Buck this
ICYMI: Warriors fumble, whiff, clang (fake Jonathan Kuminga and Chris Bosh trades), Philly pulling it off (Embiid is not C-Webb), Things I Need Eric Collins For (Charlotte and LaMelo Ball and the NBA's most excitable announcer).
The ongoing irrelevance of the Chicago Bulls is to the benefit of my attention span. No longer do I take silent walks over the sidewalks, stewing over a bad Ben Wallace signing or a Scottie Pippen trade request. Strutting through the loss of Sedale Threatt, slipping through the suburbs while sulking through Steve Kerr's ongoing ineptitude in the face of a thriving, ugggh, let's call him "Utah's starting point guard."
No more sweating, literally sweating, Vinny Del Negro. Less legwork strung out talking myself into Marcus Fizer, splitting one fascia into two. I don't shiver a few thousand calories on account of the Bulls dropping two in a row, Denver and Phoenix, coulda been 74-8 without it.
That's not the point. The point is that Hue Hollins' late call in the second-to-last game of the season in 1995-96 cost Chicago its 73rd win, that I refuse to use the word "penultimate," and zero performative sports-related perspiration since the Bulls traded Jimmy Butler nine and one-half years ago.
Bulls traded him because Jimmy Butler's legs were about to go, and Jimmy Butler was due an overuse-encouraged, season-ending injury. Bulls didn't want to waste another season paying a player who couldn't play, instead preferring to use the money on those who could not play yet were paid to: Denzel Valentine, Patrick Williams, Jabari Parker, Chandler Hutchinson. Josh Giddey, who can't even keep a handle around Jaxson Hayes (and Jaxson's one percent steal rate).
