Mario Hezonja slipped his light-blocking mask over his eyes, hoping to get some sleep on the flight that was going back to New York. With his noise-cancelling headphones playing some chill instrumental beats to drown out the light amount of chatter that was coming from his teammates, he was sure that rest would be coming soon for him.
However, just as he was drifting off, he felt a warm, undulating sensation envelop his body. It was very similar to the feeling he had felt on the plane after their game against the Magic where he had scored 29 points. What had followed had been an interesting experience to say the least, an experience which had resulted in a complete poem written in English that was too perfect to have truly been written by himself. Was it happening again?
It was. Mario again felt the mysterious force pulling gently at his arms, prompting them to remove his mask, then to get a paper and pen from his bag. When he got these things out and placed them on the fold-out table in front of him, his hands, again, began to write as if the poetic words were being supplied to them by some outside entity.
“In Orlando my talent was grossly underused
My demands for minutes were always refused
In New York these issues are still in play
But things might have changed on this fateful day
To start at point guard was the furthest dream
Orchestrating the offense like the flow of a stream
Not just a scorer, but a facilitator as well
Was it a success? The stats do tell
That I thrived in a new role, given in desperation
So unexpectedly did I thrive; the exasperation
On Harden’s face was a delight to see
His distraught demeanor, a sustenance for me
Quite prone to triple-doubles is that man with the beard
But the triple-double was mine, and now I am feared
By all that see me on the opposing team
Being an all-around player, no longer a dream
After the game I told Harden to suck my rod
It was said in Croatian, so all he did was nod
Harden has agreed to commit a sexual act so lewd
And I am the one to come out ahead in this feud
Then I said in English that Giannis would be MVP
I postered and stepped over the Greek, and I live rent free
In the heads of all opponents who I dominate
The Croat GOAT is established on this date
Harden just shrugged and walked away
My banter was too skillful on this day
Where the path will lead me cannot yet be known
But the seeds of greatness have surely been sown”
With the poem finished, Mario felt the comfortable cloudiness of his thoughts get lifted away. With renewed focus, he stared down at the words he had written, but was surprised to see that they weren’t even in his handwriting. What powerful cosmic force was guiding him through these poetic trances? His uncertainty about this mingled with his intuition that the force was one of good, one that was looking out for him.
Mario carefully folded up the poem and placed it in his bag next to the first one. All of a sudden, he was very, very tired. Without the aid of the mask, he was asleep instantly.