Mike Brown looked at his watch, annoyed. “Where the hell is Delly? That guy’s been flakier than Frosted Flakes lately! He can’t just not show up to the pregame shoot-around!”
Dion Waiters was concerned. He thought he knew what was up, but kept his mouth shut for the time being. He had not told anyone about Matthew Dellavedova’s serious substance abuse problem.
Only a few minutes before tipoff, Dellavedova arrived, stumbling a bit, his eyes unfocused. On his hands and around his mouth was a brown, sticky substance.
Alonzo Gee looked amused and nudged Dion. “Haha, look at Delly! Is that what I think it is?”
Dion sighed. “Yup, that’s Vegemite, he’s been really…”
“That’s actually not what I was thinking of.”
“He’s really been hittin’ the Vegemite hard lately. Last time I went to his place there was nothing but Vegemite and Vegemite paraphernalia. Knives for spreading, bread, he even had squirt bottles repurposed to hold it. He’s been doin’ a good job hiding it, but the dude is a serious junkie, straight up”. He walked over to his teammate, who was attempting to shoot jumpers without any success.
“Yo, Delly, we got to get you cleaned up, and then you gotta go home, you ain’t fit to be playing tonight after all that brown magic.”
“What are you talking about, Dion, I’m fine! I’m clean! Haven’t touched the stuff for days.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“Alright, maybe I hit a few toasts of the stuff earlier in the morning. But I’m good. You know that pitcher who threw a no-hitter while on LSD? That’s how I feel, man. I feel great. The only thing stopping from getting dimes tonight is you guys bricking. Now excuse me.”
Matthew walked away unsteadily as Dion stared after him. Alonzo Gee replaced him, and looked at Dion warily.
“You sure he ain’t a coprophiliac?”