So long, King Albert. I’ve appreciated watching you cream my beloved Cincinnati Reds and the rest of the National League Central for the past 11 years. No, I’m being serious. I’ve always wanted to hate you, and for a few years I may have convinced myself I did. But eventually that hate turned into admiration and respect for the athlete you were, are, and probably will continue to be, at least for a while. Hell, I remember loathing Jordan during his early years (I was a huge Wilkins fan), but as clutch shots kept falling, championships kept piling up, and rabid killer instinct kept taking over games, I couldn’t help but shake my head in disbelief and throw my hands up in puzzled yet amazed exasperation. It seemed almost ignorant at that point not to stake out a spot on the bandwagon.