Your old pal DownToBuck has a long history of suffering medical conditions when something cool is happening in the NBA. Most commonly I am afflicted by an elevated BHL (Blood Hype Level). All it takes is a player to score a bunch of points in a short amount of time and my BHL spikes. Symptoms of elevated BHL include but are not limited to: sweating, raised heart rate, numbness and/or tingling in extremities, nausea, vomiting, sensitivity to bright light, headaches, cancer, frequent urination, involuntary shivering, chills, fever, diaper rash, dehydration, and drowsiness.
So it should come as no surprise that I almost was in a coma after Kyle Kuzma scored 23 points in the first quarter of the Lakers’ game against the 76ers. I mean, if he kept that up, he would beat Kobe’s record and be challenging Wilt’s. Of course I’m going to get hyped over something like that. Unfortunately for me, I have a tendency to let my hype level rise unchecked, and that’s what happened this time. One minute, I’m witnessing Kuzma hit an and-one, the next minute, I’m flat on my back and find that my helpful little kitty Japurri Purrker has dragged a Pop Tarts box from the kitchen and deposited it on my chest.
I didn’t want to make Japurri feel bad by telling him that I really prefer my Pop Tarts to be microwaved (this is a civilized household, after all), so I took one out of the package and ate it. It was Smore’s flavor, one of my favorites, and it perked me up enough that I could get back in my chair and keep making highlight videos.
Then I heard an ambulance outside my apartment building. I was hoping it wasn’t for me, but I thought it could be because Japurri is smart enough to dial 911 if he thinks I’m going to die (which it would be reasonable of his little kitty brain to think, given that I probably was passed out for thirty minutes). So when the paramedics knocked on the door I had to tell them that there were no medical emergencies and that my kitty’s clumsy sausage-paws had dialed 911 instead of the pizza delivery place like I told him to.
They looked at me funny but I was keeping it together pretty well (despite still feeling a bit light-headed) so they left pretty quick after that. Which was good because I didn’t want to cause a scene and have a crowd form. What if the cute chubby Latina who lives above me had seen that I was some kind of wimp who needed medical treatment? That would be embarrassing.
There’s also the issue where I can’t have anybody come into my place because I’ve got a sentient 12-foot-tall statue of Buddy Hield that nobody can find out about. So even if I did slip into a coma, there’s no way paramedics could come in to rescue me. I’ll have to remind Japurri about that. He should drag me out to the front lawn if I require emergency medical care so nobody finds out about Buddy.
Anyway, I’m feeling better now because Kuzma only scored 39 points, which is a lot, but also not when you think about how hot he was to start the game. He only scored two points in the fourth quarter. That fact alone pretty much instantly stabilized my BHL. So, thanks Kuzma for not scoring more and maybe sending me to the hospital, but also, Kuzma you suck because you should have scored fifty this game, hospital or no hospital.