This might hurt a lot of people. Especially you Portlanders out there. Look, I’m tired of lying. I’m going to come clean. All this “I might play this year” stuff in Miami is going to trick people into thinking that I’ll be able to actually, you know, play soon. I won’t. I’m sorry.
The things is… I was never hurt. I mean, I was at first. You saw my knee-cap go all Alien-Resurrection on me and try and exit my leg. That was real. Since that first injury, though, I’ve just been lying to you about all the other ones.
Here’s the truth: I’m OCD. That’s right. Obsessive-compulsive.
That’s why I’m always hurting. It’s not because I continually injure the same knees over and over and over again. It’s because every little thing terrifies me.
I know how that sounds, but before you judge, you should know it’s a mood-disorder that is usually manageable until you have to grow up and then it becomes unmanageable.
Everything just starts mattering in this terrible way once you’re out of college and life starts to suck. It’s not my fault I couldn’t handle it.
Have you ever played on an NBA court? There’s sweat everywhere and it’s disgusting. Remember Shaq? He’s still sweating on TNT. Nick Collison? Plus/minus-god, sure, but he’s the King of Sweaters.
Plus, we’re not playing in absorbent material like cotton. It’s just polyester and nylon and there’s no effective barrier between me and Shaq’s hulking, sweaty body.
Look, I don’t know where JR Smith has been. I don’t want to know. I also don’t want the inner workings of his body oozing out of him in a saline solution that I have to come in contact with. Not to mention that heavily tatted skin — you know tattoos cause cancer right?
All that trace metal and ink and chemicals? Terrifying. I’m not sure where he got those tats either. It looks like in some basement in New Jersey. They could leak onto me and I don’t want that.
I want things natural. I don’t want petroleum based fabrics near my body. Your skin is an organ. I have a wool mattress, a wool blanket, wool sheets, a wool pillow and wool boxers for a reason. Polyester kills the sperm count and raises the stress-levels. Count me out.
We also have to share a basketball in basketball — unless you play on the Lakers. That’s ten guys getting their grubby paws all over the ball. Plus, the germs are being cycled from hand to ball, ball to floor, shoe to floor, floor to ball and then right back to hand. It’s terrible.
Not to mention the high fives and hand shakes. Look, I know Joel Pryzbilla washed his hands before he played. But then he was shaking hands with the whole Phoenix Suns squad and any one of those guys might have not washed his hands after going to the bathroom.
So Joel gets himself contaminated and I have to high-five him while guarding sweaty Shaq? It’s not fair.
I thought I could get past it. The thing is, I can’t. There is so much I don’t know, from the bathroom tendencies of the Phoenix Suns to where JR Smith has been. How are my supposed to account for all that when I can barely account for myself?
There is so much stuff out there that can hurt you. Doorknobs, slobbering diaper-toddlers, street carnitas, bottled water.
I thought Lebron could protect me. I was wrong. He can’t. In the grand scheme of things, micro-fracture surgery just doesn’t seem that bad.
Look, I wanna get back on the court sometime soon.
But until David or Adam embrace wool and stop making our jerseys in sweatshops?
Consider me hesitant.