Sports

Calipari’s stayin’ at Kentucky

So, according to widespread reports whose source appears to have been on one conference call, agent William Wesley is trying to sell client John Calipari and LeBron James to the Bulls, Nets and/or Clippers as an entry.

How can that be? I just got finished reading for the umpteenth time how The Chosen One’s choice was Mike D’Antoni, because he loved playing for him in the Olympics.

Connect the dots to the Knicks and risk being brought up on tampering charges by David Stern.

Meanwhile, how stupid can you get? Here all this time I thought Mike Krzyzewski was the head coach of the gold medal-winning Redeem Team; apparently an assistant was.

Does that mean LeBron didn’t especially like playing for Nate McMillan, or is the Blazers’ exclusion from the free-agent free-for-all simply a case of them not having any salary space?

What about Jim Boeheim? Unlike D’Antoni, the Syracuse coach customarily takes the foul. That has to account for something. Well, in my book, anyway. I’m sorry, I can’t help myself. Furthermore, LeBron still has all his college eligibility.

Yeah, like the NCAA wouldn’t revolutionize its rules (it does have some, right?) for the uranium-enriched opportunity to spotlight LeBron on national TV three times a week for five straight months.

Of course, offering LeBron, 25, the option to go to college (let’s hear it for Kenny Anderson, 40, who cap-and-gowned it last week!) gives Calipari the upper hand without having to go anywhere in that Kentucky is unrestricted by a salary cap.

What’s more, Calipari could arrange for Derrick Rose, Rod Strickland or Kenny A to take LeBron’s SATs for him.

Some “mockumentaries” have four guys from Kentucky gone by the 10th selection in the draft . . . and that doesn’t even count the coach.

Truth be known, Calipari ain’t goin’ nowhere. Period!

How can I be so sure? He Twittered it.

Additionally, the ubiquitous Wesley just helped Calipari recruit an incoming freshman class comparable or better than the Wildcats’ outgoing one-and-done coveted collection.

I believe Calipari to be incapable of such treachery. A betrayal of that enormity would have a devastating effect on the program (should the rising freshmen rescind their scholarships) and that’s just not his M.O.

Once I so much as consider Calipari is leading us astray, I have no other choice but to question the integrity of Wesley whom I’ve known so long — we once rummaged through Portland’s Nike Town alongside each other in the early ’90s — and know so little.

Last thing the business of sports needs is a duplicitous agent.

Should it turn out Calipari’s word is worthless, authorities must either shut down his account or John Chaney will have to finish the job.

By the way, Kevin McHale said he has had no formal contact with the Bulls (his agent called them, in other words, not the other way around) about their job opening.

“That keeps them in the running,” LeBron said.

*

If Magic assistant Patrick Ewing has any hope of ever getting an interview for a head-coaching job, commentators must cease crediting him for improving Dwight Howard‘s offensive game.

Rest no doubt became rust for the Magic, who failed to live up to Moses Malone‘s mantra (“Fo! Fo! Fo!”) and now must play from behind for the first time during the after-party. Such is life after you let an opponent with bones right out of an archeological dig jump yours.

“I don’t think we were prepared for the level they were ready to play,” Vince Carter said after the Magic failed to get the tip-time memo prior to the start of the Eastern bloc finals.

How’s that for an indictment of your bench jockey?

Then again, maybe Wince was referring to Howard whose pre-game focus (Clark Kent-Superman routine) appeared to be a little fuzzy.

Still, the team as a whole didn’t exactly testify in its own defense in almost every major category. More glaring than all that, in my mind, is the Magic’s conspicuous lack of an instigator, not a gladiator, just a willing hard body to rough up Rasheed Wallace and Glen Davis before they get a chance to unnerve and annoy Orlando’s front line with a steady barrage of love taps.

It can’t be Howard. The Magic can ill afford for him to get excessively distracted or get into serious foul trouble. He picks up enough personals ordinarily merely by backing into Kendrick Perkins with his elbows high. And there isn’t anybody else . . . other than 6-8, 240-pound Brandon Bass, who did not play a lick in Game 1.

I’ve gathered up all my magic beans, lucky charms, tongue depressors and voodoo priestesses in preparation for tonight’s draft lottery . . .

. . . or, as the Nets now refer to it, Russian roulette.

peter.vecsey@nypost.com