I hate Europe so god damn much. All of it. Even the so-called “good” parts like England and France. All of it sucks. I hate the people, I hate the culture, I hate the geography, I hate the style of basketball, I hate the basketball players, and I especially hate the most vile and incapable European basketball player there is: Dario Saric.
Every minute he is on the court is a minute of time where I desire nothing more than to gouge out my own eyeballs with a rusty, disease-ridden surgical scalpel. However, there is no choice but to play him, for the statistics and analytics point to him being a net-positive player (an allegation which is plainly false). I am already walking the tightrope with upper management, and to permanently bench a player who gives the illusion of productivity would almost certainly cost me my job.
I hate Dario Saric. I gave him thirty minutes in our game against the Kings, and guess what? We lost. But if I try to tell that to Glen Taylor, he hangs up the phone on me, as he just did not five minutes ago. We would have definitely won that game if I got to give Saric my special “coach’s decision” and have Andrew Wiggins take all those shots. Andrew is the savior of this franchise and he needs to take as many shots as possible. Dario can go play in highway traffic for all I care. Taj Gibson should get every single minute at power forward. All 48 of them.
Not only is Dario a horrible basketball player, but he is, by his very nature as a European, a horrible human being. When I pull him from the game for no reason, he doesn’t even argue with me. He has no spine and no respect. Every morning when I wake up, I check the headlines to see if perhaps Glen has mercifully decided to trade or waive Dario, but it never is so. I am stuck with him and his artificial stats.
I don’t even know what country Dario is from, but I know that whatever country it is, it is an impoverished hellhole that is unfit even for the swine and dogs that roam its dirty streets.
That’s all for now, diary. Thanks for listening.