I'll admit, Blake Griffin having made himself a thorn in the side of officials by picking up two technicals despite spending a grand total of zero minutes in uniform throughout the start of what's all-but-guaranteed to be an early and otherwise uneventful finish to the Pistons' postseason is statistically impressive. It's just not nearly as statistically impressive as the 75 games played this season by a freakish talent whose body has betrayed him more often than a sociopathic lover with a crippling sex addiction. βIn all likelihood, it's the second stat that explains the first one. This has been Blake Griffin's healthiest season since he was 24 years old, never mind one of his most productive, and yet he's still been shunned to the sidelines when it matters most by the only body that's been able to consistently limit him as an otherworldly athlete, with that quite obviously being his own. I'm sure the fact that his team is getting predictably pissed all over by the unrelenting water pressure of the Greek Freak's golden shower is making the matter worse. However, what's really the matter is that he can't do anything about it for the umpteenth time in a career that will sadly be remembered for what it could have been. That's not to discredit what it actually has been, which is one of sports' most seducing cockteases, as much as it is a testament to the MVP-worthy talent in a DNP-worthy skeletal structure. We can laugh at him quickly working towards ejections from games he's not even participating in, but if you were Blake Griffin then untimely injuries would have you feeling pretty damn irritable too.
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