Journalism:

Earlier in this humid and casual off-season I sat down with NBA superstar/ D. Stern's room posterboy Dwight Howard. As we made occasional eye contact from a distance Rashard Lewis and Dwayne Wade stood restlessly by with a stadium full of fans. Howard paced the court looking for someone to talk to and found no shortage of wannabes and really, really tiny women to quench his platonic thirst for hangers-on.

As I slowly made my way down to the hardwood a stench of anticipation overtook the air and I personally felt as if the entire arena took on an unexpected hush. The rhythm of Howard's movements shifted slightly from an early nineties hip hop feel (exploring the birth of a genre in the mainstream) to the slack, neck driven repetitions of early nineties independent rock. We both struggled to stand upright and our postures made it clear to everyone around. We were so bored. My eyes stayed trained on the floor beneath my own feet. Quietly I began to mouth Dwight the questions that I had been harboring since finals 09.

Don't you also feel like your current skill set in the post will continually leave you short of a ring?

Why haven't you manned up and watched those Hakeem tapes I sent you in the oversized box labeled "bskt blls?"

Why are you such a ham and don't you have any reservations about the type of fan base that attracts?

When you read my blog updates do you sense the underlying tone of self hatred that would make me ask you a question like that?

When do you find time to read my blog with such a busy schedule?

How do you think playing with Vince Carter will effect the team as well as your own individual game?

Are you looking forward to next season and the challenges of defending your eastern conference champion status?

I could tell that Rashard Lewis saw my mouth moving and that he would alert Dwight. Within a few minutes the two reunited at center court and the heads up was given. I left my name, number and a crude drawing of Marcin Gortat on the plastic seat.

Photo Cred: J. Correa