My reputation precedes me. I'm either lazy or misunderstood depending on who you ask. I'm spoiled and got my coach fired and have played better in his absence. I've played better because I'm finally allowed to play free. Simplicity. Let me do my thing. My thing is to score 30 points and grab 15 rebounds. I will do this quietly if you let me, but nobody seems to let me. I'm always being poked and prodded. I've acquired the reputation as a hothead, and rightfully so. My opponents use this to their advantage, they know the slightest shove will set me off and the referees will rule against me. I'm not innocent in all this -- I enjoy mixing it up too. To you, I look like I play the game angry, and I am angry. Who wants to play within confined parameters, under talent-constraining rules, with coaches and teammates and referees and fans who do not have my best interest in mind? I'm a cog in the machine. I am the machine.
Every mention of my name ends in a discussion of my temper. My temper is holding me back and is the reason I will never achieve greatness in this league. They say this and don't realize that my demeanor is why I'm so good in the first place. I attack the glass with a fierceness you don't see from many players, but only when I fell like it. Sometimes I prefer to take it easy. All good men have to rest sometimes. They dwell on my temper but cannot ignore my talent. My talent is the reason, down 8 with 45 seconds left, I can effortlessly drain a three -- my first make and only fourth attempt on the season -- to momentarily save the game. I do this and make sure my headband is straight after the fact.
They ask me about Valentine's Day and I jokingly give them all the cliche answers. I know better. When I give the honest answers they are used as proof of my immaturity. It took LeBron seven years to figure this out. They used to like him, they never liked me, so I was able to learn earlier. You may have noticed me joking with Donte Greene in the video. That's the same Donte Greene I tried to punch in the face during a team flight last year. Initially, people speculated gambling or my general dickishness was to blame. I tried to fight Greene because he didn't give me the ball at the end of the game. I wanted the ball, not for individual glory, but because I knew I was the only Sacramento King capable of making a shot. Tyreke Evans missed a good look and we lost the game. Why can my teammates never make the simple play? I stormed off the court and, depending on who you ask, was either trying to incite a mutiny, or really pissed our loss was out of my control. Donte and I are cool now. I'm a big kid, remember. Boys will be boys.
Why must they make everything so difficult? No, Starbucks lady making my coffee, DE -- Marcus, Marcus is my teammate's name. No, guy at the furniture store writing up my bill, I'm not DeMarcus's cousin, I'm DeMarcus Cousins. Last name, Cousins. First name, DeMarcus. Do you think so lowly of me that, strolling into your place of employment and attempting to purchase furniture in my cousin's name seems like something I would do? Well fuck you then. People needlessly complicate things to the point where we can no longer understand each other. Just give me the ball. Give me the DAMN ball in the post and let me go to work. Don't worry about all those set plays. Give me the ball and I'll show you a very simple way to score two points.
Of course I asked for a trade. Wouldn't you? Oh, you sit tight-lipped through a shitty job for 25 years of your life and let your potential go to waste. You're not me then. Know my game, study it. Don't worry about my personal life or mindset. I'm here to play basketball, it's everyone else who needs to catch up. There's some things about me you will never understand and that is exactly how I want it. Now who scratched my goddamn Gucci CD?
No comments:
Post a Comment