AI in sports writing? Perhaps not yet, but alas, something wicked this way comes

Artificial intelligence, as we have come to understand, will destroy the world.

If you think that’s traumatic, it’s nothing compared to the horror AI just caused me.

I’d been thinking about writing a column about enjoying the Oklahoma City Thunder and Indiana Pacers in the NBA Finals though I don’t have any fondness for Oklahoma or Indiana. You know me, a vibrant, happening, New York/L.A. kind of cat.

However, I’ve never liked the deep-pocket Dodgers or Yankees or Lakers. I like teams from the Rust Belt, where glitz dives into dark alleys to hide. Ah, there’s a half-baked column there, I thought, discussing the hypocrisy of rooting for teams whose cities I shun.

Except that meant I’d have to think about it and then write it, and how much of that can a person do in one life? So I went to an AI site and commanded “In Mike Hlas’ writing style, write a column about liking the NBA teams of Indiana and Oklahoma City but not liking those cities or states.”

An impossible request to adequately meet, I thought. But I would at least be rewarded with the knowledge no robot will be doing my job anytime soon. Except that the site needed all of two seconds to answer that request, which really ticked me off. Here is the result:

There’s a certain American honesty in liking a basketball team but not the place it calls home. So, here’s my confession: I like the Indiana Pacers and the Oklahoma City Thunder. I do not, however, like Indiana. Or Oklahoma.

I realize this is a bit like saying you love the taste of coffee but can’t stand the smell. But in the world of sports fandom, logic is optional and loyalty is a matter of taste, not geography.

Let’s start with Indiana. It’s the Hoosier State. A Hoosier sounds like something you’d call a neighbor who borrows your lawn mower and doesn’t return it. Indiana is, as its motto claims, the “Crossroads of America,” a poetic way of saying it’s a place you pass through on your way to somewhere else.

Yet, the Pacers. There’s something about Indiana’s NBA franchise that’s easy to admire. Maybe it’s the way they play basketball — hard-nosed, unflashy, fundamentally sound. Maybe it’s the echoes of “Hoosiers,” the best movie ever set in Indiana that had a town drunk as an assistant high school basketball coach.

The Pacers have never been the NBA’s glamour team, but they’ve always been tough, competitive, and, at times, downright fun. Reggie Miller’s clutch shooting, the blue-and-gold uniforms, the Malice at the Palace — these are the things that make you root for Indiana even if you’d never willingly spend an hour in one of Indianapolis’ 874 Steak ‘n Shake locations.

Oklahoma is mostly known for oil wells, and being somewhere between Texas and Kansas. Famous for its tornadoes, it has a climate that can be described as “unpredictable.” Or more specifically, “ruthlessly dangerous.”

Oklahoma City has a name that clearly was chosen by a blue-ribbon committee of the state’s most-creative minds. But the Thunder. Oh, the Thunder. They play with a kind of energy that’s infectious, a blend of youthful exuberance and small-market chip-on-the-shoulder grit.

So why do I like the Pacers and the Thunder but not the places they represent? Maybe it’s because sports are, at their core, about escape. You don’t have to love a city to love its team. You don’t have to be force-fed Indiana’s pork tenderloin sandwiches or Oklahoma’s chicken-fried steak to appreciate a well-executed pick-and-roll or a fast break finished with authority.

Fandom is about the players, the moments, the sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself — even if that something is located in a place that screams “Flyover!”

In the end, maybe that’s the magic of sports. You can root for Indiana and Oklahoma City and still politely decline any invitation to visit either place. And that, as any true sports fan knows, is the best of both worlds …

OK, it’s Mike here again. Don’t get mad at me, you Okies and Hoosiers. As the third-rate Shakespearean actor portraying MacBeth told the audience while getting booed for butchering a soliloquy, “Give me a break! I didn’t write this crap!”

Comments: (319) 398-8440; mike.hlas@thegazette.com