Patrick Patterson went home after yesterday’s game, opened up a bottle of aged French wine, poured it in an even more expensive glass and placed it on a crystal table at the edge of his condo window. He then sat down. He didn’t drink the wine, not yet, he calmly put it down and stared out the window. He stared, intently and with purpose, into the distance as the clouds covered the city with a faint promise of rain. Winter was coming.
Patterson’s thoughts lingered, and soon a stream of childhood memories, long thought lost, took over his being. From when he first shot the ball against a creaky wooden backboard in West Virginia, to when he led his high school to three straight state championships. He recalled how the crowd had roared his name, and how his heart had almost burst with pride and valour.
Lost in memories so strong that his heart began to ache, he broke his gaze out the window and caught a reflection in the glass. He saw a different man staring back. A man, older and larger in stature than the one dominating his memories at the moment, a man who had the same aspirations, the same hunger, and the same desire for excellence. His thoughts turned to the Miami game, and how he had failed the team, yet, that didn’t anger him. He realized, at that moment with sweat pouring down his neck, that it wasn’t the team he had failed. He had failed himself.
Patterson stood up as the night sky darkened, took the wine glass in his hand, and crushed it into a thousand pieces. The wine, like free flowing blood from a fresh wound, poured down his arm and onto the floor. His steely eyes pierced the night as he took out his phone, and tweeted:
I will fix this..
— Patrick Patterson (@pdpatt) November 3, 2014
Source: Raptors players on Twitter
