What I believe is more outrageous. I believe in Muggsy Bogues.

I believe that Bogues will accept his new role as a reserve and that, if the Charlotte Hornets give him a chance, they will win games they wouldn't have because they did.

There was a time when most of you believed in Bogues. You didn't necessarily believe he was an NBA starting point guard. You believed that he played hard, was fun to watch and, at 5-foot-3, overcame tremendous odds to make an NBA team.

Even if you thought he was too short to start, you admired his style and you cheered for him as loudly as you did his taller teammates. You changed your mind. Now you've decided he's a whiner who has refused to accept his demotion with sufficient style and grace.

Bogues can be petulant, that's true. But he's not a whiner. He has been put in a position where, no matter what he does, he will look like the bad guy.

You're also wrong about the quality of his work. In the old days, he was as indispensable as Alonzo Mourning, Larry Johnson and Kendall Gill. Last season, he was, when healthy, as indispensable as Glen Rice, Anthony Mason and Vlade Divac.

I was in Fort Mill this week when Bogues talked about his limited preseason role. He was frustrated, tried not to say what he thought, failed. If the Hornets weren't going to use him, he said, he wanted to be cut loose so he could find a team that would.

Won't happen. Bogues' left knee scares potential employers the way skeletons and dentists scare children. Bogues and Charlotte are bound. And that's good for the Hornets.

It's not what Bogues has done for the team that entitles him to an opportunity. It's what he can still do. No other Hornet penetrates as well. No other guard leads with as much authority. And no other player whines as much, right?

Put yourself in his position and ask what you would do.

First, pretend you have long been one of your company's key employees. (You no doubt think you are; for the purposes of this story, pretend your company does, too.)

You were there the day the company opened for business. And in your second year, you got a huge promotion. If you didn't perform well, your company didn't.

Because you were not the prototype for such an assignment, you had detractors. Yet, you believed. Your co-workers did, too. When you told them to move, they did.

You knew, of course, that someday the good assignments would end. But as long as you performed, you were safe.

Then new managers came in. And in the first year you worked for them, an old injury flared up and you were often unable to do your job. Your company decided to replace you with a younger man. It announced, not to you but to the media -- and thus the public -- that you should retire.

You looked around for support from the people you work with, the people who know what you can do. Except for Dell Curry, they're gone. The newer people are important now. You're a guy who used to be.

How are you supposed to react? If your company doesn't want you, why didn't it come to you quietly? You have a contract. You want to honor it, want to play. But if you talk about it, you are accused of whining.

The worst part is that you know in your heart your performance hasn't slipped. You also know you won't get a chance to prove it.

It's tough to be downsized when you're 5-3.

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