Frank Kaminsky was getting ready for the game against the Grizzlies, when he noticed a slouched, white-bearded figure in the corner of the locker room, beckoning him. He wondered how he had noticed the man before; the mass of blankets covering him as he sat in a rocking-chair were out of place amongst the athletic gear of Frank’s teammates. Was it a reporter? He still hadn’t quite figured out all the local media people yet. He walked over.
“Closer…” whispered the man, hoarsely.
Now that he had a closer look, Frank laughed. “Tyler, what are you doing? We’ve got a game, man!”
Tyler Hansbrough feigned deafness. “Closer…” he whispered again.
“Is that a Santa beard you have on? Jesus, dude, you look ridiculous! Are you making fun of Kobe or something?”
Tyler paid no attention to what Frank was saying. “Are you the one they call Frank Kaminsky? My eyes are so bad, damaged by the passage of time, I can only see blurred outlines, and sometimes the glowing light of heaven come to take me away.”
“Yeah, man, it’s me, Frank.”
“I have some information to pass on to you, before it is time for myself to pass.”
Frank laughed again. “Like about how to smell like a nursing home? You really pulled that part off well.”
Again, Tyler continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Frank, it is important that you listen! You must not fall into the trap that I had, in my younger days. I was one of the greatest college players ever, Frank, beloved by many and hated by more. The great white hope they called me! I thought I had it all, Frank, I thought nothing could stop my march towards NBA greatness. How wrong I was! I peaked as a mere role player on mediocre teams, the problem was…”
“Hey, we’re pretty good this year, I think!”
“…that I developed a three-point shot too late, too late to make an impact in the modern NBA. I see myself in you, my dear boy, a great white college player who hustles. You must develop the shot that I failed to, Frank, before you, too, succumb… succumb… to the rigors…”
Tyler stopped talking, flopped his head back in his chair, and was still.
“The rigors of being a bust?” Frank said as he walked away, chuckling.