Rodney Stuckey has suffered the misfortune of having to spend his entire career with the Detroit Pitstains. It’s not all bad, though; they went to the conference finals his rookie year. The sweet taste of success has indeed graced his lips, but its sensation upon his tongue is long forgotten; all he knows now is the bitter flavor of loss. There is, out there, a sun-dappled meadow of playoff success in which NBA players frolic joyfully, but Stuckey is relegated to the cloudy, rainy tar pits of failure, from which he watches the more fortunate players prance about in their happiness. He sinks deeper into the tar, each passing year making less likely his chance to escape, and mere feet from his eyes, players like Roy Hibbert and Dirk Nowitzki sun themselves in the soft green grass and sip the delicious nectar of victory.
And to his side, Charlie Villanueva is smiling, enjoying the torment that is placed upon him, craving it. Soon, Rodney will be that way too, yearning for the sensuous caress of loss and inefficiency, each missed shot a lovely jolt of agony. Such is the fate of all NBA players stuck on losing teams for the entirety of their careers.