BOSTON — Maybe we should have seen this coming when the World Series was decided in a ballpark with a swimming pool.

        There is a phenomenon afoot. The centers of the sports universe keep moving to odd places.

        Baseball's presiding champions, the Arizona Diamondbacks, come from a neighborhood once known for cactus plants and reptiles. Nothing a couple of free agent pitchers could not cure.

        The Super Bowl winners from New England play in Foxboro, Mass. Which, of course, is just down the road from Walpole.

        Now there will be a Stanley Cup played in North Carolina, where the blue line used to mean the Tar Heels' starting five.

        The biggest fight of the year is in Memphis, whose only similarity with Las Vegas is Elvis sang in both places.

        And we may be days away from an NBA Finals that throws a pie in the face of tradition, not to mention requires good road maps to find either arena. A couple of late risers named New Jersey and Sacramento.

        You were expecting Boston-Los Angeles? Hockey in Montreal? Caesar's Palace for Tyson-Lewis?

        Sure. But anything can be anywhere now. Which is why puck fever has never been higher in the long and proud history of the Carolina Hurricanes.

        It always seemed that the average North Carolina sports fan swore by Mike Krzyzewski or Dean Smith on one hand, and Dale Earnhardt on the other.

        And times were tough in the late 1990s when the Hartford Whalers first landed in Carolina, and crowds were so petite, a curtain was put up to hide the thousands of empty seats.

        There was also the unforgettable night when Stormy, the team mascot, was nearly asphyxiated waiting to pop out of a Zamboni machine.

        Ah, but they love their forechecking now on Tobacco Road. The Stanley Cup games sold out in 35 minutes.

        Though the new believers from Raleigh and Greensboro and Winston-Salem might have had a question the other night when the Hurricanes were handed their booty for winning the Eastern Conference.

        Who's the Prince of Wales, and what's his name doing on our hockey trophy?

        But never mind. Hockey has turned into therapy in North Carolina, where the NFL Panthers went 1-15, the NBA Hornets fled Charlotte, the Tar Heels broke the 20-loss barrier, and Duke went bust in the regional.

        The NBA Finals could feel similarly disconcerting. Take the Nets. The only recognizable landmark near their home is exit 16W off the New Jersey Turnpike.

        Gaze in any direction from their arena, over the bleak expanse of reconverted wasteland, and you get the idea their fan base is mainly toll collectors.

        The Meadowlands have a curious history. Once, the Mafia dumped dead bodies there. Then, other NBA teams did.

        The Nets have always been good for a decent joke, small crowds and a bad record. But not at the moment, with Jason Kidd steering. And should they win it all, there will be dancing in the streets of ... well, just where? Hoboken?

        Then there are the Sacramento Kings. Your father knew them as the Kansas City-Omaha Kings. Your older uncle as the Cincinnati Royals. Your grandfather as the Rochester Royals. This franchise has been like a wagon train, slowly migrating west, with heavy losses.

        Nobody ever paid attention to Sacramento until the fans started ringing cowbells and the players started beating the Lakers.

        But Sacramento soon might be on top of the sports heap, giggling with the other noncomformists. Baseball fans from the Arizona desert, football fans from the New England woods, hockey fans from the Outer Banks.

        It's a strange, new world, and you wonder what's next. College basketball? Keep an eye next season on Alaska-Anchorage.

       Mike Lopresti writes for Gannett News Service.

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