For those of you who don't follow the NBA, the Brooklyn Nets are having a rough season. Their front office went all-in on contending for a championship this year, with disastrous results so far.
Unimaginative as they are, reporters, pundits, and internet shouting-heads have looked for explanations on the court. They reason that this team is old, slow, and undercoached. Some believe this team just hasn't yet found its stride.
They're wrong.
This has nothing to do with basketball.
What's happening in Brooklyn is a classic horror story. The best laid plans of the rich and arrogant have been wrecked by ancient, immutable forces which lurk in the lizard brain of our universe.
It started well before the Nets tipped off in Brooklyn. The team's
They should have known better. In supernatural terms, reckless eminent domain usage is the yuppie equivalent to digging up an Indian graveyard.
A curse had been born.
Compounding the issue, the site of Barclays Center is where the Brooklyn Dodgers were supposed to have a new stadium before ownership pulled up stakes for Los Angeles. Just as the Overlook Hotel was a hotspot for evil, so are the Atlantic Yards an extrascientific locus for sports heartbreak.
None of this was obvious at first. In their first season in Brooklyn, the Nets made the playoffs before losing in the first round. So far so good. Fielding a decent team was important for a franchise building a fan base in a market with an established rival across the East River.
If only they knew what was coming.
As the summer of 2013 wore on, hopes were rising. Then the worst happened. To meet its owner's hubristic demand for a championship, the Nets' front office traded several veteran players and three first round picks to the Boston Celtics for...
A TRIO OF WALKERS!!!!!!!!!!!
Once vibrant humans, the specimens formerly known as Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Jason Terry now haunt the Barclays Center. Though bearing rough physical resemblance to their former selves, they can only shuffle and limp their decayed, broken bodies around the court. What life they still have is sucked from the rest of the team through some perverse osmosis still beyond scientific understanding.
Running this horror show is the Nets' head coach Jason Kidd. In another Shining parallel, Kidd is an alcoholic with a history of domestic violence sent to manage an operation he has no experience with, or understanding of. As winter wears on, the losses mount
, and Kidd's personal insecurities cut deeper into his sanity, expect him to try and axe murder his promising young center, Mason Plumlee.
No one knows what supernatural terrors are yet in store for the franchise. However, the smart money is on the reemergence of former minority owner Jay-Z. After all, he's really just an Oz-like specter hiding the world from a creatively exhausted rapper turned figurehead executive.
Ghosts. Zombies. Curses. Go Nets!
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