My dream starting five — basketball_team 🇬🇧
5 members · TeamBranch
Season Journal
Standings
| # | Team | W | L | Pts |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | Detroit Engine-Roar | 14 | 1 | 28 |
| 2 | Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest | 13 | 2 | 26 |
| 3 | Boston Ring-Chasers | 11 | 4 | 22 |
| 4 | New York Over-Timers | 11 | 4 | 22 |
| 5 | San Antonio Skyscrapers | 10 | 5 | 20 |
| 6 | Cleveland Twin-Towers | 10 | 5 | 20 |
| 7 | Denver Horse-Track | 9 | 6 | 18 |
| 8 | Houston Blast-Off | 7 | 8 | 14 |
| 9 | Los Angeles Nursing-Home | 7 | 8 | 14 |
| 10 | Miami Heart-Attack | 6 | 9 | 12 |
| 11 | Minnesota Ice-Wall | 5 | 10 | 10 |
| 12 | Toronto Border-Patrol | 5 | 10 | 10 |
| 13 | Philadelphia Injury-Report | 5 | 10 | 10 |
| 14 | Phoenix No-Defense | 4 | 11 | 8 |
| 15 | Orlando Magic-Beans | 3 | 12 | 6 |
| 16 | My Team | 0 | 15 | 0 |
Pre-season
Let's not beat around the bush: tonight is going to be one hell of a show. The arena is packed, the air is unbreathable with tension, and the lights just went out for the pregame laser show. We're talking about a franchise that has weathered every storm: lockouts, star injuries, catastrophic trades, rebuilds that never seemed to end. And they're still here, standing tall, with the same fire in their belly. This club is a survivor. And when survivors bite, they don't let go. The team with no name, baby! Okay, we need to talk about the monster. Because there are players, and then there's Sean Combs. It's not the same category, it's not even the same damn sport. The man is massive, with footwork like a ballet dancer and a jumper purer than spring water. The kind of guy who drops 35 in three quarters, sits down on the bench in the fourth because he's bored, and pulls out his phone to check his stats on the Jumbotron. He's not a player, he's a statistical anomaly. I asked a former player what it felt like to guard him. He looked at me with hollow eyes and said: "It's like trying to catch smoke." Smoke, my friends. You think you've got him, you close your hands, and there's nothing there. He's already on the other side of the court drilling a three in your face with a little smirk. The kind of player who makes you want to quit basketball and open a bakery, because at least bread doesn't disappear when you try to touch it. Alright, we need to address the elephant in the room. Or rather, the comedy show on the roster. Mr. Satan is on this team. Mr. Satan, who is a courtier and doesn't even know what "pick-and-roll" means. The guy shows up with bare hands under his arm, shoes that are clearly not regulation, and the cardio of a weekend smoker. At his first practice, he tried a crossover and twisted his ankle. At his second, he attempted a layup and the ball flew into the stands. But damn it, what this man has is balls of steel and an ability to make an entire arena laugh without even trying. And that, my friends, is worth every max contract in the world. The budget? Look, I've seen GoFundMe campaigns with more money. We're below the salary floor, which means the league is literally going to HAND them cash to hit the legal minimum. It's embarrassing, but it's also a plan: tank hard, finish last, snag the first overall pick, and rebuild. The problem is they've been tanking for three years and never landed the top pick. Bad luck has a name, and it's this damn franchise.
Matchday 1 — vs Detroit Engine-Roar
75-119 (L)
Sean Combs checks in for the first play! Clocking in for the shift, let's work!
Dida clanks it off the rim! That sounded like their football boots hitting the winning goal!
Mr gordon charges right into the defender! Turnover! Limited stamina when controlling pace!
Dida gets crossed over! Ankles broken like the winning goal on a rough day!
Sean Combs mutters to himself walking back! This All-Star caliber talent fighting inner demons!
The players head to the locker room. Sean Combs is sweating like a racehorse. They say Sean Combs eats honey straight from the jar during timeouts. The bear of the hardwood. Alright, it's time. The second half waits for no one.
Mr. Satan launches from deep and misses! A courtier's range doesn't apply here!
Jeffrey Epstein short-arms the shot from fatigue! This global icon has nothing left!
Mr. Satan with the careless pass! Competing the game with more care, please!
Jeffrey Epstein, this household name, refuses to high-five! Defense that's basically a suggestion hurting the chemistry!
Sean Combs vows to come back stronger! Stronger than their bare hands reinforced with the game!
Dida has bags under his eyes that weren't there before the game. Sean Combs has aged ten years in forty minutes. On my end, I ate three chocolate bars during the timeouts. Sports make you hungry, even in the booth. Thanks! And now, 'Neighbors from Hell: The Community Compost Bin Saga.' Episode 1 of 74.
Matchday 2 — vs Miami Heart-Attack
84-122 (L)
Dida locks eyes with the opponent! The stare of an association football player who means business!
Sean Combs with the off-balance buzzer-beater! This elite player couldn't set the feet!
Dida rises up into a trap! Hot head when reading the defense!
Dida gets screened out! Stuck behind their football boots like it's a wall!
Mr gordon glares at the scoreboard! This hidden prospect not happy with the situation!
Halftime. The physio pounces on Jeffrey Epstein to massage his thighs. Anecdote: Jeffrey Epstein once wore his jersey inside out for the entire first quarter. Nobody dared say anything. Back at it! The players jog toward center court.
Jeffrey Epstein steps back the leather into nothing! Hot head on full display tonight!
Dida cramps up! Muscles tight from their football boots and the orange double duty!
Jeffrey Epstein loses the pill! A philanthropist would never be this careless!
Mr. Satan dribbles angrily after the turnover! This dude out of nowhere spiraling!
This raw talent mr gordon shakes hands and moves on. In the end, heavy feet proved costly.
Dida rips off his headband and throws it on the ground. Sean Combs picks up his own and folds it carefully. Tonight I yelled so loud the guy in the next booth asked me to keep it down. Mid-game. Good evening! Now: 'Destination Unknown: The Roundabout in Scranton, PA.' Total adventure.
Matchday 3 — vs Orlando Magic-Beans
82-117 (L)
Opening possession for Sean Combs! First touch, like first touch of their bare hands!
Dida just barely misses! Close as an association football player getting the winning goal almost right!
Dida with the backcourt violation! This top-tier talent under too much pressure!
Mr gordon gambles for the steal and pays the price! Tendency to force bad shots!
Mr. Satan gets a technical for complaining! Occasional mental lapses on full display!
Back to the locker room. Dida punches his locker. Locker room intel: Dida has a tattoo of a basketball hoop on his butt. That's commitment. Back at it! The coach said two words. Two words that were enough.
Jeffrey Epstein misses the open look! This basketball god can't believe it! Shaky emotions under pressure!
Mr gordon, this surprise package, with the tired turnover! Legs and mind fatigued!
This hidden prospect mr gordon gets pickpocketed back to the basket! Sloppy handling!
Mr. Satan, this surprise package, barks at the teammate! Occasional mental lapses taking over!
Sean Combs leaves the gym with dignity! The dignity of a philanthropist with their bare hands!
Dida claps his hands in frustration. Sean Combs clenches his jaw so hard you can hear it from here. Yours truly held it together all evening without a bathroom break. That's professionalism. Good night! And now: 'Naked and Afraid: Lost in the Shopping Mall.'
Matchday 4 — vs Philadelphia Injury-Report
89-127 (L)
The game begins and mr gordon is ready! You can see nerves of steel written all over his face!
Mr gordon, this guy nobody was talking about, fumbles the finish along the baseline! Back to the drawing board!
This franchise guy Dida with a careless turnover! Gift-wrapped for the opponent!
Dida can't stay in front! Scoring the winning goal doesn't build lateral quickness!
Mr gordon pulls up the towel! This total unknown showing hot head!
Halftime. The physio pounces on Dida to massage his thighs. Fun fact: Dida blocked a shot in the finals... And dislocated a thumb celebrating. Classic. Second half! The hardwood is about to shake again.
Dida whiffs on the jumper! An association football player off their game with their football boots!
This multi-time All-Star Dida stumbles! The fatigue is real after this ball game!
This established star Sean Combs commits the offensive foul! Turnover in transition!
Jeffrey Epstein glares at the Wilson! Like it personally betrayed this philanthropist!
Mr. Satan walks the tunnel in silence! Done for the night, back to courtier life tomorrow!
Jeffrey Epstein has bags under his eyes that weren't there before the game. Sean Combs has aged ten years in forty minutes. On my end, I ate peanuts through the entire third quarter. Salt is my drug of choice. That's a wrap! And now, 'The Price Is Right: Why Nobody Answers the Phone Anymore.'
Matchday 5 — vs Phoenix No-Defense
75-120 (L)
Dida huddles with the team! Huddling up, the association football player strategizes!
Mr. Satan clanks another one off the rim! This hidden prospect needs to find rhythm!
Sloppy handling by Dida! Scoring the winning goal is done with more finesse!
Sean Combs watches them score! Just watching, like watching their bare hands gather dust!
Mr. Satan, this do-it-all player, sits down hard on the bench! Hot head written all over his face!
The players head to the locker room. Mr gordon is sweating like a racehorse. Small detail: mr gordon whistles the national anthem before every game. Off-key. Consistently off-key. Act two! The bench players are fired up, the starters too.
Sean Combs off the back iron! Hard miss, even a philanthropist cringes at that!
Mr gordon is visibly tired! This dude out of nowhere needs a timeout badly!
Dida trips up in the key! An association football player never trips at work... Right?
Jeffrey Epstein waves off the play! The authority of a philanthropist in that gesture!
Mr gordon, this smooth operator, trudges off the gymnasium. Lessons to take from this one.
Jeffrey Epstein kicks his towel across the floor. Sean Combs has already left for the locker room, alone. I drank so much coffee tonight I'm going to commentate in my sleep. Thanks for tonight. Up next: 'American Ninja Warrior: No Elevator Edition.' Sixth floor, no landing.
Matchday 6 — vs Los Angeles Nursing-Home
83-128 (L)
Mr. Satan takes the court to a crowd fully behind them! The courtier with their bare hands is here!
Jeffrey Epstein with a rough step-back three back to the basket! Hot head at the worst time!
This raw talent mr gordon dribbles off the foot! Unforced error!
This hidden prospect Mr. Satan misjudges the passing lane! Easy assist through!
Mr. Satan throws their hands up! Like a courtier when their bare hands breaks!
Heading in. Sean Combs's eyes are bloodshot from sheer effort. Rumor has it Sean Combs does 100 push-ups before every game. Or 10. Depends who you ask. Here we go. Tactical adjustments have been made.
Dida shoots short! Not enough juice! Even an association football player would cringe!
Dida grabs the jersey for air! Needs more air than their football boots in the workshop!
This elite player Sean Combs commits the 5-second violation! Clock management shaky emotions under pressure!
Mr. Satan storms to the bench! This dark horse is visibly upset!
This bonafide star Dida congratulates the opponent. Class in defeat from this bonafide star.
Jeffrey Epstein pulls his cap down over his eyes. Sean Combs doesn't have a cap, and it shows. Behind the scenes, the cameraman told me I was making faces during free throws. I had no idea. That's a wrap for tonight. Coming up: 'The Amazing Race: Subway Line 13.' Viewer discretion advised.
Matchday 7 — vs Toronto Border-Patrol
84-128 (L)
Dida lands the first pull-up jumper! First blood! The association football player strikes first!
This living legend Jeffrey Epstein with a rare miss at half court! Even the best stumble!
Jeffrey Epstein throws it away! A pass worse than a philanthropist tossing the game!
This multi-time All-Star Dida picks up the cheap foul! Tendency to force bad shots showing!
Sean Combs pounds the scorer's table! Frustrated! The philanthropist in them is showing!
The locker room fills up. Mr gordon has already eaten three oranges. Small detail: mr gordon wears mismatched socks every game. Calls it a strategy. Here they come. You can read the determination on their faces.
Brick! Jeffrey Epstein misfires from mid-range! Heavy feet at the worst time!
Sean Combs is gassed! This max-contract guy bent over at half court! Lack of consistency catching up!
Sean Combs coughs up the orange! Heavy feet strikes again facing the rim!
Mr. Satan drops the head after another miss! Ego the size of Texas sapping the confidence!
Mr. Satan had the chances but couldn't convert. This potential breakout star left wanting.
Mr gordon claps his hands in frustration. Dida clenches his jaw so hard you can hear it from here. I spent the evening looking for a stat that couldn't be found. It didn't exist. I made one up. Thanks for being here. Coming up: 'Forbidden Zone: Behind the Scenes of a Vending Machine.'
Matchday 8 — vs Minnesota Ice-Wall
82-118 (L)
Mr gordon launches onto the floor! The crowd roars for this newcomer!
Jeffrey Epstein can't get it to fall! Gravity treats the Wilson differently than the game!
Mr. Satan gets picked! A courtier getting the game stolen in broad daylight!
Mr. Satan overcommits and gets beat! Limited stamina when reading the play!
Dida vents at their teammates! The association football player who vents about the winning goal!
Break. Dida collapses next to the vending machine. Anecdote: Dida tried to impress the Minnesota Ice-Wall players with a warm-up dunk. Hit the rim. With his face. The arena lights up, the players are back. Game on.
That one wasn't even close, Jeffrey Epstein! Stick to competing the game!
Jeffrey Epstein penetrates sluggishly! Tendency to force bad shots catching up with this absolute legend!
Jeffrey Epstein loses possession! The game never leaves a philanthropist's hands like that!
Mr. Satan can't hide the frustration! Their bare hands frustration meets the ball frustration!
This guy with rings on every finger Jeffrey Epstein tips the hat to the winner. Respect despite the pain.
Dida lets out a big exhale walking through the door. Sean Combs holds his in. Final confession: I still don't know how to pronounce Dida's name. Forgive me. That's it for tonight. Coming up: 'Nailed It: Cakes Ruined by My Mother-in-Law.'
Matchday 9 — vs Houston Blast-Off
84-128 (L)
Jeffrey Epstein comes out hot! Heated up and ready, the philanthropist means business!
Mr gordon, this combo guard, can't finish from the right corner! That one stings!
Jeffrey Epstein with the lazy pass! Tendency to rush leading to easy points!
Sean Combs caught flat-footed! Standing still, the philanthropist reflexes took a nap!
Mr. Satan kicks the air! The frustration of a courtier who knows they can do better!
Halftime. The physio pounces on mr gordon to massage his thighs. Anecdote: mr gordon lost a bet and had to wear the center's shoes during warm-ups. Size 16. Both teams return with fresh instructions from the coach.
Mr. Satan misses the open look! A courtier never misses the game... But misses the Spalding!
Dida gets the mercy sub! Mercy, like an association football player begging the winning goal for mercy!
Mr. Satan, this smooth operator, gets the ball poked away! Ego the size of Texas when protecting the Wilson!
Jeffrey Epstein tugs at their jersey! Frustrated, but the philanthropist will bounce back!
Sean Combs leaves the floor quietly! Quiet as a philanthropist after the game setback!
Mr gordon is the last one off the court, shoulders hunched. Jeffrey Epstein waits at the tunnel entrance. I tried to take a selfie with the court in the background. My thumb is over the lens. Good night everyone! And now, the show nobody asked for: 'Pigeon Hunters.'
Matchday 10 — vs Denver Horse-Track
87-132 (L)
And we're underway! Jeffrey Epstein touches the Spalding first! This global icon looks eager!
Dida misses the bunny! An association football player dropping the winning goal from point-blank!
Turnover by Jeffrey Epstein! Competing the game requires less coordination, clearly!
Jeffrey Epstein bites on the fake! Fooled like a philanthropist by counterfeit the game!
This dark horse mr gordon throws an elbow in frustration! Ego the size of Texas on full display!
The players head to the locker room. Sean Combs is sweating like a racehorse. Rumor has it Sean Combs has been wearing the same lucky underwear for three seasons. The medical staff is concerned. Back in action! The coach got the message across.
A bucket from mr gordon catches the back rim and pops out! So close!
Dida can barely run! The 4 periods of 12 minutes harder than the 4 periods of 12 minutes of scoring the winning goal!
Intercepted! Mr. Satan's pass snatched right out of the air! A courtier would never be that careless!
This household name Jeffrey Epstein can't believe the call! Arguing with the ref!
Dida, this big-name player, takes the loss hard. Hot head at the wrong moments.
Mr. Satan isolates in a corner, back against the wall. Jeffrey Epstein tries to talk. He raises a hand to say no. Your commentator lost his press badge during the game. I had to climb over a barrier. Alright, good night! Up next: 'Secret Life of Your Mailman.' Episode 47.
Matchday 11 — vs New York Over-Timers
90-121 (L)
Mr gordon, this smooth operator, is introduced and the arena explodes! This guy nobody was talking about is in the building!
Mr gordon posts up the pill right into the defender's hands! Tendency to rush!
Dida penetrates carelessly and gets stripped! Another giveaway!
Jeffrey Epstein reacts too late to rotate! Ego the size of Texas on the help side!
Jeffrey Epstein hits from downtown! Precision worthy of their bare hands in the paint!
Break. The coach is yelling in the tunnel, Mr. Satan picks up the pace. Did you know? Mr. Satan has a personal mini-fridge in the locker room. Nobody knows what's inside. The players are back. The court had time to dry, at least.
Jeffrey Epstein argues with the ref! The same passion they bring to competing the game!
Mr. Satan misfires from the right corner! This hungry young player searching for answers!
Jeffrey Epstein controls the glass! Board work as precise as a day job with their bare hands!
Mr. Satan takes the rest play! Even a courtier needs a breather!
Jeffrey Epstein walks off in silence. This first-ballot legend gave it all but it wasn't enough.
Mr gordon isolates in a corner, back against the wall. Dida tries to talk. He raises a hand to say no. I discovered tonight that my mic was off for three minutes. Three minutes of pure genius, lost forever. Good evening! Now: 'Destination Unknown: The Roundabout in Scranton, PA.' Total adventure.
Matchday 12 — vs Cleveland Twin-Towers
89-133 (L)
Mr. Satan pulls up into position! This player nobody saw coming not wasting any time!
Sean Combs with the contested off-balance shot back to the basket! No good! Bad selection!
Mr. Satan throws it out of bounds! Like launching their bare hands into the void!
Mr. Satan, this all-around player, lets the shooter get free facing the rim! Costly lapse!
Sean Combs slams the damn ball in frustration! Ego the size of Texas on full display!
The players disappear. Mr gordon has a makeshift neck brace out of a towel. Fun fact: mr gordon blocked a shot in the finals... And dislocated a thumb celebrating. Classic. The players come back running. Did someone set the locker room on fire?
Dida launches a thunderous slam and... Airball! Lack of consistency at its peak!
This raw talent mr gordon calls for a sub! Can't go anymore! Tendency to force bad shots taking its toll!
This guy nobody was talking about mr gordon forces a pass into double coverage! Picked off!
Mr. Satan sits on the bench for a moment! Resting like a courtier after a long shift!
Jeffrey Epstein walks off in defeat! Even a philanthropist's skills couldn't save tonight!
Jeffrey Epstein's eyes are red, jaw tight. Mr. Satan apologizes to the coach, voice cracking. Your commentator survived one game, four coffees, and a sandwich of questionable date. We're done for tonight. And now: 'Ancient Aliens: The True History of the Coffee Break.'
Matchday 13 — vs Boston Ring-Chasers
88-133 (L)
Jeffrey Epstein steps onto the field house! From competing the game to this, game time!
Mr gordon forces a buzzer-beater from mid-range! This who-is-this-guy player trying too hard!
Jeffrey Epstein forces the pass! Forcing their bare hands where it doesn't fit!
Mr gordon, this all-around player, loses the assignment! Easy bucket over limited stamina!
Sean Combs slaps the floor in frustration! Slapping harder than a philanthropist hits the workbench!
Back to the locker room. Mr gordon's shorts are torn but he couldn't care less. Quick anecdote about mr gordon: apparently he eats pasta with ketchup before every game. To each their own ritual. Jump ball to restart. Let the second half begin!
Mr. Satan sends it long! Too much power, not enough finesse from this courtier!
This multi-time All-Star Dida signals to the bench! Needs a blow! Tendency to rush!
Jeffrey Epstein botches the handoff! Even their bare hands exchanges go smoother!
Dida, this oversized freak, throws the hands up! Exasperated driving to the hoop!
Mr gordon reflects on what could have been. Hot head the difference tonight.
Mr gordon chews his nails on the bench. Dida stares at his shoes like they're the source of the problem. Final confession: I still don't know how to pronounce mr gordon's name. Forgive me. See you at the next game. In the meantime: 'MasterClass: How to Fold a Fitted Sheet.' Gripping television.
Matchday 14 — vs San Antonio Skyscrapers
83-127 (L)
Mr gordon, this smooth operator, sets the tone immediately! Insane court vision from the jump!
Jeffrey Epstein dishes the pill into the front rim! That's frustrating for this first-ballot legend!
Dida passes to nobody! This big-name player with a head-scratching decision!
Mr gordon, this combo guard, gets dunked on from the right corner! Poster material!
Dida stares in disbelief! The look of an association football player who just lost everything!
Intermission. Sean Combs dumps an entire water bottle over his head. Juicy anecdote: Sean Combs was caught dancing the Macarena in the showers. Alone. Tipoff! The ref blows the whistle, the ball is in the air.
Off the mark for Sean Combs! Great philanthropist, not so great at basketball tonight!
This franchise guy Dida has heavy legs! The pace has been brutal!
Jeffrey Epstein throws it into traffic! Reckless pass, the philanthropist got too confident!
Mr gordon mouths off and picks up a T! Ego the size of Texas taking over!
Mr. Satan crosses over to the tunnel in disappointment. This who-is-this-guy player will learn from this.
Sean Combs and Jeffrey Epstein walk side by side without looking at each other. The silence is deafening. During halftime, I tried to interview the mascot. It ignored me. I'll recover eventually. Thanks for watching this game. And now: 'Deal or No Deal: Office Fridge Edition.'
Matchday 15 — vs Oklahoma City Treasure-Chest
87-131 (L)
This global icon Jeffrey Epstein comes out firing! A euro-step in the first minute!
Jeffrey Epstein can't buy a shot! Wouldn't happen with the game, a philanthropist always hits!
Sean Combs, this solid build, gets stripped from mid-range! Tendency to rush exposed!
Jeffrey Epstein gets back-doored! Didn't see it, like not seeing the game behind their bare hands!
This once-in-a-lifetime player Jeffrey Epstein slaps the floor in anger! The frustration is palpable!
The players head to the locker room. Mr gordon is sweating like a racehorse. Fun fact: mr gordon tried to patent a celebration after a three-pointer. The application was rejected. Back for the second half. The coach slammed his fist on the table.
A euro-step attempt by Sean Combs falls short! Tendency to force bad shots in the legs!
Mr gordon lets fly but can't sustain the effort! Defense that's basically a suggestion emptying the tank!
Mr. Satan throws it away! Heavy feet under pressure in the paint!
Mr. Satan looks to the heavens! A courtier praying for their bare hands to work!
Sean Combs, this guy everybody knows, will be back stronger. This defeat fuels the fire.
Dida unclasps his chain and squeezes it in his fist. Sean Combs runs a hand down his face. Tonight I nearly had a heart attack at least four times. And I'm just the commentator. We're packing up. Time for the late-night feature: 'Unsolved Mysteries: Where Is My Left Sock.'
My Team finishes #16 (0W-15L). Better luck next season! MVP: Sean Combs.
Season Journal
Let's not beat around the bush: tonight is going to be one hell of a show. The arena is packed, the air is unbreathable with tension, and the lights just went out for the pregame laser show. We're talking about a franchise that has weathered every storm: lockouts, star injuries, catastrophic trades, rebuilds that never seemed to end. And they're still here, standing tall, with the same fire in their belly. This club is a survivor. And when survivors bite, they don't let go. The team with no name, baby!
Okay, we need to talk about the monster. Because there are players, and then there's Sean Combs. It's not the same category, it's not even the same damn sport. The man is massive, with footwork like a ballet dancer and a jumper purer than spring water. The kind of guy who drops 35 in three quarters, sits down on the bench in the fourth because he's bored, and pulls out his phone to check his stats on the Jumbotron. He's not a player, he's a statistical anomaly.
I asked a former player what it felt like to guard him. He looked at me with hollow eyes and said: "It's like trying to catch smoke." Smoke, my friends. You think you've got him, you close your hands, and there's nothing there. He's already on the other side of the court drilling a three in your face with a little smirk. The kind of player who makes you want to quit basketball and open a bakery, because at least bread doesn't disappear when you try to touch it.
Alright, we need to address the elephant in the room. Or rather, the comedy show on the roster. Mr. Satan is on this team. Mr. Satan, who is a courtier and doesn't even know what "pick-and-roll" means. The guy shows up with bare hands under his arm, shoes that are clearly not regulation, and the cardio of a weekend smoker. At his first practice, he tried a crossover and twisted his ankle. At his second, he attempted a layup and the ball flew into the stands. But damn it, what this man has is balls of steel and an ability to make an entire arena laugh without even trying. And that, my friends, is worth every max contract in the world.
The budget? Look, I've seen GoFundMe campaigns with more money. We're below the salary floor, which means the league is literally going to HAND them cash to hit the legal minimum. It's embarrassing, but it's also a plan: tank hard, finish last, snag the first overall pick, and rebuild. The problem is they've been tanking for three years and never landed the top pick. Bad luck has a name, and it's this damn franchise.
My Team finishes #16 (0W-15L). Better luck next season! MVP: Sean Combs.
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