Rudy Gobert slid.
His large frame, not well-suited for this type of activity, sped down the hill at breakneck speed. The inner-tube which conveyed him groaned under the weight of the sledding NBA player. Rudy himself had his eyes clenched tight. He had vague recollections of tobogganing as a child in France, idyllic scenes involving his friends and relatives, calm and serene. Not like this. He could not imagine a less serene scenario.
His teammates had insisted that this was the raddest winter fun that required no special training, and that he must join them. A poor decision, he thought now, as he careened down the slope. He liked winter. He liked hot chocolate and snow and pretty girls with pretty hats. He did not like the idea of grievous bodily harm incurred during reckless and juvenile winter activities.
A jump was coming up, a crude devisal of snow and ice. Rudy, his eyes still closed, was not anticipating becoming airborne. Just as he decided what choice words he was going to say to Gordon when this was all over, he felt himself flying through the air.
Opening his eyes in a panic, he saw the ground coming quickly closer. His attempts to brace for impact were ineffectual, and soon he was tumbling ass-over-teakettle down the hillside, with his trusty inner-tube rolling ahead of him, wisely electing to escape the chaos.
Then, it was over. Seven feet of Frenchman lay sprawled at the bottom of the hill, not moving. His Jazz teammates rushed over to examine their teammate. Gordon Hayward was smiling.
“WOOOOOOOOO! Wasn’t that the raddest thing ever?”
Rudy rolled over onto his side and moaned. After a few moments, he replied.