The sun sets in Houston. Kevin McHale is laying down the facts of life for Jeremy Lin.
Our best scorer has come out and said that despite his semblance to the President as a young man, we have no chance to compete.
Our GM has said we have no star player and everything we do is to put us in a position to get one. Last time I got damned with praise that faint, my high school crush was telling me I was the only guy who loved her
more than her mother. You follow? The sky is the limit, my son. We have no expectations, so we have all the expectations. You like Nine Inch Nails, Jeremy? We can’t be stopped. Fuck that, how about Geto boys?
When you never expect to reach the moon, you still learn a lot about the Van Allen radiation belts? No.
If the goal was never realistic then you’ve got a great opportunity to enjoy the journey? No.
It’s an exciting time, JL. We’re not the least-talented team in the NBA, but we are the JV. We are discounted and overlooked and unloved. It’s time to find our pissed off inner middle school hesher, is what I’m trying to say. Do you think you could magic marker “SLAYER” on your sneakers- maybe you and Chandler Bang can get some traction going on that- Royce White seems like you could talk him into liking Agalloch. Matter of fact, I think you should grow your hair out, get some bangs to blow out of your face in frustration. See if Omer Asik aint got a little black leather & Erkin Koray in him.