Scene:
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.
