Hey Baron, break a leg. Really. Break a leg. Your agent's would do. And while you're at it, check the mirror and see if you are looking back from the glass.
A year ago, you signed a contract with the New Orleans Hornets. Guaranteed money, no matter if you stunk the joint out, got hurt or otherwise embarassed the club for maxing you out. You've chosen door number three. You want, no DEMAND, a trade to a contending NBA club.
You ungrateful snot. You selfish SOB. You could play like a max player, a first-team all-star and try to drag your club up like lesser-paid Chauncey Billups does. But you don't play that well. You're not a first-teamer and you've only got an injury complaint of some sorts as a fig leaf of dignity.
You, sir, are an honour-less cretin. And the shyster you call an agent is only better in terms of being an educated honour-less cretin. Your word is worthless. Your cowardice when faced with the challenge of making N.O. competitive should mean any self-respecting NBA contender should want nothing to do with you. The Hornets' bad result last season was as much YOUR fault as anybody's. Why would anybody want to trade a decent, hard-working player or two to New Orleans for you?
There is some solace for you. You're not the only village idiot in the me-first, show-the-world-the-NBA's-the-best league. Oh, that's right. It's players like you that made the USA what it has become. A first-rate school for troubled children, a first-rate hi-lite reel show and a third-rate show of basketball.
The just result would be a stint riding the bus in the minors. The contract you signed, that New Orleans will honour, won't permit that. Aren't you lucky OTHERS feel honour-bound to back up their signature with action?
Break a leg Baron.
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