As I collect clip after endless clip from the Pacers-Grizzlies game, I can feel my will to live draining out of my body and into my carpet. “Curse you Darren Collison, curse you…” I hoarsely croak, but even in the face of this adversity, I know that a highlight video must be made.
Another spate of free throws comes up so suddenly that I have to lean back into my chair and close my eyes. My arms are so weak and cold; they have to recover before I continue. As I feebly shovel the remnant crumbs of my long-ago-consumed Pop Tart into my mouth, I mull the cruel forces of fate that have conspired to craft the most unbearable highlight video in my long and storied highlights career: Darren Collison, 30 points, 8 assists, 12 free throws.
The perfect confluence of stats causes me to bark a single harsh laugh, but the action sends me into a fit of uncontrolled coughing which lasts for nearly a minute. Afterwards, I am more spent and depressed than before, but my will is not fully broken, and I continue on my quest.
After what seems like an eternity, all the clips are ordered neatly on my hard drive. Now I have to edit them together into a complete highlights package. Again it occurs to me what small number of viewers this video might attract. One thousand is a generous estimate. “Nobody even likes Darren Collison,” I mumble deliriously into my curved 4K monitor. The video is made in an unthinking haze, as if by a robot. I can only think of the pain that not only consumes my body, but consumes my mind as well.
Feeling a warm wetness on my chair, I dumbly look down and realize that I have lost control of my bladder. My body no longer seems under my command, and I have a crushing sense that the end is approaching. Faced with a dimming of my sight, I struggle to navigate YouTube’s upload interface, and after much struggle, I finally start to upload the finished product, only to realize that I have not yet created a thumbnail image.
The situation grows increasingly dire. My vision is reduced to two pinpricks in a sea of black, and I struggle to take in enough air as my breathing slows. “I’m sorry,” I whisper into the nothingness. The thumbnail is created hastily, sloppily, but there is little to be done about it. I attach the thumbnail image to the video, but before I can hit the “publish” button, I slump forward lifelessly onto my desk. The last thing I see before the end is my face crashing into my left mouse button.