Adam Silver: the hero revealed
Sound effects; basketball news, too
by Smith Holbrook
You can't tell by the sound of it that its all the Prophets, it's just singing to you, could be a group of anybodies. But it IS them prophets, and they all sing "Two Hands" by Townes Van Zandt. Striver's son plays fiddle and Tim "I'm Open!" Roark's wife plays piano. The Argillite hooping duo Chet Marsh and Dewey play rhythm guitar and stomp their feet. All the rest clap hands and sing with all their hearts. They record it in a studio session owned by Commisioner Adam Silver. Oh, I forgot to mention something: this was Silver's idea. He's a beast of a musical producer guy. Less than legitimate news sources have been slandering him, claiming Silver is slacking in his duties -- that he's just smoking weed a lot and producing music created by northeastern kentucky church basketball heroes. Whether they are right or wrong about Silver isn't important. I'm just grateful he's our Commisioner. Do you like my voice as much as I do? I'm Sound Effects, and it's been real -- but here's our favorite saint of all ladies and gents...SMIIIIIIIIIITSSSS HOLLLLLLLBROOOOOOOK!
Smith Holbrook here with another doozie for ya, folks! God Bless the Commonwealth of Kentucky. Let's get biblical, boys. In Corinthians 13:4-7, we absorb this: "Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own uway; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."
Life is the greatest gift of all. Remember that. And pray every morning; give many thanks, with plentiful love. I am thankful for you. If you are ungrateful I will slap your face and kick your shin! We have a special guest for today's podcast. Yes we do. His name is Adam Silver, and he's the NBA's Commisioner. He's the mastermind of hoopdom, a shrewd yet open minded businessman, and he's the sole person responsible for the merger of Kentucky church ball and the NBA. Silver was here at our rented Brooklyn studio earlier, but seemed antsy. He huffed and puffed and blew the house down...but he gathered composure...softly apologized before heading out "for a walk." But he has returned, and he's stumbling, with a sombrero on. Let's embark!
*****Silver says, "What the dog is going on with this lack of WIFI here, man? Smoked a joint as I walked to it. Toro Loco, 4 blocks down. A waiter even had a thin zig zag beard design he razored out on his cheeks. I ended up downloading Microsoft word because of their wifi. Drank 7 margaritas and wrote a novella entitled, "I Placed the Pieces: Proper Pringling and the like." It's terrible. I'm tired. But I own this town, I built this town. They're gonna build a monument of me when it's all said and done. Legendary things. I love ya Smith, I love this dirty old Prophet Nation. God cleanses us correctly. Before I play X-Box and nap, Smith, lemme tell ya a few things I appreciate most about our Prophets. First thing is, they're legit boys, genuinely hard workin' men...family men, men of God. God's boys. Every couple weeks I check in with them, and I'm pleased to relay to you the reconciliation of Chet and what's-his-names(?) families. I jetted to Argillite--landed in a field actually--and presided over the therapy sessions for the two rivals. They're good now, Smits, and that's important to me. I bought a huge acreage out in the hills of Argillite and am currently relocating my family; I walked into a spare bedroom that contained my wife cheating on me and simply said, 'Pack your bags, baby, we're building bonfires tonight.'
It was awesome, and she's hot too--my wife. Buying several blue tick hounds, but NASCAR and chewing tobacco are lost on me.
SOUND EFFECTS: Sound effects: sn efcs...: The buzzing and humming of the thousand bees swarm around what might be an old stump; it must contain their coveted nest of honeycomb. A beekeeper speaks in a gruff, but respectful whisper: "I ain't robbin' the bees today, boys; seems they hot. Honey'll wait. Someone or some THING maybe might wronged 'em today. They trouble...Prophet basketball on the radio is clearly a plainly better option."
***Silver picks up somewhere relatively close to where left off, but he's notably more thoughtful than before. He pulls out Clear Eyes and administers them as he reclines in a leather La-Z-Boy. Then he puts on wayfarer Ray Bans and sighs. He speaks softly to me, but I think he would have said these words all the same if I wasn't present:
...(mumbling, incoherent mumbling)...
"Malevolence. Baleful as baleful can get. Okay? Yeah? I am by no means risk aversed. It's been a long learning process -- I had to open my mind and put aside the fear...the stubbornness and deeply rooted denial that consumed my entire existence. That's right, Smits. Yeah, by 'risk aversion,' ya know...well, let's see, what I mean is that (draws at a long drink of tap water), well, sometimes you risk losing a tremendous amount more equity, opportunities, and happiness by not taking that risk. 'Playing it safe' can be the most harmful of risks for certain people. I oppressed my hoop dreams for decades; and through this muted self-deception and complete lack of self confidence, well...I don't know, Smits. You follow, right? Maybe you've felt the same things at some level, I'm sure most have if they are willing to admit it. I couldn't take it anymore; I was sick of what my life had become. A selfish, scared, pointless life. I feared the inevitability of pain, of loss. and dwelled upon death constantly, repeatedly asking the big questions without ever really putting in the work to find the answers. Thought myself in circles, overthought myself to the nearly insomniacal point of madness and despair. I contributed nothing substantial to anyone in my small circle, yet I was unhappily secure in this sour comfort...some pathetically mundane routine it was. Yes. I possessed neither the necessary talent nor fortitude to do anything really. Blowing my brains out was a viable option for a couple dark months, but my fear of hell forbade it. No love or hope to be found. But God intervened. He is real, and he is love. His will is that of comfort and indescribable grace. We're erecting a steeple, Smith. You, me, and all the barnball hoopers in northeastern Kentucky...g'night Smithy...we own this town..."
Whew. Wow. I love you all. Silver has absconded. I hope he dreams of angels. Wild Angels. Over and out, Prophet faithful. Live right, boys. Amen.