Nobody really knows how badly Paul Pierce initially felt after colliding with Kendrick Perkins last night, except for Pierce, perhaps a few teammates, and that guy who tried to block the camera from following the dramatic wheelchair ride by putting up a hand to cover about 1/50th of the screen. (I can’t see Paul Pierce’s ear! What’s going on! Second favorite part, by the way: Perkins going for treatment later. Hey guys, I’m hurt, too! Guys! Guys?) We’re sure Pierce was hurt. What we’re not sure of is whether, at some point while he was down, Pierce decided to raise the ante and milk it to make it bigger than it really was — getting carried, then wheeled off, only to come back what seemed like 12 seconds later to save the day with some clutch play. If Pierce is noticeably hobbled in Game 2, proving he played on some sort of superhuman combination of adrenaline and magic doctor aide after the collision, we will gladly eat our words and give Pierce credit for toughness. Willis Reed, no, but tough, yes. For now, though, we remain skeptical and want to ask a question: if indeed a good part of it was showmanship, what sort of company does Pierce join? Similar questions have been raised about Curt Schilling’s ankle injury and bloody sock in 2004, but again that’s a judgment call. What we’re asking is this: who are the players always limping around, only to ultimately be fine? Who are the floppers and divers? Who, in essence are the all-time fakers in sports? Or more appropriately: who are the all-time fakers in soccer, and who are the all-time fakers in sports other than soccer?

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