Tuesday, December 30, 2014

ANDREW BOGUT'S INNERMOST THOUGHTS, VOL 1. (there will be no volume 2)

DEC 25th, 2014


We lost to the Clippers today, and I have never been more affronted in my life.

Before the game, instead of engineering a single minded focus in their hearts, zeroing in on the target so they can kill deal with their opponents like professionals, the Golden State Warriors were spending  time with their families, who were all flown out to Los Angeles so they could be distractions before the big matchup.

All this mushy minded garbage didn’t do anything to my performance today. This senti-mentality, that’s a sentimental mentality, could not be more foreign to me. I don’t celebrate Christmas, because I don’t believe in Jesus Christ or whatever. It’s just a re-appropriated pagan ritual. And I ESPECIALLY don’t celebrate ANY holidays with my family. I don’t talk to them. It ruins my focus. I had a wife for a week, but I left her when I realized it was going to be a distraction.

Also, I was injured, so I couldn’t play. This loss wasn’t my fault, by body betrayed me, it is laden with weakness. I am sure that weakness comes from distractions buried deep in my bones from when I was a child. My mother’s love wedging its way into my foot bones and sitting there, until it hardens into glass and breaks my bones.

It was everyone else getting distracted by their wives and children. It was downright unprofessional. One guy talked to his kid during warm ups. Totally inappropriate. Your kid should be at boarding school, so he can learn to become an engineer. I consider myself a basketball engineer, I have a very scientific approach to the game. I masturbate once a week, as a way of satisfying biological urges, the same way I poop. This is all anyone needs. Anything more would detract from my single minded focus on beating the Los Angeles Clippers, who are my hated enemy. They bounced me from the playoffs last year, a defeat that burns in my eyes and heart every day. I despise them almost as much as I despise my mother, whose impulsive decision to love me when I was a child continues to microfracture my bones to this day.

When I first got in the league, I wasn’t competitive enough, and I knew it. So I locked myself in a coffin. If I leaned over, I would be cut by the swords. I stood perfectly still. I was in mortal combat with those blades. Now, every time I get on the court, I imagine that my opponent  is one of those razor sharp Katanas, threatening my life, and I seek to bend them in the way I could not bend the tempered steel I faced for five days in that coffin.

I wish I had defeated the swords or died in the coffin, but my mother let me out and fed me instead of letting me face the challenge on my own. Her attempt to make me weak was the water poured on the molten steel of my heart. It hardened me forever. Now I only stare forward, looking to plow through my goals. It is the only way it can be.

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