Wes Johnson entered the club with one purpose in mind: to locate a suitable honey and take her back to his place. Navigating through the crowds of partiers, he first went to the bar to get some liquid confidence in his system. A short time later, he was on the prowl.
It didn’t take him long to find a target. A group of three women sat at a table together, chatting and laughing over drinks. None of them would be able to resist his suave come-ons, and if they needed a little extra persuasion, he would just casually drop in a reference to the fact that he was a pro baller.
“Hey ladies,” he said as he sauntered to their table. “A night away from the boyfriend? Maybe I can be your boyfriend tonight. Just say the word.”
Two of the women began playing with their hair and giggled like preteens, but the most attractive woman rolled her eyes. “I don’t usually sleep with busts,” she said.
This response threw Wes completely off his game. “What?”
“Come on Ashley, you know you want the basketball player D,” chastised one of the woman’s companions. “Who cares how little he actually contributes to winning basketball?”
Wes was starting to get annoyed. “Hey, I’ve just been wrongly utilized, it’s not my fau-”
Interrupting his explanation, Ashley responded to her friend, “Unlike a whore like yourself, Kayla, I have a reputation to uphold, a reputation that would be forever tarnished if I slept with a player whose PER has never been higher than 12.”
“My role in the offense is to shoot jumpers. Jumpshooters never have a good PER,” Wes explained.
Ashley scoffed. “Oh, that’s funny, because Ryan Anderson was just in here the other day, and I gave him a ride he will never forget.”
“Sex isn’t fantasy basketball,” Wes responded angrily. “My effective field goal percentage doesn’t change how much satisfaction I can give you in bed. I don’t even know why I’m arguing with you, I can get any woman I want.” Ignoring the two perfectly willing girls at the table, Wes turned and walked away.
“Hey, good job on the .5 win shares per 48! Larry Hughes would be proud!” Ashley called after him as he walked away. Wes responded with a middle finger. But instead of going back on the hunt to find a suitably sexy mate, Wes went to an isolated corner and got out his phone.
Navigating to basketball-reference, he perused his advanced stats. Normally, he never looked at his own stats, and the numbers painted a sad picture of a player too in love with his jumpshot. Ashley was right. He was a bust. He would never live up to expectations. No woman who knew about his on-court failures would ever sleep with him.
Pulling up his hoodie, Wes tried to avoid detection as he exited the club empty-handed. He had wanted to bust a nut, but now, he knew that he had simply busted.