JaMychal Green tips the jump ball, right to Zach Randolph! He takes the ball and surveys the situation. Does he shoot? DeAndre has not been able to stop him. But wait! Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tony Allen cutting to the basket. Without a second’s hesitation, he whips the ball inside. Allen, expecting the pass from his fearless point-forward leader, catches it and, in one motion, flips it into the rim. There it is! The first career triple-double for Zach Randolph! Pandemonium reigns in the Fedex Forum! The Clippers need to call timeout! His teammates rush out to him to celebrate this momentous achievement. Randolph is smiling, taking it all in, as Briante Weber runs over for a manly hug. Randolph receives it, and then…
His mind flashes back to that fateful Trailblazers practice in 2003. There is Ruben Patterson, his intimidating, criminal teammate, arguing with Qyntel Woods. Things are, as they often were with his team, getting heated. What should he do? There is only one thing to do. He winds up, and sucker-punches Patterson right in the face. Patterson collapses to the court, moaning. “My eye, my eye…”
Randolph jolts back to reality. Weber is still there, still smiling, but now his face is replaced by that of Patterson’s, his grin now resembling Patterson’s twisted leering visage, and so is Tony Allen’s, and JaMychal Green’s, and Xavier Munford’s… what should he do? There is only one thing to do.
The cheers grow less and less as the crowd realized what is happening. Zach Randolph stands near the Grizzlies’ bench, wildly throwing punches with both arms, connecting again and again with his unbelieving teammate’s faces. One by one they collapse to the ground, clutching their bloodied heads in their hands. The arena sits completely silent, in shock at the gory display in front of them. Marc Gasol, besuited, the last one standing, pleads to his teammate, tears in his eyes.
“Zach, what are you doing?”
Randolph sees nothing but the taunting figure of Ruben Patterson, the man who corrupted him, who set out to ruin his career. He winds up one final haymaker, and connects squarely with his tormentor’s face. Gasol collapses to the court, moaning. “My eye, my eye…”