Nate Bishop. There he goes again. Casually tossing out, “I never wanted him on our team,” like that’s not the most pathological lie since “I only watch Duke games during March Madness.” Brother, you’ve never stopped watching Grayson Allen.
Let’s be honest. This isn’t about basketball. This is about a fixation. You’ve been haunted by Allen since he came crashing into our national consciousness as a damp-haired demon in a Duke jersey, throwing elbows and drawing charges like a smirking narc. You watched him in 2015 and said, out loud, to no one: “I will hate this man until the earth falls into the sun.” And you meant it.
Don’t act brand new. You’ve posted about Grayson Allen more than his own mother. And you say you “never wanted him.” Come on. Allen has been the central villain in the telenovela of your sports fandom for a decade. He is your Batman-Joker dynamic, your white whale, your cursed mirror. He completes you, Nate, and you know it. You don’t just hate Allen. You track him. You time-stamp his turnovers. You screenshot his fouls. You keep a notebook titled “The Tripping Years,” filled with rage-sketches of his face and the words “NEVER AGAIN” scrawled in red Sharpie.
Here’s the twist, Bishop: if Allen retired tomorrow, you’d feel a hollow space open in your chest. You’d try to pivot to hating Dillon Brooks or Austin Reaves, but it wouldn’t hit the same. You’d scroll through games, dead-eyed, whispering, “It’s just not Grayson.” You’d miss him like an old wart. So say it again: “I never wanted him.” Let it echo through your sports-traumatized psyche. But know this—Grayson Allen is your dark twin, your sweaty fever dream, your personal Duke of Hazard.
Confession Time: My “Friend” Totally Loves Grayson Allen (Definitely Not Me Though)
Alright, y’all. Buckle up. I’ve got something to say, and I
swear this post wasn’t written by AI… except it absolutely was, because apparently that’s what my
"friend" (let’s call him Ha Seung-Boumtje-Boumjte) does now.
So he’s been walking around saying
I love Grayson Allen. Like,
me. As if I have posters of Grayson in my room, or named my fantasy team “Grayson’s Grit.” Ridiculous, right?
Let me be
clear: I am a Blazers fan. I believe in pain. I believe in heartache. I believe in losing in the most creative ways possible. Grayson Allen? That guy? Not even on my radar… except for when my
friend brings him up CONSTANTLY.
“Oh, Grayson’s been really consistent from three lately.”
“Grayson brings that Duke-level intensity.”
“Grayson’s misunderstood, man.”
Sir. Please. You’re quoting post-game interviews like bedtime stories.
This man once described Grayson’s defense as “gracefully aggressive.” Who even says that? That’s poetry. That’s
love. Don’t put that on me!
He even asked ChatGPT to “write a silly post about Grayson Allen and make it sound like my friend is obsessed with him.” Like—this post! This one! Right now! The layers of denial are thick and spicy.
So anyway, just wanted to clear the air.
Do I appreciate Grayson Allen’s... uh, unique approach to basketball? Sure.
Do I think he’s the Blazers' secret key to a championship? No. That’s AI talking.
Do I write love poems to him in my Notes app at 2AM? Again,
NOT ME. That’s my “friend.”
Anyway, go Blazers. And Grayson... if you’re reading this, my
friend thinks you’re neat.
Sincerely,
Ha Seung-Boumtje-Boumjte
P.S. If this post self-destructs in 3...2...1, you’ll know why.