I’m not a man of medicine and despite my ridiculed existence I know when the soul is sick. It has been sick for quite some time know, May 5th to be exact. The remedy is still eight moons away and I find myself occupying my time with unholy objects such as proposed barters and mind-numbing chatter about the future – a future which is both pregnant with hope but also one where the ghosts of disaster and shattered dreams lurk nearby. They say a forward of the small kind is needed to rectify the most major need of the unit and although that is true in the basest of regards, the more daunting need continues to be a presence of greater magnitude in the central position. A man of limited talents such as Radoslav cannot be called upon to satisfy the needs of a squadron which aims at the heavens for glory, the thirst of which glory was only beginning to get quenched in a playoff series of the most earliest of rounds.
The draft is approaching and with it comes the anticipation of new blood, but alas, the team which represents the most ancient of breed is left without an option to choose. The men in charge have bartered away the chance to pick from the fresh crop and only another barter or a purchase of chance can allow a selection on the 28th day of the sixth month. I am a meek and humble man or maybe I am humble because I am meek, either way I have a proposition which I present to my esteemed audience which of course there is none. I say let the devil take the draft, the younger the blood, the more nurturing it needs, no, demands! There is sufficient young blood in the present battalion and adding an experienced hand with tricks up his sleeve is to me far more valuable than another youth who only seeks to gratify his most immediate needs and desires.
My hole in the ground presents me with an environment which allows me to spend days and nights in thought, uninterrupted by the annoyances of everyday existence and away from my companion’s love affair with reality television. I sit here in my hole contemplating whether we have a squadron that is adequate enough to meet success in the elimination stage of the tournament and a resounding, booming answer in the negative deafens my ears. My heart, it speaks of triumph and hope, of success and the maturation of our leader Christopher, it speaks of the elevation of Terrence into a true and fearless leader but the devil, he keeps whispering in my ear that the previous campaign was but a hoax resulting because of the misfortune of others (PHI, BOS, IND) and not because of the valiant effort put forth by our heroes. I shut him out but he speaks louder, so loud that I second guess the very elements that comprise our formula.
I am being negative again, Dmitri, my only friend keeps reminding me that things are for the better and the new harvest will yield a crop that will make us proud and will be one that will enable us to participate until the late days of the fifth month or with some luck, even the sixth. There is truth in that but I retort that Christopher will need to improve and his mates will need to be better than that what they were in the year gone by, the latter is a tough task given that the other armies in the arena have now taken note of the ancient breed and will be ready this time around. Fate was gentle enough to assign the element of surprise on our side last campaign but this time the opponent will be ready, prepared and knowing what to expect. It is our high commander’s duty to prepare the troops and to tutor them in the skill of half-court execution because it will be a skill that will come most useful when a score or two is needed down the stretch. Our defensive vulnerabilities resulted in our exit from this years tournament and if things aren’t rectified, the appropriate components replaced, the proper philosophical adjustments made, we cannot hope to compete in the dark battles of the association.
Grant Hill, a legend in his own right, is available. Depending on the cost of acquiring such an asset, I would not hesitate to get his esteemed signature on a contract of a year or two. Perhaps it is just my madness reaching an irrecoverable stage but the nimble mind thinks he possesses what we desperately need: a creator at the small forward position which can turn something out of nothing while still being able to construct a shot of the highest percentage when time calls. Aside from being a man possessing great court-vision, a respectable mid-range game, Hill is a man of great character and a gentleman, a fact that will only have a positive impact on the team. I will not insult the reader’s higher intelligence by describing the obvious health problems of Hill.
Esteemed and superior reader, forgive me if I have wasted your time. The only punishment for such a crime is for my abject self to return to my hole and continue with the self-loathing and despair that has become this off-season.
