When Davis Bertans was out for that stretch of games in late December and early January, I discovered some things about myself that might not have come to the forefront without his extended absence. Basically, I found out that I was counting on Bertans for both my general happiness and my overall mental stability. And without the prospect of watching him splash deep three-pointers against helpless defenders, the quality of my life took a severe nosedive.
There were days when I didn’t get out of bed and had to make all my highlights from my laptop. If I was active and moving around my place, it was like struggling to walk through a suffocating haze of aimlessness. All the normal joy I felt from making highlight videos was absent.
Even my kitty Japurri Purrker was feeling the effects of an NBA with no Davis Bertans. One morning I woke up to find all of his dry food uneaten. Instead, he had rearranged the little food pebbles into a crude but recognizable image of Bertans’ face. I thought about taking a picture of it to post to my Twitter account, but instead I collapsed to the ground and sobbed while Japurri cuddled up next to me for safety.
I’m doing a lot better now that Bertans is back and hitting all the three-pointers that I expect of him, but I’m scared to think about what will happen to me when he retires.