Do you truly understand how massive a person has to be to bring down to earth someone whose size and athleticism got him selected first overall as an imposing offensive force and a defensive deterrent in a league full of the type of genetic lottery winners that have to limbo through regulation size door frames? I only ask because I most certainly do not. You could saw Boban Marjanovic clean in half, have only his torso guard me at the perimeter, and I would still probably kick it to the corner out of fear that he might put my attempt at a jump shot directly in the overhead compartment on a non-stop flight to his Serbian homeland. Simply put, while the pictures of him dwarfing mountainous men are almost nonsensically shocking, there's no way they do justice to what it might be like to see a real life giant standing over you in a way that damn near blocks out the sun, never mind boxes out the Suns. As someone who stands a shade (or two) short of six feet and has an athletic prowess that's limited to blowing by most prepubescent ball boys, finding myself intimidated on a basketball court is nothing new to me. Therefore, by the law of relativity, I find the size required to humble the words of a 7'1", 250 pound professional athlete in making him feel just a pinch of the pain felt by the lone white boy in a playground pick-up game completely incomprehensible. I'm actually glad that DeAndre Ayton had to play a couple possessions with at least one toe in the shoes of mortality, but I genuinely can't wrap my mind around how that is even remotely possible in a non-fictional world without magic beanstalks.
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