dad waited at near the counter for our food, I ventured deeper into the store in search of a table, a task that took longer than expected. (The seating area was surprisingly crowded, though I suppose the fact that food in the HSR station could only be found either here or the 7-11 had something to do with that.)

As our tray of burgers arrived seven-ish minutes later, they came with disappointment. A disappointment which set in before the stamped styrofoam wraps even came off.

Instead of the satisfaction I had so craved, I was instead greeted by a small mound roughly the size of my palm, along with a sad-looking salad.

Once I peeled back the wrapping though, disappointment was replaced by astonishment.

Um ... what?

There was no bun. No muffin. Not even some sort of toast.

Instead, the strips of beef and lettuce were sandwiched between two circular rice composites, each individual grain stuck to the next in some sort of unholy union.

What blasphemy was this? I had ordered a burger and received a beef bowl sans the bowl.

Needless to say, the concoction left me unfilled, unsatisfied, and a little disgusted. I admit that it was far from the worst thing I ever tasted — just depressingly mediocre — but that such a thing was birthed from the minds of (wo)men led me to question humanity’s worth.

Sad day, it was.