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Players lucky enough to be a part of the All-Star festivities are in New Orleans. Other players chose to use the week off for a little R&R. Some head to their home town to lay back with family and friends.
 
In the wake of omnipresent trade rumors falling his worst season as a professional , Joey Graham decided to stay put in Toronto this weekend, lay low, and prepare for whatever’s coming.
 
One of my high school buddies works as a concierge in Joey’s lakefront condo. After giving him a bottle of expensive tequila and promising him exclusives on my sperm should he ever go sterile, he agreed to plant one of those Nannycam teddybears in Joey’s condo. Apparently Joey’s got a whole collection of teddybears*, so he’ll never notice.
 
* You’d never know it, but the white one in the middle, right between Scarfy and Shaghead the Lion, is our plant.
 
Due to my lack of technical know-how, I can’t upload a direct video feed. But I CAN offer a transcript of his actions over the past two days.

Friday, Feb. 15th, 5:56pm

His condo is stylish yet sparse, typical of someone not trying to get too comfortable. Packing boxes are stacked behind the couch. A 4-piece Louis Vitton luggage set sits by the front door.

Joey enters his apartment carrying a shitload of groceries. Looks like about 8 Pusateri’s bags in each hand. Upon stepping inside, he quickly drops the bundle of bags and shakes his hands, wincing at the pain. Takes off his boots, walks out of frame. Returns a second later, opens the door, takes out his keys.

Friday, Feb. 15th, 6:30 pm

Can’t see anything, but can hear Joey talking to himself from the kitchen:

“Two cloves garlic, minced…check. Finely grated zest of two lemons: Finely grated enough. Half bottle dry white wine? How could it be dry, it’s wine! Just kidding, check. Pre-heat oven…”

Friday, Feb. 15th, 7:45 pm

Joey checks his answering machine. He’s relieved to see there’s no messages. Nods his head confidently.

Friday, Feb. 15th, 9:31 pm

Joey sits on the couch watching TV, sour look on his face. The phone rings. He answers it using a Bluetooth headset, eyes never wavering from the TV.

“Hello? Oh, hey Stephen. Not much, just waitin’ on some Osso Buco. Nope, dinner for one, just having some Joey time. Nope, no calls yet. But I got my bags packed just in case. Hey, that reminds me, did you speak to Jim about me? Well why not? At least drop that OSU highlight tape of us I sent you on his desk, okay? And remind him that I’m better than Andre Owens. Thanks (oven timer dings in background) Oh, the dinner bell’s ringing. Call me after CSI.”

Joey rushes up, in his haste smacking his knee on the coffee table. He limps into the kitchen.
Friday, Feb. 15th, 11:04 pm

Graham’s involved in a spirited game of PS3. He’s wearing a headset.

“TJ passes to Graham on the wing…Graham with the crossover…and…JIMMY JAM! That’s a season high 42 points for Joey Graham! (smiles). Who sucks now, TaylorS1214? Looks like the Raps just knocked down the mighty Nuggets. (pause) Sure, I’ll play again.”

Saturday, Feb. 16th, 1:50 am

Joey’s fast asleep on the couch, a tub of neopolitan ice cream melting on the coffee table. The phone rings, startles him from his sleep. Joey checks the call waiting. Rubs his eyes, answers it.

“Hello? Huh? Can’t hear you, it’s too loud. Who’s this, Andrea? Wake me? Naw, just, uh, entertaining. Girls, you know. A couple of them. (cups the phone as he yawns) How’s New Orleans? Good, I’m glad. Sounds like you’re at a party…huh? I can’t hear you man, too much laughing in the background. I gotta get back to these ladies. (affects a girl voice) ‘Joey dear, get off the phone and come back to pleasuring me..’ (regular voice) Coming…gimme a call tomorrow – oh and remember, be safe. You never know which of those girls just did Marbury. Later.”

Joey hangs up the phone. Notices the ice cream running across his coffee table. Shakes his head in shame.

Sat. Feb. 16 11:14 am

Wearing baggy OSU shorts and an And 1 tshirt, Joey does yoga in his living room. Mid downward dog, the doorbell rings. Joey answers, it’s a FedEx delivery guy.

“No way! Finally!”

Joey rips the package, signs the tablet, and slams the door. He can’t rip open the box quick enough. Joey proudly holds up a World of Warcraft box.

He does a little dance, presumably of joy.

Sat. Feb. 16 2:10 pm

No sign of Joey.

Sat. Feb. 16 4:34 pm

Still no Joey.

Sat. Feb. 16 6:19 pm

The sound of Joey peeing, likely with the door open.

Sat. Feb. 16 8:19 pm

Joey finally returns to the living room, exhausted. He flicks on the TV – Barkley and Kenny Smith’s voices fill the room. Graham pulls out clippers, starts working on his toenails.

Sat. Feb. 16 9:40 pm

Joey’s sitting up, pumping his fist.

“That’s it Jay! Another! Another! Bam! Bam! Ba–oh, rimmed out. Bam! YES!”

He picks up the phone, dials.

“Hey Juan, see that? You owe me five. No, nothing my way. He call you yet? Well, so far so good. Maybe he’ll change his mind. Anyway, solidarity, brother. Later.”

Graham leaps from the couch…slamming his knee into the coffee table, AGAIN.

Sat. Feb. 16 10:37 pm

The coffee table is pushed across the room. Joey’s sipping a cup of tea, blowing the steam off the top. He’s on his Bluetooth again.

“A 46? For that? Come on! Gerald Green, you suck man. Jamario got robbed. I told him not to put that tape down. Last time he doesn’t listen to ol’ Joey. Hey Steve, ‘member when I threw down that 360 windmill back in college? In the East Tennessee State game. What do you mean, you don’t remember? Jeez, man. That’s cold. (oven timer dings). Alright bro, gotta get the banana bread out before it burns. See you on Warcraft later? Pfft. Fine. I guess Kareem Rush’s birthday party is more important than the Graham brothers conquering the Lich King. Whatever. Later.”

Joey hangs up quickly.

Sun. Feb. 17 12:12 am

A sleepy Joey walks to the luggage by the front door, digs through a bag, and pulls out his SpongeBob pajamas. Heads for bed.

Sun. Feb. 17 2:45 am

Phone rings. Can hear Joey rustling from bed. Bangs his knee on something, yelps.

He walks into the living room, muttering.

“Please don’t be Bryan…please don’t be Bryan…”

Joey picks up the phone. Answers it.

“Hey Jamario…no no, I just got home from the club. Bumpin’. Hey, great job tonight, you must be — really? Three hookers at once? Damn, ain’t you living the high life. You must be so proud. (pause) Hey, you seen BC around? Well if you do, be sure to tell him I’m in the gym working on my jump shot every day. You won’t forget, will you? Thanks, you’re a pal J… (under his breath) even if you do steal all my goddamn minutes. Huh? No, didn’t say nothing. Talk to you later…”

Joey hangs up the phone. Sits for a moment. Looks like he might cry. He walks over to his teddy collection, picks up the Camera-Bear, cradles it softly. Definitely crying now. He walks off to the bedroom with the camera/bear.

Sun. Feb. 17 5:25 am

Very dark. Camera’s staring straight up at the ceiling, shaking gently. The sound of flesh slapping flesh, like two hands clapping, only more rhythmic. Intermittent moans through gentle, constant crying.

Sun. Feb. 17 8:15 am

Battery dies.