Read the following sentences and gauge your personal reaction to them:
“Langston Galloway is having a career year.”
“Langston Galloway is worth his contract for the first time since the Pelicans hella overpaid him.”
“The Langston Galloway/Luke Kennard tandem is sneaky lowkey one of the best shooting guard rotations in the league.”
“Langston Galloway not only has the physical appearance of a veteran, but he now has the NBA credentials to back it up.”
Does reading those sentences, which are all 100% undeniably true, make you feel strange things in the secret, forbidden parts of your body? Does reading those sentences flood your brain with an endorphin rush that is indistinguishable from the rush that you get when you snort a line of premium designer cocaine right off Tom Gores’ sweaty, hairy butt cheeks?
No, it doesn’t. And it shouldn’t. Reading those sentences does nothing for me because Langston Galloway as a whole does nothing for me. If you’re of sane mind, you’ll be the same way. Even though Galloway is indeed having a career year both in terms of efficiency and raw totals, the Pistons are deep enough in the doldrums for that fact to have no impact on the minds of NBA thinkers around the league. At best, assistant GM’s might be adding this guy to their internal lists of “players we could maybe trade a second rounder for.”
Now I have to figure out what it is that is causing these strange feelings in the secret, forbidden parts of my body. Maybe it’s a heart attack.