Lou Williams 16 Points Full Highlights (5/1/2014)

“Hey, Lou, what are you dressed up like that for?” Paul Millsap asked, looking his teammate up and down in disbelief. “Nobody looks like that going to the club.”

Lou Williams, looking dapper in a navy-blue turtleneck, skinny black jeans, and tinted glasses, laughed airily. The small silver chain around his neck jangled. “I’m not coming with you guys to the club. There’s a jazz venue nearby that I’ve been wanting to check out. It’s called ‘The Blue Bear’. You guys are welcome to join me.”

“Jazz? You ain’t never listened to jazz in your life.”

“This is true. But then I thought, ‘Lou Williams’ is a pretty jazzy name. Don’t you think? It just sounds like the name of somebody who enjoys jazz.”

Paul sighed. “Whatever man. I guess I’ll join you. Jazz might be a bit more appropriate after a loss than thumping electronic beats. But if the chicks there are ugly, it’s the last time we follow your advise for postgame entertainment.”
“Where the honeys at?” Paul asked, squinting against the dim light of the small club. “I can’t hardly see nothing.”

“That’s the point,” Lou responded. “It’s called ambiance. But an uncultured plebeian like yourself would understandably be confused and enraged by it.”

“Who you calling a plebeian?” Paul responded in annoyance. “What’s a plebeian?”

Lou put his finger up to his lips. “Shh. I’ll explain later. We’re missing the solo.” He nodded his head along to the atonal, arrhythmic squawking of the saxophonist. “I bet I could do that,” he whispered to his teammate.

“The most musical thing you ever did in your life was the sounds you were making on the toilet before tonight’s game. You definitely can’t play whatever that instrument is. You can hear how much trouble it’s giving that guy up there, and he’s a pro.”

Lou was undeterred. “I bet I could. After all, I’m Lou Williams, famous jazz saxophonist.”

“More like Lou WIlliams, famous idiot,” Paul snapped back, but it was too late; the song had ended, people were clapping, and Lou had walked up to the stage to chat with the band members. Lou must have somehow managed to convince them of his credentials, because they were all shaking his hand eagerly, and the saxophonist gladly handed over his instrument.

“Oh no,” Paul mumbled to himself as Lou began to address the crowd.

“Hey you cool cats. Some of you might not know me, but then again, probably a lot of you do. I’m Lou Williams, famous jazz saxophonist and one of jazz’s premiere talents.” There was a large round of applause in response, much louder than Paul expected. Lou turned around to address his new bandmates. “Give me some beats, boys.”

The band expertly laid down some soothing bass lines for Lou to work with. However, the only sound Lou was able to make was a loud wail. He depressed the keys of his instrument at random, ascending and descending through a range of nonsensical notes. After only thirty seconds of this cacophony, Lou had exhausted all his breath, and stopped playing. There was another roar of applause, the audience excited to hear the soothing melodies of one of “jazz’s premiere talents”.

Paul got up from the tiny table he was seated at and exited the establishment. As he was walking to his car, he looked one last time through the window to see the club’s owner handing Lou a large stack of money.

“I wonder if Paul Millsap is a jazzy name?”

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