Every time I think about Dorell Wright, I have these depraved thoughts. They are an unwelcome presence, but I cannot dispel them no matter how much mental energy I exert towards the task. It wasn’t a big problem during the regular season, when Dorell was getting minor minutes and had production to match, but now that he is blossoming in the playoffs, my mind is in turmoil. I just want to be able to go to sleep without these sick images playing over and over like a broken projector.
What is the nature of these thoughts, you ask? It pains me to describe them, but perhaps this can serve as a type of therapy, so that I may ease the torment which currently consumes me.
I can’t stop thinking about how bad Dorell sucked in the three-point contest in 2011. He was just a brick factory the whole time. The rim was almost broken off its hinges by the time Dorell was done assaulting it with bricks, and everybody had to pretend that a final score of 11 was not the most pathetic thing they had ever seen.
Nope, that didn’t work. I’m still thinking about it. Even looking at my computer screen, all I see is a red, white, and blue Money Ball caroming right off the rim and towards my face. I’m ostensibly listening to music, but all I hear are the disgusted groans of the crowd, a crowd who just wanted to watch three-pointers go in the basket.
Somebody please rescue me from this madness.