In the winter of 2013, Anthony Davis fled New Orleans after a zombie apocalypse.
The following is a note he put in a PBR can and set adrift in a Louisiana bayou.
If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead, cooked and/or eaten. Something like that. I hope that you’ve fared better than I have. I hope you’ve made it to Iceland, where the remote location, geothermal energy and the now-not-so-touristy hot springs are easing your pain. Hopefully, you’re good people and you can help humanity start over.
We should have seen this coming. If you happened to be in a coma in a British hospital in a Danny Boyle movie and you have no idea what’s going on, let me explain.
Let’s start with the 2013 off-season:
I worked really hard to get better this past summer. I didn’t take it personally that a certain PG who was slightly better than league-average beat me out for ROY.
Instead, I just improved my game in every aspect and gained a whole bunch of muscle. The game just got easier for me. I’m not one to brag, but things were going so well. I led the league in PER.
But then, weird things started happening.
First, some of my teammates starting sucking unapologetically. Seriously. Remember Jrue Holliday? I mean, I know for a fact even he was shocked he beat out Brook Lopez for a spot on the 2013 All-Star Team. But what happened?
He was suddenly and terribly below average. He just lumbered around on the court and turned the ball over almost twice as often as he got to the foul line. He sucked.
And my gosh, Tyreke Evans. He completely forgot how to score — and that was the only thing he ever knew how to do in the first place.
Look, I’ll be the first to say I absolutely hated his game and all those jumpers. But watching him plummet to under 40 FG% was like watching Bill O’Reilly forget how to be an asshole and flip-flop on gay-marriage. I just sorta pitied the guy.
I guess Eric was the red herring. He was actually on the court and wearing basketball shoes, so he made me feel happy and I looked past all the other warning signs. Of course, it didn’t last. I should have gotten out of there when his body parts started falling off again. I should have known.
Everyone was becoming zombies.
I think it was Josh Childress’ fault. If the world ever recovers from this scourge, they’ll find out he was patient zero.
He had been dead for like five years, but we didn’t seem to notice. Ever since he came back from Europe, something was different about him. His game was just completely and utterly empty.
Anyway, it spread fast. Everyone thought our team was supposed to contend and just like that, poof, everybody was dying and re-animating.
Same with the Knicks and the Nets. They were just totally, flesh-decaying-ly, rotten.
I thought humans like me and Paul George and Kevin Love and Lebron could stand strong against them. I thought we had a chance. But we were hopeless against him.
King of the Zombies.
Everyone thought he was a coward for taking so long to come back from his injury. But it wasn’t the injury. He’s a really good guy and everyone should have given him a break.
He got bit by Josh or the Toronto Blue Jays or something. There was just no reason for him to suck that bad.
Anyway, it was like wildfire. Kevin Garnett started eating people’s faces. Poor Kobe never even made it back on the court. The 76ers were the last ones to go. They fought so damn hard.
I did all I could. I thought things would get better, but they didn’t. I’m sorry. If you reading this, it’s probably too late for us.
But if you can find this message inside a PBR can, then maybe you can find us somewhere along the bayou.
I’m with Lebron, Paul and K-Love and we’re eating alligators that we kill with our bare hands.
Lebron plays a nice violin and Kevin and Paul make moonshine to take the edge off. It’s not what we signed up for, but it could be worse.
At night we see the fires and we hear the screams. They’re coming for us soon. It’s only a matter of time. I’m so young. I had so much to give. Oh well.
I loved you, sweet world. I really did. It’s a shame we never got to know each other.