Make no mistake, Eric Bledsoe is much better basketball player than he is a liar. Saying he was talking about some hypothetical salon when he vaguely expressed dissatisfaction with his surroundings is almost as astoundingly unbelievable as the idea of an NBA player waiting to get shaped up without being able to talk shop with his barber. I’d imagine that a hoity-toity hair emporium has to rank fairly high on the list of the thankless establishments to visit as a black man, but no professional public figure is dumb enough to think that such a succinctly simple declaration of unhappiness would be taken as anything other than an indictment of an unhealthy workplace. So, as far as laughable fabrications are concerned, Eric Bledsoe’s indirect insistence that gossipy housewives were the inspiration behind a tweet that would have been harmless if viewed separate from his employment by an NBA team that might be able to compete in the D-League is pretty far fetched. Yes, even for a league whose members pride themselves on petty, aggressively passive power plays. Now, that being said, I can totally relate with Eric Bledsoe here. Some might say that three games isn’t enough time to come to the conclusion that a particular occupational environment lacks any redeeming qualities. I wouldn’t be one of those people, for I pride myself on the quickness with which I strongly dismiss unfamiliar social settings. More importantly, I think you lose the right to tell a player to “give it time” when you shit-can your head coach three games into what is sure to be an abominable season. To put it simply, the Phoenix Suns stink, and I don’t mean that they have the increasingly common odor of a team that’s tanking. I mean, they actually stink, in a nauseating, proverbial nostril-stinging, “is that the smell of human feces that’s not my own?” sorta way. Of course Eric Bledsoe doesn’t want to be a part of a team that’s already been on the ass end of multiple beatdowns that would make the Washington Generals optimistic about their chances at victory. In fact, I don’t think it’s outside the realm of possibility that he’d rather be amongst dozens of women paying 3x the reasonable amount for a hairstyling than taking the floor after halftime in front of tens of thousands of fans while down by 40. If the alternative is playing out the entirety of a season with Marquese Chriss as his complementary offensive threat then he might honestly be more content sitting in on your extended family’s most heated political debate. Sitting in traffic after a rough day at the office? Waiting on line as a millennial that craves immediate gratification? Navigating the inherent inconvenience that is traveling? Accompanying a woman shopping? Literally every awkward situation that has been featured in a Southwest commercial? All breaths of fresh air relative to re-re-re-living an athletic nightmare that - ironically enough - compares favorably to being hopelessly stuck in the dessert. There’s worse places to be than on the roster of a professional basketball team, but you can make a legitimate argument that the Phoenix Suns are a professional basketball team by Association only.
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