The vanishing, NBA division

 So the interwhatsis tells me this morning that Bob Lanier has died, and right away it's the shoes I see. Because, you know, Lanier.

 The shoes were brown oxfords, if memory serves, or maybe burgundy. You could see yourself in their shine. And of course they were freaking cruise ships, the SS Minnow and the SS Three-Hour Tour.

"These?" Lanier said, looking down at his 18 1/2s. "I buy these any time I can kill a cow."

And then he smiled, and you knew the joke was standard issue, older than laces on a basketball. He'd probably repeated it a million times for a million audiences, not just for a kid sportswriter in Anderson, Indiana.

This was, lord, 37 or 38 years ago at least, and I have only vague memories of why Lanier was in Anderson. But I only had to walk a few meager yards to interview him, because the dear departed Anderson Daily Bulletin newsroom was right across Jackson Street from the YMCA, where Lanier was appearing.

By then he was in his mid-30s and had either just retired or was about to, and eight years later he'd go into Hall of Fame, where he surely belonged. The NBA doesn't do back-to-the-basket big men so much anymore, but Lanier was one of the best: A 6-10, 250-pound load who would wind up with 19,248 career points, 9,698 career rebounds and more than 1,000 career blocked shots.

An All-American who led tiny St. Bonaventure to the Final Four in 1970, his No. 31 is retired there. Not one but two NBA teams, the Detroit Pistons and Milwaukee Bucks, followed suit by hoisting his No. 16 to the rafters.

And, yes, he had legendarily huge feet -- so much so, a pair of his bronzed basketball shoes went on display in Springfield before the man himself even got there.

But of course it wasn't the shoes that made Lanier who he was.

When he died after a short illness yesterday, he was surviving as a "global ambassador" for the NBA, and commissioner Adam Silver acknowledged as much, calling him "one of the kindest and most genuine people I have ever been around."

What the Blob has to say about that is, he ain't the only one.

A couple of days before Lanier passed, see, another of the league's public faces did the ambassador thing. But not the way Lanier did it.  

No, sir. Chris Paul did it by not wading into the stands and beating the mortal goo out of a couple of idiot Dallas Mavericks fans.

L'Idiots, it seems, were harassing Paul's family. One of them put his hands on Paul's mother (on Mother's Day, no less). They also apparently pushed his wife, Jada.

That would have been go time right there for a person of less restraint. And the NBA would have had another Malice in the Palace black eye to nurse.

But Paul, bless him, let security handle it. And they did, blessedly. Duckwalked L'Idiots right off the premises.

Paul did have something to say about it, of course. He pointed out it was ridiculous for the league to fine players for jawing at fans, but where was their protection from the fans.

"F*** that!" Paul tweeted.

The Blob wholeheartedly agrees with that sentiment. Fans, it has noted many times before, are frequently brain-cell deficient. Maybe the NBA should acknowledge that, too.

And maybe, before he passed, sent Bob Lanier in to do a little global ambassadoring.

With his size 18 1/2s. Straight up some L'Idiot's hindparts.