Corey Brewer has done a good job of tricking people into thinking that he is a good player. But your devious ruses are ineffective against me, Corey! I see through your little charade! You shoot too many threes that you have no hope of making, you gamble too much for steals, and you look like one of the strung-out junkies that has taken up residence in the city park.
Corey’s sleight of hand was especially potent when used against the Timberwolves front office. Don’t forget, the Wolves were where Corey was first allowed to play big minutes while sucking. Theoretically, they knew that he wasn’t worth keeping around when he got sent out for Anthony Randolph, but he fooled them all, and got a shiny new contract with them several years later despite regressing as a player.
Okay, so he can cut to the basket, and he can run down the court really fast to catch K-Love’s outlets. Those are some good things. But when I think about how much the Timberwolves would beast if they had a real SF, I get really morose and tend not to eat for a few days. Oh no…I feel it happening again. The energy is being drained from my body like a defective battery.
I’m going back to bed. Wake me up never.