I just got on board the Terrence Jones hype train, and damn, this train car is swanky! Leather recliners, personal forty-inch TV’s, this place has it all. It even has blazing-fast gigabit wi-fi so this video only took fifteen seconds to upload. An extremely attractive and large-bosomed attendant just give me a choice of six different cuts of steak, cooked to my most exacting whim. T-Bone, medium rare please! I could make myself at home here, riding the hype of one of the most talented young power forwards in the game, enjoying the beautiful mountain scenery outside my window along the way. Wherever this train goes, it’s sure to be somewhere fantastic.
Oh, it sounds like the conductor is saying something! I’d better listen in…
“This is Conductor Harden speaking. We are glad to have you aboard and are thankful that you have chosen the T-Jones Express for your NBA hype needs.”
Huh, the sky is getting cloudy out there. And all the trees are gnarled, charred to blackness. What’s up with that?
“Not everything is fun and games here on the T-Jones Express. As the conductor of this train, I control Terrence’s destiny. In fact, I control the destiny of every player on the Rockets! I do this by hogging the ball, looking to score every possession, and ignoring my open teammates. To have the energy to do all that, I take off entire possessions on defense – I simply can’t be bothered to stay in front of my man! T-Jones or Dwight will come to my rescue, and if my man scores at the rim anyway, I can glare at them and be exasperated. Their punishment is to have me waste a possession by taking a contested three-pointer with 19 seconds remaining on the shot clock…to witness their teammate squander another possession through delusions of superstardom!”
The landscape outside the window is almost completely barren now. Sand is being blown around like crazy. I wonder when the next stop is? I’m not sure I want to be on this train anymore.
“It may come as a nasty surprise that the track we currently travel upon is without end. The T-Jones Express will roll on until the end of time, all hype slowly dying away as my ball-dominant playing style stifles his development. Sure, we may make it to the second round of the playoffs, but this train will never reach its ultimate destination as long as I am the one in control!”
My TV just vanished, and the seat under me is now made of splintered wood. My steak turned out to be shoe leather, and the cute attendant is nowhere to be seen. Other passengers, mostly clad in Houston Rockets merchandise, are looking at each other with unease. In another car, I can hear a woman crying hysterically, pleas for freedom made unintelligible by her frantic screams.
Somebody please let me off this train. I don’t want to hype Terrence Jones anymore.