We need to talk about Greg Oden, and his trademark unsmiling
disposition. Not only because its irks me to no end, but more importantly because
it threatens to undermine the already tenuous suspension of disbelief required
of any rational human being before said being can derive any pleasure whatsoever from
watching a professional sport.
You see, most of us are fully aware that the NBA is merely a
giant money machine that exists solely to line the pockets of its owners and
their stakeholders. We get that our home team’s success does not actually benefit
us in any tangible way, and yet we continue to delude ourselves into believing
that all this consumption is somehow good for us. We go to the games, we buy the nine 9
dollar bullshit domestic swill they pour into those criminally small 11.5 ounce
cups, some of us even wear the jersey of our favorite player while doing this,
which is kind of adorable, but more profoundly idiotic than anything else, but
I digress. Let’s get back to the man poking holes in our collective delusion,
that bump on a log of a person, Greg Oden.
Greg, if you’re reading this, I understand the harrowing
nature of sport related injury. Back in ’01, I missed something like two CYO
basketball games with a severely rolled ankle; I know adversity. You’d better
believe I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders, as I sat there
bench-bound, lamenting the inevitable hit my 2.8 points per game scoring
average was going to incur. That was a really dark time for me. But I wasn’t
sitting courtside at the Rose Garden, netting 70 grand for every basket I made,
generally being treated like royalty at the club (I know about the Crown Room,
dog), all while banging my way through every absentee father-having floozy in
the city while I recovered. Rather, I was just coming to the realization that I
would never make it in the pros (I was a late bloomer, okay?), and that I’d
have to one day get a real job… So would you smile a little more? And maybe not
look so disinterested while you’re at it? You’re in the pros, man! You get paid big bucks to play, or in your case watch, a high level sport from the best seat
in the house! All while sipping the finest Gatorade the Rose Garden has to
offer! It doesn't get much better, homie.
I guess I just don’t get why you look so glum all the time.
Do you even like basketball? Let me tell you, your demeanor, the sonic analogue
of which would probably sound something like a fart noise, says otherwise. But
what’s most troubling is that your unsmiling-ness takes away from my enjoyment of the game by reminding me that most of your cohorts have only shown up to get a paycheck, so that they can
buy extravagant vehicles. Like, you could at least try to sell the illusion
that any of this matters, you know? I think you owe the organization, not to
mention that fans, that much. Don’t you realize that without the corporate
construct that is the NBA, you and your ilk would all just be pituitary
gigantism sufferers that we normal sized people called every once in a while to
get things from high shelves? If I were you, I’d start cheesin’ like I just won
lottery all day every day, lest the fans one day come out of their collective
complicity, and start asking questions like, "why am I watching/caring about
this kid’s game? Greg Oden certainly doesn't."
Moral: smile more!
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