Moments after the Boston Celtics captured their 17th NBA Championship, future Hall of Fame forward Kevin Garnett was corralled by an ABC reporter.

Garnett is a grown man and then some, 32 years old and standing 7 feet tall. At this moment in time, however, he is a child, in some state of shock.

He bounces and stammers and stares at the ceiling. He mumbles incoherently and screams to no one in particular. Finally, he composes himself long enough to put together a sentence or two -- to express the enormity of what he has just accomplished.

"Other than my kid being born, this has to be the happiest day of my life ..."

It is this tiny bit of political correctness that I would like to end forever. Garnett is only one of many, many examples in recent years. One after the other, athletes who achieve something monumental, something they've worked their entire lives for, something that they've dreamed of every night since they were children, now feel obligated to insert a caveat into every one of their press conferences.

Winning the Super Bowl is second only to the quarterback's wedding day. The Wimbledon title was very nearly as exciting as the birth of the twins. Carrying that Stanley Cup? Almost as good a feeling as changing that first diaper.

Who do they think they're fooling? I have kids, too; I know what they're like. Sometimes, they're fun; sometimes, they're merely trouble. Would I trade one for a World Series ring? That's why I've got an extra.

Listen. There are millions of children born every year -- compare that to the number of Olympic gold medals handed out. Having children doesn't require any special skill or any special effort. Heck, on many occasions, it's just an accident. Try to win an NBA title by accident after you've had a few too many beers.

It should also be mentioned that the actual day of birth, while certainly memorable, is -- if we're going to be honest -- something many of us would rather forget. All the screaming and crying and bodily fluids ... just a messy situation all-around. I didn't recover for weeks.

I'm not buying all the love these guys seem to have for their marriages, either. If the quarterback's wife were as good as mine, I might believe him, but she's not -- trust me, just doesn't compare. If the quarterback was an average guy working at the factory and playing slo-pitch softball on the weekend, sure, finding a good woman might really be the best thing to ever happen to him. But dude, we're talking the Super Bowl here.

If your wife is so petty that she can't accept that your Super Bowl title is something special to you, well then, she's not the spectacular bride that you're making her out to be anyway.

Besides, half of marriages end in divorce ... and what about your girlfriends and mistresses? Don't you have a good word for them, too?

I don't know why athletes feel the need to issue these clear and senseless lies. You've reached the pinnacle of your profession. It's OK if that rare occurrence is important and pleasurable to you.

Though the phenomenon is primarily seen in the sports world, it's not completely restricted to that domain. Lottery winners will say, "Other than the births of little Jimmy, Lulu, Kiki, Big Jimmy, Sally Sue and Jimmy III, this $28.7 million is the greatest thing to ever happen to me."

Academy Award winners proclaim, "Winning this little statue makes me feel almost as good as the conception of all my children, my wedding day, my parent's 34th anniversary and the day we adopted a sweet little puppy named Muffin."