Doug McDermott woke up and immediately decided he had simply transferred from one dream into another. The place he was in had a very dreamlike quality about it; a marble hallway extending infinitely in both directions; a pervasive greyish mist; ivory pillars extending vaguely into the hazy sky; indistinct yellow torches lending diffuse orbs of light from their positions on unseen walls. In addition, he was no longer dressed in his clothes from when he had gone to bed; his pajamas had been replaced with a pure white robe fashioned of incredibly fine cloth.
It took him a few seconds to realize that he probably wasn’t dreaming, and that he had, in fact, been to this place once before. It was the Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers.
Unlike last time he had visited, all was quiet; there was no Carlos Delfino to regale him with tales of scoring thirty points in an NBA contest. Doug had already been initiated into the hall, had already had its wonder explained to him, and now he was left to his own devices.
Doug chose a direction randomly and began to walk, despite the fact that his walking never took him to a place that looked different from the place he had been before. The Hall was supposed to be a place of profound peace, a reality where the only thing that existed was your pride in, and satisfaction with, your NBA accomplishments.
For some reason, Doug couldn’t help but smile. He had scored thirty-one points, a new career high, and helped his struggling team to a win. His anxieties about his team, and his place on it, were nowhere to be found. Instead, the soothing glow of the Hall put him into a near-meditative state of bliss, where the only thing that existed were him, and his status as a player who scored thirty or more points in the NBA.
Unlike the first and only time he had been transported to the Hall, Doug had no desire to leave or escape. He wanted to stay here forever, his psyche illuminated by the radiance of this peaceful respite from real-world stresses. Here, his feet would never tire and he would never want for food or drink; the only sustenance he required was knowledge of his substantial NBA accomplishments.
The mist curled around his feet as he continued to walk. It was doubtful that he would meet another soul on this visit, but that was fine with him. He had transcended the need for validation from other humans, not just here in the Hall of the Thirty Point Scorers, but in the “real” world, as well. That was the power of the Hall.