As an Orlando Magic fan and sports blogger (of the year, mind you), I’ve written my fair share of articles about Dwight Howard, 38 to be exact. That’s probably more than your average Orlando Sentinel beat writer.
Well, some news came down the pipe this week that made me chuckle and, if nothing else, bring my article count to 39.
I’m being traded for Dwight Howard.
Like I said, irony.
Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste. My name is Chris Humpherys. And thanks to my namesake, I’m getting a lot more attention these days. No, I’m not Kris Humphries, the journeyman, NBA power forward who has played for four, and now quite possibly his fifth, team in nine seasons. Not the Kris Humphries who was taken in and then spit out by Bruce Jenner and a handful of Kardashians. I’m Chris Humpherys bartender/sports blogger/ overall troublemaker and I live in Tampa, Florida, potentially only an hour drive from my namesake’s future home.
In the NBA pecking order of things, Humphries, or me, or even a Humphries/Humpherys package deal for Dwight Howard is (surprisingly) not a fair trade. A reported two other players, three more draft picks and a brand new kitchen sink (in which the Kardashians do NOT do dishes) would be included in the proposed deal. They might even need a third team to make all the numbers match. But the move would be beneficial for all parties.
For Humphries, it means getting as far away from the Kardashians as possible. Don’t worry about pop-ins, Kris. The Jenners can’t possibly vacation in Orlando, that’d be so bourgeois. And the trade will certainly be good for Magic fans, who will finally be able to put the demands, the lack of leadership and Dwight’s career 2,361 missed free throws behind them.
Don’t get me wrong. Rebuilding in Orlando is going to suck worse than I-4 rush hour traffic, but at least now, we have the closure we’ve been looking for. Dwight can hang with future running mates Deron Williams and Joe Johnson and perhaps even cut a hip-hop track with Jay-Z. Yeah, I’m out that Brooklyn. And Kris and I, well, we can just kick back in the tax-free, Florida sunshine, thinking about break-ups and a Dwight-free future.
Best of luck to you, big guy, but now we have a new big man to cheer on, someone who could probably use a little love at this point, and who might even be appreciative of it in return.
After all, that’s what we cats named Chris Humpherys do.