Basketball is back and I couldn’t give 0.00000001% of a fuck.
Like I said, very few fucks.
However, there is one thing about basketball season that I love: the hot, musky, sweaty men chasing after large balls and bumping up against each other. Hah, sports are so gay.
Basketball, in my opinion, is a lot like breeding cats…not worth the trouble. The only time I enjoy going to a basketball game is if a) I’m not paying for my ticket, b) I’m not paying for my beer, and c) I am guaranteed a bag of hot, caramelized nuts.
Your face isn’t creepy at all, sir.
But today I discovered one legitimate non-food related reason to start watching basketball: J.J. Redick. I don’t know anything about him except that he plays for the Orlando Magic and he used to play for Duke during college which means he is both book sexy and athletic sexy. Take a look:
“Ok J.J., for this shot we want you to look natural and relaxed.” Nailed it.
Just look at him. Everything about him is beautiful. His perfectly chiseled arms. His immaculately groomed armpits. His dainty wrist tattoo. He is a perfect, athletic specimen. He could potentially be the single worst player in the history of the NBA but who cares when you look so damn fine.
“Don’t forget to mention that I can put my entire fist in my mouth.”
Even though basketball makes no sense to me and I find it as boring as watching an emergency broadcast test on C-SPAN, J.J. Redick almost sort of makes me want to tune into a game. But until Bravo starts broadcasting NBA games between reruns of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Top Chef Masters I’m going to have to quench my “J.J. Redick + fingering + sweaty” thirst through Google images. With the safety mode turned off.
That’ll do pig. That’ll do.
P.S. Just realized his name has ‘dick’ in it. Me likey.