Once again, the NBA is leading the way. Long at the forefront of hiring qualified minorities, the league now has the distinction of having the only African American owner in professional sports. That is a very good thing.

The joke in New York on Monday was that Robert Johnson, estimated to have a net worth of $1.3 billion, needed only his portfolio statements and an overhead projector and screen for his presentation. He simply could show the statements to the expansion committee and then ask, "any questions?''

As much as Johnson's heritage helped, NBA owners love two things above all else, including basketball: money and television. Johnson, who started the Black Entertainment Television network and then sold it to Viacom, has expertise in both areas.

Johnson is a solid choice. In a league comprised overwhelmingly of African Americans, it made a lot of sense to also have a qualified African American owner. (And the emphasis should be on the word "qualified," because the last time the NBA tried to install an African American ownership group in Denver, it turned out to be an unmitigated disaster due to underfunding.) You can't keep saying "maybe next time" when someone like Johnson shows up at the door. Just ask all the African American coaches who have tried, without success, to get NFL or Major League Baseball jobs.

Having said all that, however, something also has to be said about the process, because if you're Larry Bird, Steve Belkin or, more to the point, M.L. Carr, you might be feeling a bit frustrated today. You can't, and won't, quibble with the selection of Johnson, even though Carr, who is black, said "there's no affirmative action for billionaires.'' After Johnson was chosen, Carr was much more conciliatory, saying, "it's time to move forward. We're disappointed, but this was a significant step.''

But here's why Carr, in particular, must be feeling a tad exploited. He was dispatched to Charlotte last spring to rally and jazz up the locals so that there would be sufficient support to get a new arena constructed. Without a new arena, there would be no team. The man who sent him to Charlotte to do just that: NBA Commissioner David Stern.

Maybe there was no quid pro quo in Carr's mission. Maybe Carr was naïve in thinking that if he did what he was dispatched to do, then that would have to play a major role in selecting the next ownership group. And Carr, as is his wont, plunged headfirst into the selling mission, spending almost the entire summer in Charlotte courting business leaders, politicians, church officials and anyone else who might be important in making his mission a success.

And, make no mistake, he was operating in territory which had shown a recent reluctance to embrace both the NBA and an NBA-approved arena. In other words, Carr had a selling job to do.

This was a city whose fans stopped going to games the last two years. This was a city whose voters soundly rejected a previous arena proposal, knowing full well that such a vote would mean that the Hornets would leave town. This is a city with a number of groups who made sure their message got out regarding their opposition to public financing of arenas.

Sure, a lot, maybe most of the hostility was generated by outgoing owner George Shinn, who was seen as a hero for bringing the NBA to Charlotte in the 1980s and left the city as one of the most reviled men in North Carolina. And maybe the city was in roll-over mode when the NBA came calling a second time, making Carr's job easier.

Again, if there was no, new arena package passed, there would be no team in Charlotte. And Carr basically did the grunt work, again, at Stern's behest. He also agreed to run the WNBA Charlotte Sting for the NBA.

In selling the arena, Carr always would bring up Bird's name. They were partners in this and Bird would be the one who put the players in the new arena. At no time in the process did the NBA ever tell him: "You're being a bit presumptuous here. All we need is a new building. You can't use Bird's name because you guys might not get the franchise.''

That certainly explains the uniform disappointment of the Bird/Steve Belkin group, which thought that being in ready-to-run mode gave them a distinct advantage in a time-sensitive situation. The NBA was a bit taken aback by the reactions of Bird, Carr and Belkin; Bird said he was "heart-broken'' by the decision and, if you had seen him Monday, you had no trouble believing that. He already had his game plan in mind, he had scouts watching games, he had tapes of games ready to pop in the VCR and was even planning a spring trip to overseas to scout the Eurotalent.

That prompted Board of Governors chairman Jerry Colangelo to say that he hoped that the Belkin group remained intact when the next opportunity presented itself. If it does, it won't be an expansion team, which is what Bird wanted. But it might be a team somewhere in the Central Division, where there are some rumored to be, as they say, "available.'' Stern even referenced Bird's quote about it being a "lifelong dream'' to run a basketball team by saying, "it is my continuing dream to make that dream eventually happen.''

The operative word there is "eventually.'' It could have happened this week, but it didn't. Carr can say that his name should be placed on the new arena for all the work he did in bringing it to fruition. But his name won't be on the masthead of the new team because, in the end, NBA owners decided to do what rich businessmen invariably do – go for the money and the power.

Johnson has both. He also now has the Charlotte Whatevers. His time had come. For Carr, Bird and Belkin, they can only hope that no one will say "next time" to them the next time they try to join the club.

Peter May, who covers the NBA for the Boston Globe, is a regular contributor to ESPN.com.