The NBA’s new “respect for the game” rule is truly one of the most inspired pieces of sports legislation in recent years.

Anyone acting like he’s more important than the game should not only be reprimanded, but also censured. You simply hate it when a pompous jerk detracts from the dignity of the game with disruptive, overbearing behavior.

But enough about public address announcers.

Actually, that’s a little joke. The NBA-endorsed, bellowing PA announcers who intrude upon the game nightly are still on the loose. And they are agitated quite easily. Each time the home team scores, they make the announcement in a siren tone usually reserved for tornado warnings. Fans are not quite sure whether to celebrate or run for cover.

The NBA enacted the “respect for the game” rule – aka the ‘Sheed Statute in honor of Detroit dunderhead Rasheed Wallace – this season to try to reduce the theatrics generated by referee decisions. On one hand, the rule is welcomed. Watching Wallace and others complain about every foul call is less enticing than bobbing for apples in a vat of boiling oil.

On the other hand, the rule ignores a great tradition developed almost exclusively by the NBA – the art of the makeup call.

By discouraging players and coaches from reacting to calls, the NBA is suggesting that officiating is perfect. It is not. Mistakes are made. Sometimes, officials will realize it a split-second later. They respond with a phantom violation at the other end of the court, which negates the error and returns possession to the team that got the bad call in the first place.

The new rule, however, eliminates the other corrective measure.

“The main reason I would argue with refs is to get the next call,” Mavericks assistant coach Del Harris said. “If they make a bad call, you want to point it out and put a little doubt in their mind so the next one might go your way.”

The new rule prevents that. So, in today’s game, a bad call becomes even more exaggerated because it can result in an over-reactive technical foul.

In most cases, however, the rule is welcomed.

“You’d see players throwing tantrums, and it looked bad for spectators,” Harris said. “Some guys were arguing every call, and every call can’t be wrong. It had gotten out of hand.”

Chicago head coach Scott Skiles agreed.

“Somebody would be shooting a free throw and two or three players would be lobbying (a referee) constantly for a call,” he said. “That stuff had taken on a life of its own, and it had to stop.”

The new rule that was designed to create greater calm has resulted in an increase of technical fouls this season, many of them cheap. Dirk Nowitzki got his third of the season with 3:37 left in the Mavericks’ 111-99 victory over the Bulls on Tuesday and he did nothing more that wave his arm after being called for a foul.

“It doesn’t beat mine,” said Dallas coach Avery Johnson, who got a quick ejection when the Mavericks played Golden State on Nov. 6. “Mine happened in half a millimeter of a second. I have the record.”

The players will have to continue to adjust to that sort of absurdity, but the coaches should be allowed a little more freedom. Call it the equivalent of a coach’s challenge in the NFL. Give the techs to the players; let the head coaches argue as much as they could last season with the technical fouls coming later rather than sooner.

If your boss can’t argue for you, who can?

As good as it is, the NBA game is imperfect. It is played by imperfect players with an imperfect (new) ball, coached by imperfect coaches, officiated by imperfect referees and administrated imperfectly.

But when you look at it that way, perhaps there is an argument to be made that an imperfect rule somehow makes perfect sense.