Sunday, November 22, 2009

A Long And Winding Letter To My Friend Bryan Hood Regarding The Atrocities Concerning The Bazooks, My Fantasy Basketball Team...



Author's Note: The following is a long winded argument on the behalf of my fantasy basketball team & the true nature of reality. It is also an epistle. Due to these flagrant offenses against common interests it should not be read by anyone.

Dear Bryan,

I know you could sense it. My NBA Fandom slipping away in the throes of adulthood. I accepted an Olive Branch to your Fantasy Basketball League not realizing you'd conspired with David Stern and the bodies governing MCLs, Wrists, and Andrew Bogut.

You can connive all you want. I've forgotten to play Fantasy B-Ball due to other activities (namely: starting a team for my trailer park and building shrines for my Dad as he entered into heart surgery). Once my life had been dealt with I got around to checking my roster. Kevin Martin, Michael Redd, Andrew Bogut, and Mehmet Okur are all down for an extended count. Three crushing injuries. It would be four but my census decries Bogut and Okur as the same person.

I'm battered. I live in a Trailer and eat out of garbage cans. My scent is now rancid. My hair now frayed. But fuck that noise. I, Joel Walkowski, like many before me--including Hannibal Lecter--have retreated from our world into the sojournist library universe constructed by my mind's eye. This dimension is a good place to be. It is far from Vallejo. A dog's single gesture is accompanied by a thesis text on Canine Development. Instantly browsed, downloaded, and placed in a fireproof box for nowhere is safe from fire. Also in this dimension: lots of gravy, drunk for celebration in lieu of Whiskey. The world reserves gravy for meat and milks. The kitchen of my mind, manned by a bewildered seventeenth century Squaw, stocks the pantry with gravies for all foods and most concepts.

I do not want to leave this place. I want to stay and happily wither. You, Bryan Allejandro Bianco Domino Pachinko Hood, have ruined this, rousing me into reality by the stone cold hand of your Yahoo Sports and the nefarious AutoDraft, incarnate of unhappiness.

At the time of our draft I was busy whittling ships. Of course not actually whittling ships. Activities are passe. Conceptual Activity is the new black. I will now close my eyes and count to ten.

1
2
3
4
Nebraska
5
6
7
8
9
10

A new pair of loafers now flanks my feet. Not actually but enough for warmth.

No one could blame me for missing the draft but Yahoo AutoDraft has no space for forgiveness. Looking at my team, I survey a series of wonk busting misfits, a loosely guilded & muchos uninspired collection of the 2005 Phoenix Suns but only the dregs. Amare, Marion, Barbosa. Give me a time machine and we're even. Goggles and all Amare's a skunk. Marion's gifts are manifested in Dallas with Dirk but the apparition, now satiated on success, has vanished from the box score. Barbosa? I'm fairly certain he was kidnapped over the summer. Steve Kerr and other dunderheads atop the Pyramid (scheme- R. Sarver) have yet to notice and I am the victim.

Insults are not limited to the Seven Seconds or Less Canon as the rest of my roster looks like this:

G
Leandro Barbosa
(Pho - PG,SG)
31%-----------SG
Peja Stojakovic
(NO - SG,SF)
AtlW, 96-8854%.4171.0005.71417431000G
Ronnie Brewer
(Uta - SG,SF)
DetW, 100-9744%.500.5000-15533120SF
Shawn Marion
(Dal - SF,PF)
64%-----------PF
Jason Thompson
(Sac - SF,PF)
@HouL, 113-10672%.500.7500-15540120F
Anderson Varejao
(Cle - PF,C)
PhiW, 97-9131%.0001.0000-4720200C
Andrew Bogut
(Mil - C)INJ
@MemW, 103-9863%--0-0000000C
Mehmet Okur
(Uta - PF,C)INJ
DetW, 100-9776%--0-0000000Util
Jeff Green
(OKC - SF,PF)
57%-----------Util
Michael Redd
(Mil - SG,SF)INJ
@MemW, 103-9848%--0-0000000BN
Kevin Martin
(Sac - SG)INJ
@HouL, 113-10630%--0-0000000BN
Chris Bosh
(Tor - PF,C)
74%-----------BN
Amar'e Stoudemire
(Pho - PF,C)
57%-----------


Cruel Karma made this construction.

Peja Stojakovic: His bust is being blazed for Springfield as basketball's pompadoured answer to baseball's Steroid Superstar.
Ronnie Brewer: So inconsequential that if he fell in the woods with millions watching and an army of Sennheisers and Sony 744's recording there would be no noise.
Anderson Varejo: We all agree that he is the enemy.

My sole salvation is Mr. Chris Bosh, coming to my aid with contract year nightlies of 27 and 12. He loves the Internet. He loves my team.

I must run. My Sunday morning is busy with Detroit Lions football followed by handfuls of pills. I'm not going back to my universe. My team is in last place. Seeing the circumstances--a last place team--I have no choice but to engage my reality and set you in my sights.

Godspeed.

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