The door swung wide open, and chemically enhanced cold air hit me in the face. I pushed past the horde of suites and skirts, and grabbed a seat at the bar.
“No Jim. This day calls for drastic measures.”
A shot of bourbon immediately appeared in front me. I brought the glass to my face, studying it. Seeing if there were any sudden movements. Satisfied, I opened my mouth, threw it back, and slammed it back on the table.
What a shitty day. I didn’t even want to comprehend it. I just wanted to get as drunk as humanly possible in the next thirty minutes. I leaned back. “A Friend of the Devil’s” was playing over the jukebox. Another bourbon appeared. Life was turning around. I should have known then what was about to happen. It had been many months since he had appeared at my office. I had to change my entire life after that. Erase my entire identity. Move to another state. Become a vegetarian. Horrible things. But I had escaped. I was safe. Or so I thought, until I heard the door slam open, and the horrible noise that flew straight towards me.
I turned. He was sweating. His eyes were bloodshot, and part of his face was peeling off. He stank, and was covered in dirt. Oh no! John Hollinger is back!
With his sweaty, swollen fingers, he shoved a cute blonde in power-black suite out of his way. His eyes locked directly on mine. For an eternity, we stared at each other. Suddenly, he fell to his knees. With his palms raised upwards, he screamed out, in the voice only those who have known betrayal would understand: “BIRDMAN!!!!!!!!”
The room stayed frozen for a few more moments. Open mouths littered the room. The stampede only started once Hollinger began to throw the chairs. I stayed stuck to the bar stool. I knew that I was the only one who could stop this madness. As the bartender ran past me, I made my move.
“Hey John. Haven’t seen you for a while. You must have followed me across the country. I don’t see why. Since the last time we spoke, you’ve only become more popular. You’ve basically become the authority on the basketball version of ‘moneyball’ stats. With that said, old Chris Anderson didn’t work out so well, huh?”
“Oh, Diogu? That’s the new Anderson, right? Now, when the Golden State- Indiana trade happened, you wrote that it was a good trade for
“DIOGU! HIGH PER!!”
“Yes, I know. But have you ever considered that it’s because his coaches only play him when they think he can help the team? Maybe the reason he can’t stay on the floor is because they take him out as soon as the other team starts targeting him on defense?
“PER STAT ULTIMATE IN EVALUATING PLAYERS!”
“Well, it is a valuable stat, but you can’t make it the only way of evaluating players. Otherwise you would wind up with conclusions like Bill Russell is only the six best center of all time….wait, you did come to that conclusion, correct?”
“Well, that seems highly unlikely. Even if you think Wilt or Kareem was better then Russell, it’s impossible for me to think you could rate him as low as you did. He was and is only considered the greatest defensive big man, and he is the greatest winner in NBA history. As good as David Robinson was, he was no Bill Russell. C’mon Hollinger. You can’t simply evaluate players based solely on PER! That’s crazy! Basketball is too complicated to deduce it down to a single formula. Damn you!”
Hollinger started at me. He snarled, sweat poring down his chin. He gripped a chair, and I prepared for the worse. Suddenly, he let out a cry. “PER”, he softly murmured. Tears were streaming down his face. I looked at him, and reached my hand out. I was going to reach this monster, and bring him back to society.
“NO!!!! BIRDMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Hollinger slapped my hand out of the way, and leaped towards the window over looking the street. He crashed to the ground amidst the glass, and limped off towards the alley. I sighed, and looked at all the damage Hollinger had caused. One day, this man must be stopped.