For some reason, U.S. basketball purists have always had it in their convoluted brains that winning World Championships and Olympic gold medals is our birth right.

We invented the game after all, and thus, the thinking went, America should always reign victorious whenever we take the court to play another nation.

Anytime, anywhere.

And anyone who dared bring up the fact that we lost in 1972 to the Soviet Union, well, we won that game before officials in Munich gave the big, bad, evil Russians a second chance to steal it away from us. Simply put, we got jobbed and robbed.

Maybe we did, but then in '88 came out-and-out embarrassment in Seoul, and enough was enough. Our poor little college kids would no longer be subjected to representing -- and letting down -- the hopes and dreams of our nation. When the world met again in Barcelona in '92, the now exhalted Michael Jordan-Magic Johnson-Charles Barkley led "Dream Team" laid waste to the rest of the world, and all was right again.

Triumphs followed in Atlanta and Sydney, but the margins of victory were becoming smaller and smaller. Poorly constructed in terms of who we were sending and how little time these "teams" were spending together to practice, the seeds of defeat were already being planted in World Championship years in between Olympiads.

By 2004 in Athens, the dream became a nightmare. The competition began with a 92-73 defeat to little Puerto Rico, an opening blow that served as a prelude to a colossul failure -- a mere Bronze medal performance.

Which brings us to where we are today. This so-called Redeem Team has a lot to make-up for. Jerry Colangelo, the man who brought the Chicago Bulls and Phoenix Suns into the NBA -- and who also oversaw the building of baseball's Arizona Diamondbacks from an expansion franchise to a World Series winner -- took it upon himself to return Team USA to glory. No longer would the squad be made up of nothing but the elite, but rather, a conglomeration of stars and role players who would play as a team.

The biggest quandry in trying to get back to where we once were: what did we expect? One of the main goals of the NBA since '92 has been to globalize the game of basketball. We have clearly seen in just a few short days over in Beijing, the Chinese are absolutely bonkers about basketball. Yes, Yao Ming is a deity to his countryman, but he's not the country's favorite hoopster. That mantle is a battle between the likes of Kobe Bryant, LeBron James and Dwayne Wade.

The point is that the influx of foreign players, such as Yao, Germany's Dirk Nowitski, or Argentina's Manu Ginobili, have changed the game forever, and given it exactly what the NBA wanted: billions of dollars worth of foreign exposure.

No matter what happens in Beijing over the course of the next two weeks, American dominance on the hardwood will never again reach the level it once did. Instead, we will have to do what every other national program around the world seeks to do: scratch and claw, and most importantly, play as a cohesive unit.

Or at least dream of redeeming ourselves.

After years of listening to him, I finally got the chance to meet and work with Skip Caray over the course of these past two seasons I've been involved with the Atlanta Braves Radio Network.

To say it was an honor would be an understatement.

As the new kid on the block last year, Skip wasted no time in welcoming me aboard -- in true Skip Caray fashion.

I was in the middle of doing a rain delay show, and Skip asked me if I wanted anything from the press room dining area that was adjacent to the broadcast booth. Not wanting to make him feel like he was my delivery boy or anything, I told him I was fine, and thanks. Moments later Skip returned with an ice cream sundae for me, replete with a dead cockroach on top as a garnish!

After many game broadcasts, Skip would get up out of his chair in the booth that overlooked the playing surface at Turner Field, and I would slide in to get ready for the post-game show. At the beginning, I would get goosebumps and pinch myself once I slid into the chair that he had just occupied. And rarely would the moment pass without Skip saying something witty to make me laugh.

As time went on, it became a fairly commonplace event, but one that I never for a second would take for granted. I felt extremely blessed, and now that I know it's something that will never happen again, I can't help but feel very sad.

It was a difficult thing to see Skip in his state of failing health, but he never looked for pity, and also came to the stadium ready to work and hone his craft. In truth, I believe being there and calling the games remained a great joy for him, and provided him with an outlet where his pain wouldn't be as great. And to listen to his play-by-play calls, you would never know how sick he really was.

I'm happy I had the opportunity to know him, and to have watched and learned from him. It goes without saying that I....and all of us....will miss listening to him.