Listen, I think it’s great that DeMar DeRozan and Kyle Lowry are such great friends. I honestly do. When Kyle got traded to the Toronto Raptors, the two guards had never met. But there must have been some fireworks when their eyes first met because now they fucking love each other. It’s a little weird.
When my wife and I are watching highlights and these two are being interviewed, it feels a lot like we’re on a double date with a couple that is more in love than we are. Again… weird. And I immediately feel insecure about my relationship.
But then… how can I blame them? They’re both young, they’re rich beyond their wildest dreams, and they’re both of these things in the best city in the world. And much like a young couple in love, they’re having the time of their lives. But, after watching this “Lady and the Tramp” duo flirting for a couple of years now, I’m left thinking. Seriously, fellas, stop lying to yourselves. Go to Niagara and get it over with.
It’s actually funny, because on our last Raptors team of decent quality, this shit would never be allowed to happen. The old crew, the one with Vince Carter, Tracy McGrady, Alvin Williams, Doug Christie, Antonio Davis, and, of course, Mr. Charles Muthafuckin’ Oakley! Charles Oakley was a scary man. Charles Oakley is a scary man. What do you think Charles Oakley’s reaction would be to watching DeRozan and Lowry having a tickle fight after a 40 point loss to the Nets?
If Charles Oakley went into a super-max security prison on Monday, he’d be running that shit by Wednesday. He’s a bad man. He puts the fear of God into everyone around him. But this team doesn’t have that guy. There’s no one to call people out. No one to say shit when these two show up to Game 6 on their tandem bicycle.
All that said, I do think Kyle and DeMar’s love affair is a good thing… for them, anyway. Not so much for us, the fans. How is this city supposed to win a championship when these two show up to games after an all-nighter playing Twister? It isn’t, and we won’t. Not as long as this is going on. Fourth and fifth place are this team’s ceiling until The King decides it’s time to hang them up. That means ten more years of this shit.
Everyone knows this, yet nobody around the team says it out loud.
It’s like we’re all pretending Jonas Valanciunas is suddenly going to become Shaq from Blue Chips, which he isn’t. Neither is DeMarre Carroll just going to wake up one morning with a mid-range jumper. And I, personally, blame the coach. Things are way too chill in that locker room. Between Valanciunas cooking cabbage or whatever it is he eats and the two lovers sixty-nineing in the corner, this team is done. Brace yourself, Toronto. Fourth place is our best case scenario… again.
