#and when i saw today was number day i looked in my drafts and behold

[millenari]

Cats 1998 Anniversary Event - Favorite Number

The Naming of Cats (otherwise known as the 'bro check out how cool this cat makeup is bro look at it isnt it sick just check it out holy shit' song)

#cats the musical #cats fan on main #cats 1998 anniversary celebration #cats 1998 #this isnt even technically my favorite song i just didnt have anything else prepared for the event #and when i saw today was number day i looked in my drafts and behold

[emilyoftheshadows]

Person A catches a bus home everyday, but today, they're so exhausted that they fall asleep, suddely they feel a light tap on their shoulder and open their eyes to see a cute guy/gal/person smiling at them. "Sorry to wake you, bit this is your stop, i hope you slept well"

So, this is the first piece I have written and posted here! This is a fluffy drabble loosely based on the prompt above as well as some tik tok ideas i've seen. I hope you enjoy and don't judge too hard :)

~~~~~~

Aelin never knew that she could feel such a wide range of emotions in such a short amount of time. The hectic events she had endured earlier in her day had left her drained and in dire need of sleep.

She started out her mornings as usual - brewing her coffee with the help of an overly excited Fleetfoot. On the subway ride to work, coffee in hand, she explicitly remembered checking her emails for any important notices regarding her job. As an advertising agent, she dealt with multiple clients at one time. With her meticulously organized calendar and the help of her overworked assistant Marion, she was usually able to keep everything in check. Today was not one of those days.

As she entered her office, Marion greeted her with her tablet in hand- Aelin’s schedule color coded, labeled and sorted by hour.

 “Good morning Ms. Galathynius, ready to hear your schedule for today?” Aelin nodded, sipping her coffee as Marion listed her client meetings for the upcoming day. As they entered her office, Aelin paused.

“Marion, could you please repeat that first meeting  again?”

“The Havilliard Scotch pitch at 12?” And that was when Aelin knew she was fucked. This pitch was meant for a well known drinking company in New York, fast on the come up. Havilliard Sr. was known to be picky about his branding, scrutinizing most agencies that had helped him before. She had barely gotten this client, practically begging Nehemia for the job. As she worked the branding, she had become worried about the content she was producing.

She was so worried about this pitch, that she had taken her laptop home last night in hopes of triple checking her work for mistakes and to fine tune some details. And that's where her laptop was at that moment. At her apartment, across town, sitting on her desk, collecting dust. Her mind raced at how to solve her predicament. The subway ride to and from her apartment was too long of a trip to make before the meeting and, like an amateur, she hadn’t saved her files anywhere else but her laptop. She was completely fucked. 

Marion stood in the doorway, confused on what was going on in Aelin’s head. Aelin decided to finally release herself from her stupor. “Marion, could you please go find Aedion for me? And tell him it’s an emergency.”

With a determined look on her face, her assistant went as fast as her short legs could carry her to Aedion’s office on the adjacent part of the building floor she was on. Within minutes, Aedion was standing at her door, panting like he had just sprinted the fastest race of his life. The good thing about having her overbearing cousin work with her, is that she knew that in any problem he would help in an instant. And this was one hell of a fucking problem.

“What happened Aelin? Are you okay? Were you hurt? Do you need an ambulance?”

“You idiot I am physically fine, but still screwed and I need your help.” Aedion released the first breath Aelin had seen him take since entering her office.

“You know, when Marion power walked into my office saying you had an EMERGENCY and she didn’t know what was wrong with you, I definitely thought you would be passed out on your floor with blood on your face. But, you know, thanks for the heart attack. Really woke me up this morning.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes at him. He was more dramatic than her, and that spoke volumes in itself. 

“Aedion, please it really is an emergency. I have the big pitch for the Havilliard Scotch today and I left my laptop with the presentation at my apartment.” Aedion’s eyes widened in surprise. He knew that Aelin had been obsessed about this pitch and that mistakes like this only happened to her once in a blue moon. Aelin saw understanding dawn on his face and took that as a sign to continue.

“Now, I know a while back I sent you the rough drafts of the branding from when I first got the pitch. Is there any chance that you have the email or presentation saved still? If I have the basis of the presentation, I have an hour to build on it and hopefully fix this.”

Aedion’s face fell at the request. “We can go look, but you know I’m not the best at organizing my files Ace. It could be anywhere on my computer or not at all.” With those reaffirming words, Aelin and Aedion walked at a brisk pace back to his office. Combing through Aedion’s computer was an agonizing process. There were files saved from years ago that should’ve been deleted, and backtracking through all the contents of his computer made Aelin want to stab her eyes out. But it was all worth it, because hidden in the depths of this man’s terribly organized computer was the presentation. With a quick click of a button, she emailed the document to herself. She gave a half ass hug to Aedion, then practically ran to her office to start reworking her pitch on the computer there.

--

Aelin believed it was pure adrenaline that enabled her to finish her pitch in time for the Havilliard meeting. With a strong foundation laid out before her from her first draft, she had constructed almost her exact pitch that was left at home. Aelin waited for the Havilliards in the boardroom, smoothing out her clothes as she paced at the front. Far too soon, Marion escorted Havilliard Sr., Dorian Havilliard, and their close friend and partner Chaol Westfall into the room for her presentation. The three men had sat down in silence with no introduction, except for a small encouraging smile from the younger Havilliard. Taking that as her sign to start, Aelin cleared her throat.

“Hello gentlemen, today I want to present to you the future of Havilliard Scotch…”

---

As the men had exited the room single file, Aelin finally allowed herself to relax. That had felt like the longest pitch of her life. Going into the meeting, she had known the men were notorious for being extremely serious and critical of their agents. What she had not expected was the whispered words between the men after she had finished her presentation. As she looked on, Dorian Havilliard had finally broken away from their circle to address her.

“Miss Galathynius, thank you for your time. We will get back to you shortly about our decision to run with this branding or not.” With a quick nod and gesture to his companions, the trio had stood up and left the room. She was utterly shocked. Aelin had poured her sweat and tears into this pitch, quite literally, and they had just thanked her and left. No critiques, no opinions, no nothing. 

Quite honestly, Aelin was exhausted. She had spent most of her brain power reworking that pitch in that 45 minutes before that meeting and she had nothing left to give today. Yet, she still had a full schedule left to woo clients and work on her other projects. By the time Aelin trudged back to the subway, she was ready for a nice dinner at home followed by a restorative night of sleep with Fleetfoot at her side. 

Now, as she entered the subway, she immediately noticed the mystery man sitting down a few feet away from her. The man was moderately built, with muscles that were outlined by the fabric of his long sleeve t-shirt. His style was simple with a pair of nice jeans and Doc Marten boots, but that just allowed one's focus to settle on the beautiful creation that was his face. Mystery man had a strong jawline, lined with a bit of stubble and scruff. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green like none that she had seen before, his head topped with luscious silver hair. As the subway started, Mystery Man continued to sketch drawings into his book. Now, Aelin was never one to back  down from an opportunity to flirt with one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. She was a single woman in a big city, why the hell not. But her day had taken a toll on her, and she just didn’t know if this was the right time or place. So, she opted to put in her headphones as she waited for her stop, listening to relaxing music to calm her anxieties regarding the failed Havilliard pitch. 

 Seeing that her stop was next, Aelin rose from her seat to wait in line for the doors to open. As she waited, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Low and behold, there was the Mystery Man standing next to her with a piece of paper in hand. As she pulled her headphone out, the man silently handed her the paper. Looking down, she saw a pencil sketch of herself on the subway. The drawing was beautifully done with bold lines and harsh shading, contrasted by highlights created from the fluorescent lights of the subway. Her eyes welled up, immediately grateful for this thoughtful gift after such a horrible day. The Mystery Man saw her emotions, startled to see tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I just… I like to draw and when I saw you… I mean, it’s just you’re so stunning..” The man’s face flushed red as he tried to justify his beautiful art. Aelin laughed out loud for the first time today at his misunderstanding of her swell of emotions. 

“Oh no, these are just tears of..uhmm.. happiness? I guess…” She started to flush at her own awkwardness, trying to explain her emotions this time.

“I just had a really rough day and feel like shit. But this drawing is beautiful and I really am grateful that such a talented artist like yourself chose me as your muse today.” Aelin watched as the Mystery Man reacted to such a lavish compliment, somehow developing an even deeper blush with a shy smile . Gaining confidence from his reaction, she decided to make her move before she exited for her upcoming stop. 

“Hey, Mystery Man, why don’t I give you my number? Seeing that I am your muse and all, I would really like to learn more about your art.” It was a subpar pickup line at best, but hey, she had a long day and for the circumstance she thought it good enough. The man gave a deep timbered laugh at her pickup line, clearly enjoying their conversation now. 

“I think I might be one step ahead of you actually. Flip the drawing over.” As she flipped the paper, she saw a messy scrawl with the name Rowan, and what she could only assume was his number. The sight of these two things brought her complete giddiness. Giddiness that made you want to jump in the air and pump your fist because you're so excited. She looked up at Rowan, smirking as she tucked the piece of paper into her purse.

As the subway doors opened and they were pushed apart by bypassers, she turned around one last time to look at the man who had brightened her day beyond belief. She winked at Rowan as she walked away, not missing the wide smile he gave in return as the subway doors closed and continued on to the next stop.

[sunseteyes]

♪♫.ılılıll your voice ˎˊ- k. kozume

FOURTH SONG — MY VOICE

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol, kinda angsty (actually, it is angsty)

“hey! you’re a friend of keiji, right? kenma? that’s your name, right?”

kenma would be a fool not to recognize that voice, but it was the loss of confidence and formation of hesitancy that drove him to linger for a few seconds before he turned. lo and behold, he was correct.

he pulls down his hands together, unconsciously fiddling them as he looks at the ground, unable to gaze at you directly at the eye. he was only able to when he muster that courage, suddenly finding himself to be astonished at the sight of you in front of him, without any of his friends around him, no other person saving him from any sort of embarrassment he may do.

why does he care for what you may say?

why does he care what you may think?

but he wondered what was on your mind, guessing over the thoughts that you may think about, sitting here with someone who’s close as a stranger, all your friends inside of the pub, talking and discussing with themselves.

“why are you here?” he questioned once he had taken his eyes off of you, once again looking at the ground, aware of the chill wind that passes through both of you, making his hair slowly dance in movement with it.

“why are you here?” he questioned once he had taken his eyes off of you, once again looking at the ground, aware of the chill wind that passes through both of you, making his hair slowly dance in movement with it.

you then gave a deep exhale, as if releasing all the weight of the world on your shoulders back to the universe, where it should belong. “i just wanted some fresh air. the boys are enjoying back there, talking about chemistry and basketball and studies, to which i couldn’t relate.”

“how about you?”

he fiddles his fingers again. “i don’t like drinking… much.”

he could smell it. even if both of you had come from the same room and the stench still reeks to the outside, he could smell that you’ve drank quite a lot, surely more than him.

“oh by the way, i hope you weren’t offended when i said you have a nice voice.” he thinks more despite your voice slightly pulling him out of his mind.

“i wasn’t.”

“it’s just that-it reminded me of when someone said that to me, you know.”

he peers at your form again, seeing the distant look on your face in an instant.

“why do you look like that?”

when you met his gaze, that was the only time he realized what came out of his lips. yet, he was too late to take it back, nor does he want to.

you didn’t look offended though, unlike any normal person who’d be the recipient of such a question from kenma. you smiled instead—a sad smile, before turning your face ahead. “you saw that?”

“well, i can’t blame you.” you say after an intake and exhale of breath. silence followed, but he knew this silence is not because you were dodging his question. it was the calm before the actual storm, and you were just giving him time to prepare himself from a story that he would never have expected he would hear tonight. “i don’t know if you’re going to understand this, but the moment you’ve got the taste of fame, you just want to go up and up, wondering where the top may be.” you say, your hands gesturing as you go, like when parents try to make their children eat vegetables, swinging the spoon like an airplane before landing to a perfect shot. kenma blames it on the drinks, but your voice says nonetheless.

“though the moment you realize that there’s no such thing as the top and the walk through fame is blander than it seems, you can never go back again. because once you’ve held back for even the slightest, you’ll lose everything.”

kenma, he knew he doesn’t understand a thing, because he’d never tasted fame. but he can tell just by the way you sounded and worded everything that it was a journey he wouldn’t like to take.

“you like games, right? i saw you playing games inside while the others were talking.” you paused and kenma saw through the corner of his eye that you raised something. only then did he see that you were holding a can of beer. now he doesn’t know anything about alcohol but he sure did not expect he would one day find a famous person like you to sit beside him and drink openly like that.

then he realized, maybe this is what you were talking about.

“in games, you’d basically want to get yourself on top of the ranks, right? of course, you’d want to get stronger.” you say after sipping from and bringing down the can. “but once you’ve reached your goal, what would anyone usually do? they create dummy accounts. because in dummy accounts, they could restart again and get it as strong as your original account. you’re back on track again. in real life, you can never create dummy accounts or you’ll lose track of the goal.”

with a hushed voice, you added, “there’s no way you’ll go back to where you had been before.”

kenma may not have been able to process everything in your situation, nor does he think he would ever be, but he does get the logic of what you were saying. reality is much different from fantasy, and it also meant having to experience the harsh truth about life.

he wanted to say something, to respond with his own words.

but he can’t.

“(y/n),”

both you and kenma looked up to the call of akaashi’s voice, standing by the side of the door next to the wall from where the bench you two were sitting at.

“oh, you’re here too, kenma-san. it’s about time to go home. both kuroo-san and bokuto-san are already drunk.” said akaashi, pulling his coat to fish out his car keys. “do you need a ride home, (y/n)? wait, you’re drunk too?”

“am not!”

akaashi turns to kenma, and he knows what that look is.

“they’re tipsy, but not drunk.” he answers straight away, to which you giggled and say “told you so!” to akaashi. based on the interaction alone, kenma knew how close you were to the other one.

when akaashi left, you stood up and just when he was about to, a question from you made him freeze.

“hey kenma, what’s your number?”

THEY’RE FRIENDS NOW, AREN’T THEY? BUT LET’S NOT FORGET WHO’S THE BESTFRIEND

TRIVIA

y/n mentioned a few clues here about their past

they’re really just tipsy, not drunk

INTERMISSIONS

taglist is still open! please do send an ask to @ftkenma only

i have changed my personal url again jxjzjz im sorry about that. anyway, i was actually going to not post this update today because i thought i wouldn’t make it. it’s a good thing i already have a draft of the long story of y/n so it was quite easy to fill out the gaps hehe. what do you think of this chapter? any theories out there?

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#kenma x reader #haikyuu x reader #kenma smau #haikyuu smau #kenma x you #kenma socmed au #haikyuu x you #haikyu!! #hq #your voice🎤

[simplybakugou]

The Villain - Ch. 7: The Unsolicited Attack

A/N: Not even joking, I have like 20 things in my drafts because I have so many ideas to write about but I’m also too lazy and unmotivated to execute them omg. Also, because all of my classes are online now, that means I have literally 5 months of doing nothing so expect more updates because IM SO READY TO FINALLY FINISH THIS FIC. THE FACT THAT I STARTED THIS FIC AT THE END OF 2018 AND NOW ITS 2020 AND I STILL HAVEN’T FINISHED IT DJIFJEWBEHFOJEWVQOJ

Remember, if you want to be tagged in future chapters, comment below and I’ll add your username to the list!

Pairing: villain!bakugou Warnings: swearing Word Count: 3,703

LINKS TO NEW CHAPTERS

✐posted 04.10.2020✐

“Man, I really just bombed that exam,” Kaminari groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“It’s okay, Mina and Sero are probably going to join you in your failure,” you teased, earning yourself some glares from Sero and Mina. Kirishima laughed and you looked at him. “Don’t laugh too hard, Eijirou, you’re not that far ahead either!”

Kaminari, Sero, and Mina took their chances to make fun of Kirishima this time, the boys fooling around while Mina rolled her eyes. The sun was beginning to set as you and your friends waited outside of U.A. before walking back home.

“Where the hell is Katsuki?” You muttered.

Mina heard you over the sound of the boys arguing and put her arm on your shoulder. “Aw, look at you worrying about your boyfriend.”

She made kissy faces at you and you rolled your eyes, pushing her face away. “You know it’s not like that. He just seems down lately.”

Mina raised her brow. “Really? If I’m being honest, I haven’t really noticed. Then again, you’ve always been observant and see things I would never even think about noticing.”

You sighed, shrugging your shoulders as Kirishima waved at you and Mina. He showed you his phone, revealing messages between him and Bakugou. “Bakugou said that he’s going to see us tomorrow. Apparently he has to talk to a teacher about one of his assignments.”

“Alright, come on let’s go home,” Kaminari said as the group began walking away.

You stayed back. “I think I’m going to wait for him out here.”

“Are you sure? I can wait with you if you want,” Mina suggested.

You shook your head, smiling. “I just don’t want to leave him alone so I’m going to annoy him a little. I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

The four of them waved good-bye to you as they walked away. You turned back around, leaning against the gates opening up to U.A. You had a feeling in your gut that was telling you to stay back and wait for Bakugou and low and behold, Bakugou came walking down the entrance. When he saw you, you could practically hear him groaning despite the amount of distance between the two of you.

As he came closer, you pointed your finger at him. “I knew it, you’re trying to avoid us!”

Bakugou rolled his eyes as he continued walking. You caught up to him, walking beside him. “Whatever. If you knew I was avoiding you shits, why’re you here?”

“‘Cause I’m worried about you,” you said truthfully.

Bakugou scoffed. “I’m not a kid, I don’t need you to fucking worry about me.”

“Just because you don’t need me to, doesn’t mean I’ll just stop.” You stood in front of him, causing him to stop walking. “You need to talk to someone about the Kamino incident.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly before he gained his composure once more. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

This time it was your turn to roll your eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling upset about what happened. No one blames you or thinks you’re in the wrong.”

There was a long pause before the corners of Bakugou’s lips turned upwards into a small smile. He placed his hand onto your shoulder as he walked forward. You stood dazed and confused before being able to recollect yourself and catch up with him.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m walking you home. It’s only been a few weeks since what happened to your mom and I’m still going to follow you around to make sure you’re not gonna do anything stupid.”

***

The walk was quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. Bakugou seemed to be deep in thought and you couldn’t help but study and observe Bakugou, attempting to decipher what was going on through his head. His hands were in his pockets and his lips were almost like they were permanently down turned. Once you got to your house, you could see your dad peeking through the window and sigh in relief once he saw you. Bakugou looked over there and looked back at you. “Your dad must’ve been worried about you. You need to take care of yourself for him.”

You sighed. “I know and I am taking care of myself now.”

Bakugou nodded, walking in the other direction to go to his own home. He lifted his hand to you to say goodbye. You stood in front of your driveway and called out to him. “Katsuki!”

Bakugou turned around and narrowed his brows at you. “For the last goddamn time, you’re the only one I know who calls me by my first name and I swear to god—“

You cut him off quickly, knowing he was going to continue rambling on. “I’m going to beat you.”

Bakugou was taken aback. “What?”

“I’m going to beat you and become the number one hero. I’m going to beat you, Midoriya, and Todoroki.” You paused. “You know what that means?”

“What?”

“It means that you’re still a hero to me. What happened in Kamino wasn’t your fault and that shouldn’t be a reason for you to want to stop pursuing your goal. You’re still the same hotheaded Bakugou Katsuki who is loud, driven, and the one who saved me a few weeks ago. You’re a hero, Katsuki.”

Bakugou’s eyes widened but he turned back around so you couldn’t see his expression. “Whatever. Go inside, your dad’s waiting.”

And after all this time, you always wonder what kind of expression he had on his face then.

***

Your eyes shot open and you sat up immediately in bed. You rubbed your eyes, groaning. It was a dream... But it also wasn’t. It genuinely happened and you can recall that day so easily despite how long ago it was.

The door in your room opened and Mina sighed in relief. “Thank god you’re awake, I thought I had to wake you up.”

She threw a few envelopes at you, indicating that it was some mail that you got. You went through them, most of them being bills. However, one of them was from a famous agency you had heard of. Many old heroes were signed under this agency and you immediately ripped open the seal.  The letter was addressed specifically to you.

Dear (H/N),

I hope you’ve been well and that this urgent letter reaches you. I’m going to get straight to the point; I know that you’re the number one hero and that you deserve to be involved in every important villain issue there is.

But, I don’t want you to interfere in any issue related to Ground Zero unless we need your help.

The reason for this is that I’m afraid your personal connection to him will make you biased and refrain you from stopping him if the chance that you meet him ever comes again in the future.

I know you’re a strong hero, which is why you’re number one, but my agency will take care of him if needed.

I understand that this is maybe unfair and I may be intruding, but I’m doing what is best for the world and for you. I’m asking you to step back, not forcing you to.

I hope you can trust me to do this.

—Hawks

You sighed, shoving the letter in your pockets and getting up to get ready. Once you were done, you checked your phone to get a text from Natsuya to stop by his place. You went into the kitchen as Mina set a plate of breakfast for you.

“You look worn out,” Mina commented, sitting down in front of you.

“I just have a feeling something’s going on.” You sighed, eating the food Mina made you. “I’m stopping by Natsuya’s before going to the agency today.”

“Okay.” Mina narrowed her brows in confusion at you but didn’t bother to question you further. “You’ve been at Yamashita’s place more than you’ve been here. Are you sure there isn’t something else going on?”

Mina nudged your arm and you swatted at her. “Absolutely not. I just want to hang out with my boyfriend. Sue me.” You got up to put your plate away, grabbing your coat from the rack in the process.

“But you’re hanging out with him at his apartment. Where his bed is.”

“I’m not going there for his ‘bed.’” You rolled your eyes at your best friend, bending down to tie your shoelaces.

“Hm, then again you don’t need a bed, you can have sex pretty much anywh—“

“Okay, see you later, Mina!” You exclaimed, quickly leaving the apartment only to hear Mina’s snickers as you left.

***

You knocked on the door, patiently waiting for your boyfriend to answer. Once he did, Natsuya’s face broke out into a smile as he was genuinely happy to see his girlfriend.

“Hey, you,” he said, kissing your forehead as he opened the door wider to let you in.

You smiled, walking in and he closed the door. “Why’d you call me here?”

“What? A man can’t see his girlfriend or is that a crime?” Natsuya joked and you playfully rolled your eyes at him. “I just wanted to check up on you before you and I headed out for work. I have a feeling that everything is going to escalate from here, especially since the League hasn’t done anything and it’s been three weeks now.”

You plopped down onto his sofa, letting out a loud sigh. It was evident that something was bound to happen and lately, it felt as if you were just sitting back and waiting for something to happen. It didn’t sit well with you that you couldn’t really do anything during this time. But there wasn’t anything that you could do, for now at least.

“You’re right, which is why I’m glad you called me over. I need to show you something.” Natsuya sat down beside you as you pulled out the letter from Hawks from your pocket. You handed it over to him, allowing him to read it over briefly. “What do you think about it?”

“If you want my honest opinion, I’m happy you’re not involved with all of this anymore,” Natsuya said, earning a sigh from you. You knew how he would react but nevertheless you wanted to see for yourself what he would say. Natsuya chuckled at your expression. “Don’t give me that look. You get reckless when anything Ground Zero related is called and it’s because you’re biased. Otherwise, you’re a great hero. But I’m glad Hawks stepped in and is taking care of this.”

You groaned. “I know but I’m still worried. What if I can help but it’s too late or if someone gets hurt instead of me?”

Natsuya wrapped an arm around you, rubbing your shoulders. “Y/N, Hawks is an amazing hero. He was number two back when we were still in high school and he’s still strong. Have some more trust in him, I’m sure he’ll have everything under control.”

You nodded, knowing that he was right. You felt guilty for not being able to decide to deal with Bakugou by trying desperately to understand that he’s not a villain and by trying to reprimand him because of his villainous actions. Natsuya sighed, kissing your head. “Don’t beat yourself up over this. I know you want to help but you don’t have to save every single person in the whole world. You’re not the only hero here. There are so many heroes, your colleagues, who are here for you and will support you.”

You nodded once more, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I know. Thanks, Tsuya.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to stay here like this, we’ve still got to go to work.” He patted your back as he got up, extending his hand out for you. You took it and he pulled you up, the two of you leaving to go to your respective jobs.

***

“It’s finally over!” Jirou cheered loudly, raising her arms into the air.

You sighed, rubbing the sweat from your forehead. You were asked to patrol areas that were considered “critical areas” that were most likely going to be attacked by the League by the Hero Public Safety Commission, the center that is run my non-heroes and it is involved in investigating the most criminally dangerous cases. Jirou was also in the area so she decided to tag along and help you out, just in case there was a scenario in which the League actually did attack.

“Are you headed home?” You asked.

Jirou nodded, stretching her arms out. “Yeah, this has been one of the longest days of my life. I’ve never felt so worked up. The League really needs to be stopped.” You nodded in agreement.

The two of you made your way back to the Commission Center, having to send in reports of what you had seen and the areas that you patrolled. The two of you waved to passerby’s, especially to the children who were ecstatic to have run into two major pros. Your phone rang in your pocket, continuing to vibrate uncontrollably as you fished it out. It was from the police station.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” A female voice asked from the other line. “This is Tsubaki from the station. Yamashita’s really busy right now but he wanted to make sure to make me tell you that you need to get to the Commission Center immediately.”

You began to worry. “Yes, I’m on my way now. Did something happen?”

“It’s awful, please hurry. Bring as many people as you can, I don’t know how much is left of it.” Tsubaki hung up.

Jirou read your facial expression. “That doesn’t look good.”

“We have to get to the Commission Center now!” You exclaimed, shoving your phone back in your pocket. You began running towards the Center, Jirou following suit. “Something’s going on there, and we have to check it out. Call as many pros as you can, I’ll do the same.” Jirou wearily nodded, wanting to know what’s going on just as much as you want to.

Dear god please let everything be okay…

***

The bar was quieter than usual, only the bartender keeping Bakugou company. But he liked it that way, finding the crowds of people who usually come to be intrusive and bothersome. Thankfully there weren’t any women trying to hit on him like most nights as they try and become the girlfriend of the most wanted man alive.

“Man, you didn’t have to yell at everyone to leave like that. You know it’s bad for my business,” the bartender, Watari, complained.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, setting his glass down on the table. “Oh, please, I’ll pay you triple my fee if you quit your bitching.”

Watari laughed, being used to his number one customer’s prickly attitude after the years he’s spent with Bakugou. Watari was the only man Bakugou fully trusted, someone he turned to when he was asked to abandon his family, friends, and his old life. Watari was also the only one who’s aware of Bakugou’s true identity, understanding that he had to become a villain to help out the pros.

Watari studied Bakugou, the now grown man that he saw as his own son. He set down the glass he was wiping. “You know every time I look at you I keep seeing that hopeless kid that came to me all those years ago.”

Bakugou scoffed. “Tch, I wasn’t hopeless. And I didn’t come to you, you saw me and came to me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’ve never seen a kid with such a defeated look in his eye.” Watari chuckled at the memory, running a hand threw his gray hair. “I know the pros are the good guys, and I do trust them. I’ll just never understand what they were thinking asking a child to give up his dreams and his friends and family to help them out.”

“It’s not like they fucking forced me, I agreed to it, you know.”

“I know but I can’t stop thinking about that look on your face. You had to say goodbye to your classmates, to your dream of becoming the number one hero. Hell, if you ask me, you basically handed your dream over to (H/N) without any fight at all! And don’t get me started on you having to abandon your parents, your mother was pissed when you just disappeared all of a sudden.”

Bakugou’s lips turned upward, staring down at his glass as he reminisced with Watari. “That old hag was ready to fucking kill me, calling radio stations and news channels to find me. Must of surprised her when three years later her only son ‘murdered’ the leader of the League to become the leader himself.”

Watari laughed, shaking his head as he recalled the numerous amount of times he saw Bakugou Mitsuki stampeding through the streets to find her son. “You think you’ll ever talk to her? Once you’re done being the bad guy and can go back to your normal life?”

Bakugou sighed, leaning back on the table and staring at the ceiling. “That’s the thing, Pops, I don’t think I can go back. Not to the old hag, to my friends, to being a hero. I haven’t heard from my folks in fucking years, but I don’t blame them since they don’t know the truth. The minute I accepted this job, I knew that I wouldn’t be treated as a kid pursuing heroism like I was before. I’ve been in this shit for over seven years now, no one’s gonna accept me with open arms like that.”

“You’re wrong.” Bakugou turned his head to face him, confused. Watari smiled. “(H/N) would accept you. She’s been accepting you for all these years and she hasn’t been quiet about it either. Also, don’t forget that you have me, kid.”

Bakugou smirked as Watari patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, it seems like you and that shitty girl are the only ones who believe in me.”

Bakugou turned his head back to the ceiling, closing his eyes and taking a breath in. He stills remembers being a broken down mess, agonizing over the decision he had made. Although he didn’t regret the decision he made, the initial reaction to being given the offer by Hawks was one that he could never forget. He was a high schooler, a teenager, a kid being asked to work with adults to help them out. He was a kid asked to become a double agent and he had to sacrifice everything for it, too. But he didn’t regret it. The minute he got abducted by the League during the Kamino incident, he knew he wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old U.A. student anymore. No matter how many times anyone told him otherwise, Bakugou couldn’t help but blame himself for the incident. And no matter how hard he tried to conceal how he was actually feeling, mostly everyone bought his act, believing that he was fine, believing that he was a tough kid that could put up with the aftermath of the incident.

That is, everyone except you. You saw straight through him and didn’t hesitate to call him out on his bullshit either.

As much as he had missed seeing his friends and his parents, he couldn’t describe the loneliness he felt when he realized he wouldn’t have the shitty girl who he saved from the rooftop of U.A. High nagging him everywhere he went. He couldn’t describe the feeling inside of him when he first saw your face after ten years those few weeks ago in that flower shop. He couldn’t describe the relief he felt when he heard you spew out your drunken yet supportive words for him. You always believed in him, you always cheered for him, and here you were ten years later continuing to believe in him.

Bakugou opened his eyes, shaking his head. It happened again; he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

His fingers subconsciously, like it was practice now, typed your name in the internet browser on his phone. He looked at the images that popped up with the search result. He internally wanted to puke at the picture of you beside your shitty police boyfriend on the day you were announced as the number one hero. What a fucking tool…

“Katsuki.” Watari broke Bakugou away from his thoughts. “Turn the volume up.”

Bakugou looked over to what he was looking at, getting concerned over the news reporter covering what was read as “BREAKING NEWS.” He turned the volume up.

“This is breaking news and I’m coming to you live from the Hero Public Safety Commission. As you can see, the building is completely burnt down, exploded from the inside. Police have been investigating all night, concluding that the explosions from the inside were not caused by notoriously wanted criminal, Ground Zero,” the woman on the screen said to the camera.

Bakugou stood up from his seat, his eyes widening. He had no idea what was going on. “What the fuck?”

“Officials have confirmed that the villain known as Kurogiri was involved in the attack. However, as he is a part of the League of Villains, he does not have a fire type quirk that would cause such an explosion. Officials have also confirmed that there was another figure involved in this atrocious attack, concluding that it was not villains Ground Zero or Dabi.

“To make matters even worse, the only pro hero that was able to get to the scene before all of this unfolded was Hawks. Kurogiri and the second individual involved managed to hurt Hawks so badly that he is currently critically injured and is in intensive care. Officials have confirmed that they do not know when or even if Hawks will be able to recover from this—“

Watari turned the television off, looking over at Bakugou who was absolutely furious over the events. Kurogiri had worked independently, taking orders from someone else, most likely the true leader of the League, and had hurt Bakugou’s actual boss. “Katsuki… Don’t do anything irrational.”

Bakugou grabbed his coat, slamming the bar door open. “I’m gonna kill that Warp Gate fucker.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Tagging: @chims-kookies @bokunoheroes-stories @iamthe-leaf @simplysymphonic @mylittlesunshineblog @imyourliquor-youremypoison @sxperhuman @sunflowerchild27 @miraculouskatsuki @geesshoku @ghoularaki @katsukiwonu @mochirecipe @kotakingly @giornouh @tyongflight​

#the villain #katsukibakugou #bakugo #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bnha bakugou #katsuki #kacchan #my hero academia #my hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero imagines #bnha katsuki #bnha imagines

[andrewuttaro]

The End of the Eichel Era

Back in the lonely summer of 2020 I started a Youtube channel built around reacting to the Buffalo Sabres. My first series of videos in that regard was a recap of the prior 2019-2020 season: a season so crazy leading into the COVID pause that I thought it couldn’t be topped. My vlog reactions to the upcoming season would be the start of something new. I didn’t think it could possibly get worse than the season of the Duane Rant. Oh, Andrew: you doe-faced believer. Oh, how wrong I was.

After a season that saw a 17-game losing streak, a rightful coaching change, an injury carousel out of a cartoon including injuries untold to Captain Jack Eichel, the bar for a bad season has reached a new low even us rugged Sabres fans. There were rays of hope toward the end of this past season. A bevy of young players making their impact playing for pride on a feisty Don Granato led squad made another lost season, the tenth in a row without a playoff berth, somewhat enjoyable. Due to roster flexibility that bordered on frightening there was also reason to hope a roster that could finally make a postseason was within reach for a rookie GM that has no choice but to prove himself. There was hope. Was is the operative word there.

On May 10th, 2021, the organization’s most notable players gave their exit interviews to the team followed by brief pressers with the media. Before the Captain even appeared on the Zoom link the mood was dreary. Rasmus Ristolainen once again made it clear he would rather not be here. Sam Reinhart, a UFA this offseason, was non-committal at best about his future with the team. Then it was time for the Captain to speak… then Jake McCabe went first. Evidently his exit interview went long. When Eichel did get on the call what followed was nothing short of the siren marking the beginning of the end of the Eichel Era in Buffalo.

The root of the issues seemed to be disagreement about how to handle Eichel’s injuries. There was a broken rib prior to the season as well as something else still somewhat unclear. Team doctors evidently wanted him to not go forward with a surgery. He got a second opinion. The schism only grew. With five seasons left on his massive 80-million-dollar contract and a full NMC is affect all the power lays with the Buffalo Sabres organization. As Jack Eichel detailed his intent to look out for himself in no uncertain terms he was leveraging the only power he has in the situation which has gotten worse and worse: speaking publicly. If you didn’t hear any of these comments live or read any shortly thereafter you might lose the severity. To sum it up in one tidbit: Eichel literally referenced a hypothetical wife and kids he’ll have one day and how he’ll be a father. What this team has made him endure is on par with a major life event.

The insanity of the NHL’s Collective Bargaining Agreement rules on medical second opinions aside: the relationship between ownership, the front office and Jack Eichel’s camp is broken beyond repair now. When an employer makes you endure a health situation you don’t want to be in then you better believe there will be discord. There is no mending this fisher. There is no denying any longer that Eichel will move on one way or another. To put in bluntly: it is over with Jack Eichel in Buffalo. It is a matter of time now before a trade salvages anything for the all-star top line center in what will almost certainly be a losing trade for the Sabres.

Jack Eichel has been the face of the Buffalo Sabres franchise since he was drafted in 2015. He was the fruit of a contentious tank. A torturous rebuild followed that had to be rest in 2017 and again in 2018 and… is still continuing today I suppose. Jack Eichel has done everything he could. I think I speak for every reasonable hockey fan in Buffalo when I say the end of this relationship is the result of Front Office mismanagement of Eichel himself and the roster beyond him on top of so many other things. From the beginning of their ownership in 2011 Terry and Kim Pegula have hurt the name of the once proud Buffalo Sabres. It began with Pat Lafontaine’s ouster and now it is visited upon us with the impending departure of Jack Eichel. Four General Managers and seven coaches have tried to lead the Sabres under Pegula ownership and the only one who managed a playoff berth was gone the year after. The coming end of the Eichel Era is a symptom of the Pegula Era. And I didn’t even bring up the knockoff alumni jerseys or the myriad public relations catastrophes they have wrought on the blue and gold.

The final Chapter in Jack Eichel’s time as a Sabre is being written as you read this. Certainly, the Pegulas will have some kind of strategic response to Eichel’s comments through their good soldier GM Kevyn Adams shortly. This will get ugly or put in a better way: this is just what is already ugly becoming public. We could talk about how their reputation in Buffalo maybe saved by the recent success of the Buffalo Bills of the NFL and fantasize about them selling the Sabres organization as some virtuous self-realization of the harm they’ve done. That is fantasy. What is not fantasy is what this organization has become.

I’m turning 27 this month. Most people my age have only known this team as synonymous with sorrow, save for a few glorious years in the late 2000s. This was not the Buffalo Sabres of old. The first forty years of this franchise was something to behold even though it lacked a Stanley Cup banner. The terrible drafting is the one consistent throughout, but I digress: what are the Buffalo Sabres? What is this franchise? We keep reaching out in the dark for rock bottom praying to ourselves it exists at all. Every season since 2016 we have only seen regression. Every move has ultimately amounted to shifting deck chairs on the Titanic. The good moves and happy stretches like the ten-game winning steak in 2018 are clearly the exceptions not the rule in retrospect.

An impossibly long list of items from the Ryan O’Reilly trade that saw spare parts come back for a center who went onto a Conn Smythe and the Stanley Cup to acquiring Taylor Hall in a signing the owner contended would signal the team was going to win a Cup, not just make the playoffs. Taylor Hall is in Boston now where the last team that truly tested a good Sabres squad in an infamous instance of running-the-goalie in 2011 has been good for a decade. The Sabres goalie Milan Lucic ran, Ryan Miller, a legend in his own right, retired this season. It has been so long since a team worthy of gracing the ravenous hockey market that is Western New York has played that you’d be hard pressed to find a former Sabre who has made the playoff with them still in the league. If there was ever glory associated with the crossed swords it has faded from the public consciousness to the point a generation is unfamiliar with it.

When Jack Eichel is traded there is an outside chance a fair return will be achieved from one of about two teams in this league who could swing it. As Eichel acknowledged in his own comments, it’s the team that has all the cards in this: they can wait until the right offer comes along because clearly there is no intention for things to get better in Buffalo very shortly. Yet another rebuild, perhaps even another tank, awaits on the near horizon. With the Eichel Era coming to end in Buffalo its hard to imagine what’s next. In 2014-2015 we dreamed a young contender helmed by one of Connor McDavid or Jack Eichel might lead us to better days. Now those better days are just a song we remember from a hype video 15 years ago.

A team signs and unwritten contract when they acquire a franchise player as I wrote last year about this exact situation. It is now unquestionable that the Buffalo Sabres, or at least the owners of the franchise, have broken that unwritten contract beyond repair. Their continued mismanagement has cratered the franchise they bought with such zeal for the roundel crest. Now we venture forward into unknown depths few franchises have ventured into in this league and lived to tell the tale. The franchise probably survives for various external reasons but now it will be a living relic of how no number of frenzied fans, no amount of hope, can get you a sustainable team if you can’t build something worthy of the great athletes handed to you.

#buffalo sabres #hockey

[writers-hes]

falling -- sequel to cherry

based on a request by anon ! i decided to make a sequel / prequel thing for cherry and this fic will definitely be confusing with the time jumps and etc ! the story takes place in harry’s point of view, three months after you broke up. the dashes will help as guide. 

please don’t forget to leave a feedback! 

if you haven’t read cherry yet, you can read it here.  if you want to be a part of my taglist, like/reblog this post. 

don’t forget that requests are open! this may be the final instalment to the cherry universe but i can make a third instalment if i get enough requests. 

thank you so much and enjoy !

WARNING: unedited + cussing + mentions of alcohol

------------

it’s been three months since Harry decided to break things off with you. It was a mutual decision but it still hurt knowing that you could be out there, with a new man. That was always you—trying to use the remainder of the love that you had for someone on someone else. He regretted it and he wanted you back. He wanted nothing more but for you to call him, telling him you wanted he back and if you did—if the universe permitted it, if you called, he would go to you, in france and knock on your door with his knees on the floor. 

he never believed in signs but he was asking for one now—he was so fucking desperate. he missed you and loved you. if it was possible, his love grew more and more each day even if you were gone. it was impossible to think that you would love him more. the thought of you with someone else under the sheets, you kissing somebody else that wasn’t him, sent him into overdrive. he’s been writing songs about you since you called things off and it’s too much—he would always go to the studio in tears and leave in tears. he was so hurt, so fucking hurt. he ruffled his hair. he was currently in his london home, a place where you once were. his living room was reeking of alcohol and his back hurt from staying idle on his sofa the whole day. he just got back from shang ri-la malibu. jeff and mitch told him to take a break and he agreed.

he opened his phone and opened his messages app. he scrolled until he found your name, clicking on it and reading the unsent text message he’s been dying to send you. he can’t, though. you seemed to be looking at your best, your friends posting photos of you. your smile was still beautiful, it will always be.

hello. i thought of you today but i’ve been think about you everyday and will probably do so till i die. 

i just got back home here in london and i noticed that your things are here anymore. it seems like it’s just me, harry all alone again. the room is barren of you ever being here. i tried to smell the bedsheets in hopes to smell you but there wasn’t any. i also rummaged through my closet, wanting to find one of your old shirts that i could put over your favourite pillow just to feel you here but i didn’t find any. the only proof that you were here was your letter to me and i’m still hurt. still hung up over you, still drowning my senses in alcohol. 

i love how you made sure i wasn’t home when you packed your bags. anyway, the keys to my house will still be where you know it was, under the welcome mat, so you know that you’re always welcome here. 

tears cascaded from his eyes and he couldn’t stop sobbing. should he press send and wait for you to call back? was it worth the risk? was it worth the humiliation if you decided not to call? he had to take a breather first. he’s drunk and all he wanted was for you to scold him about the dangers of alcohol poisoning. all he wanted in that moment was for you to give him a glass of water and light up your favourite lavender candle so he could slowly drift off to sleep but he couldn’t even fucking find the candle. you took it with him and he wishes to be sober so he could remember that particular lavender scent that you loved dearly. 

he hated you, suddenly. how dare you compare him to adrien? how could he ever compare? you told him you loved him but still managed to tell him you loved adrien too? was this all a joke to you? he drifted to sleep, embraced by the brown liquor on the coffee table. he just wanted you back, was that too much to ask? 

he wasn’t thinking clearly the next day. the sunlight that streamed through his window was too bright. there was a pounding in his head and he knows that if you were here with him, you’d fix him your favourite hangover breakfast. his shoulders slumped, if there was a way for it to be even more slumped. your favourites became his favourites and his favourites became yours. why couldn’t you be where he was? all he wanted that morning was your açai bowl but he couldn’t have that because you weren’t there to freeze the bananas. he was so dependent on you and it was killing him knowing that you would never be in his arms again. tears running down his face he decided he wanted to go to versailles and ask for your forgiveness. do you still love him even after three months? 

———

it was the day after and he was in versailles, staying at a hotel near your apartment. he could still remember your floor and your room number. he just had to make sure that you were home. he was tired and dull from the flight but knowing that you’d be with him in a few hours was enough for him. the excitement and the anxiety that courses through his veins was more powerful than coffee. how have you been? did you cut your hair? did you change your hair colour? did you change the way you dress or do you still dress the way harry does? do you still like your coffee sweet and milky? what about your tea? do you still like it with a slice of lemon and a teaspoon full of honey? 

as he was unlocking his phone, he noticed a huge amount of notifications that bombarded his phone. it was usually like this but he had more than usual and he didn’t post anything for three months. so what was this? he decided to check it out, only to see pictures of you with another man. your lips was touching his lips and for a moment, harry was dumbfounded? did you really move on that fast? 

HARRY STYLES’S EX-GIRLFRIEND HAS MOVED ON! 

words that made him see red. words that he didn’t know was coming so quickly. did you even love him? he opened his imessage app and erased the draft that he was about to send you last night? god, he couldn’t believe he was about to profess his love for you last night while you were probably out and about fucking another man. 

mon bébé: Hey, y/n. Where are you love?

lovie: hi im at my apartment right now.. why?

mon bébé: Do you think I could come over? I need someone to talk to. 

lovie: what??

mon bébé: I’m here in Versailles. Please. 

lovie: okay sure…i’ll wait for you. 

mon bébé: Okay. I love you. 

his heart ached when you didn’t reply to his message. he immediately dressed himself in your favourite shirt of his—a shirt that you got him while you were studying abroad for an exchange student program. he was hoping that maybe, by seeing a shirt that you got him, you’d break up with your beau and have him back instead. he was hurt, angry, and perhaps, it was pride that was making him get out of the hotel and go to you. he wanted to hurt you the way you hurt him and as he arrived at your door in less than an hour later, hurting you was his only goal. 

he knocked on your door three times and lo and behold, there was you. you smiled at him and opened the door wider. he went inside, removing his shoes before entering your apartment. he observed that there were no changes around the place but he did feel out of place.

“heard you moved on, huh?” he asked. you were shocked. “wha—“

“i saw the pictures, y/n,” “harry, if you’re here to shit on my decisions…stop it, please,” you whispered. you didn’t want to let him know this way.

“no, no…it’s only been three months! who is he? how did you two meet?” he asked you. he was fuming. how could you move on so quickly?

“harry, stop—“

“i. want. to. know.” he breathed. there was finality in his voice and you couldn’t help but mutter his name. “vincent? shit name, yeah?” he asked. 

“harry, please. stop it,” you begged. he wasn’t listening and perhaps you deserved this. perhaps he was right but you needed someone and vincent just managed to be there for you. 

“remember when…remember when you told me you loved me, y/n? was that even true? how can you move on so quickly? please…please tell me. tell me how you did it because i’d love to do it, too,” he was crumbling in front of you and you reached out to him. he scoffed and your attempt and backed away. 

“it was true, harry. i still love you—always have, always will but…” “but what? can’t we fix what we had? i miss it, lovie. i miss you. do you call him bébé too? please, don’t do this to me, please.” he cried. “there’s no stopping us now. i’m not on tour anymore and i’m willing to be better for you…” “i’m with him, harry. he…asked me to be his girlfriend yesterday and i said yes,” you whispered. he looked at you so fast you were afraid he was about to get a whiplash. tears were coming out from both of your eyes and you were so close to opening that stupid fucking phone and breaking things off with vincent but it was unfair for him. 

“break up with him.” he said. you looked at him with a gaping mouth. how could he just ask that of you? the break was a mutual decision but he was the one who insisted it. 

“harry—“

“break up with him, y/n or i’ll—“

“what, harry? what will you do?”

“i’ll hate you,” he looked down at his hands, ashamed of what he even said. he was hurt and he could tell that you were torn and that you were hurting. a sadistic part of him loved it. he wanted to hug you and say that he was sorry and that he didn’t mean it but peeking through his long hair, seeing that you were closing and opening your mouth like that, he loved it. he liked it. 

“you—you don’t mean that, harry. please tell me you don’t hate me, please.” you begged. harry heard it and you heard it too. it was obvious that you were choosing vincent over him. 

“i’ll see myself out, then,” he smiled sadly. he got up from where he was sitting and you immediately stood up.

“harry, please. don’t leave like this. please, don’t hate me…i still love you,” you begged. you loved him but you couldn’t be with him right now. 

“that’s the fucking thing, y/n!” he fumed. “you tell me you love me and that you’ll be there for me whenever i needed you but where were you? i was drunk in london last night trying to figure out the brand of your candles just so i could feel closer to you. i booked a flight here in versailles just to see you and beg for you to come back but you left me with that fucking letter. that’s all there is. you didn’t leave anything for me to remember you by. i wanted to have your shirt last night so i can put it over your pillow so i could pretend that you were still there, with me, under the sheets. you—let go of us so easily,” he sobbed. he was tugging on his hair and you reached for it. touching his hands ever so slightly but he pushed you away. “don’t.” he warned. “i hate you so much…so, so much,” he cried. he loved you but he had to convince himself otherwise. it would make all of this easier. 

“we can still be friends, harry.” you offered. tears were running down on your face and you wiped them. 

“i can’t…hurt myself like that, y/n. i’m leaving the hotel tomorrow at 9 a.m. you can come by our place before that if you still want to be with me. until then, i will be waiting.” he mumbled. he walked until he was right in front of you. he cradled your face with his right hand, rings cold against your hot skin. “i love you,” he reminded as he pecked your lips softly for one last time before leaving your room. 

———

harry said that he would be leaving his hotel at 9:00 am to be at your place—a little nook in the busy streets of versailles that served his favourite macarons. he was lying, though. he got up at 6 am and left the hotel at around 7:30 am. it was currently 8 and he was anxiously waiting for you. until what time should he stay? he wouldn’t be leaving france in another two days. he was hoping you’d come back and spend more time with hime but that plan’s down the drain now. he got you your favourite box of macarons and looking at it, he remembered the first time you took him here so vividly. 

———

“ah! i can’t believe you’re here, harry!” you gushed. he had a short break before touring again and he decided to surprise you with some of the souvenirs he got you from his touring. it’s only been two months since you both started dating but you both knew that whatever the feeling was was real. 

“where are you taking me?” he chuckled. you were currently dragging him onto the streets of versailles. he was wearing a mickey mouse sweater and some jeans paired with some old skool sneakers. you loved seeing him off-duty and he knew that. 

“i’m taking you to my favourite place in all of france!” you exclaimed. he smiled at you and he knew in that moment that he loved you. you walked around for a few minutes until you arrived at a lesser-populated area in versailles. you went inside one of the buildings and was immediately greeted by the smell of the concoction made from almond flour, fruits, cream, and chocolate. 

“sit over there, baby. i’ll go get us some food,” you told harry. he nodded and let go of your hand. you watched as he sat somewhere secluded. you went over to the counter and immediately and smiled at the old lady. “bonjour! i would love to get…ah, two cafe au lait and then one tea macaron, cherry macaron, lemon meringue macaron, chocolate macaron, and rose macaron,” the lady nodded and you smiled, taking out some loose cash from your messy purse. a few minutes after and the lady gives you your order. you smiled at her and mumbled a “merci” after paying for the bill. you immediately made a beeline towards harry and set down the food and coffee you got him. 

“what’s all this?” he asked, looking at the assortment of deliciousness in front of him. “macarons! when my mother and my father first moved here in versailles from their hometown, she said that my father took her here on their first date. when she found out she was pregnant with my older brother, oliver, my dad got her some macarons here, same when she was pregnant with me. buying macarons here became a family tradition and it’s really special to me and i want to show it to you,” you smiled softly. you watched him smile even wider. “i bought my favourite flavours for you to try! i like dipping it in coffee but it’s just a personal preference,” you told him. 

harry was really happy that time. he remembered how you spent the afternoon just talking about your plans for the future as he ate macarons. 

“harry?” you called. “hm?” he mumbled through his second lemon meringue macaron. “i took you here because i wanted to tell you something,” you blushed. harry was confused. were you about to break up with him? it’s been wonderful between the both of you so he doesn’t get it. why would you break up with him? “w-what is it?” he asked, clearly anxious to hear what you were about to say. “well, you see, the thing is my mother always told me to bring those who are special to me in this place, bébé. and well, uh—i guess what i want to say is that…i love you.” 

“look, y/n, please don’t break up with—what? what did you say?” he started to ramble, realising what you just told him so late. “i said, i love you,” you shyly admitted. you looked at his face to find a big smile creeping up on his face. “really? i was thinking about it on my way here and i—i love you too, y/n.” he declared. it was a nice day after that—a day you won’t forget. 

———

“harry!” you panted. you ran from your apartment to the macaron shop. you hair was sticking on your face. when you arrived, you observed harry—it was a natural thing to do and he looked like he was about to cry. you knew why. this was the place where you first declared your love for each other. harry already ordered your favourite lemon meringue macarons and your usual cafe au lait. you smiled sadly. harry looked up to you and offered you a little wave. you walked slowly to him, scared that he would tell you that he hated you again. 

“y/n,” he breathed as you approached him. you sat in front of him and he hated how much he loved you in that moment. he will love you always. “harry—please, please don’t hate me,” you cried. it was obvious that you were crying since he left you last night. you looked like a mess, dark circles were under your eyes, and your eyes were swollen from crying yourself to sleep. before you got to harry, you cried a little bit more. 

“baby, i could never hate you. i’m sorry if i told you those things last night. but…i just wanted another chance. i want another chance, please.” he told you. the sweetness of the macarons wafting in the air was a stark contrast to how the both of you were feeling. he was torn—he didn’t want to be a selfish prick but he wanted you all to himself. “harry, you know i can’t. not right now,” you told him. it was unfair to vincent and it was unfair to you.

“why not? i know you have vincent right now…but do you really love him more than you love me? i’ve been with you for more than a year….you just met him,” he reasoned. “it was you who wanted things to be over between us, remember?” you reminded him. he was sat in his chair, mouth agape. “i said i was okay with it because it seemed to be the right thing for you, harry. you were so set on it because we were just hurting each other and i get that—i really do but i just started to pick myself up…” you cried. “well, i take it all back! you can move in with me in london so you wouldn’t have to worry about me cheating on you and…and i forgive you, please just—i don’t know how to fix this, y/n. just tell me what to do, please…” he begged. he was crying, too. how could he do this to you? how could he put you in such an unfair situation? you only told him about adrien because he cheated on you. after that night, the both of you were just trying to mince your words, walking on eggshells. 

“we weren’t being honest after that night, harry. when you cheated on me and i said things, i was hurt and so were you. you were guilty and so was i but we tried to make it work because we loved each other,” you told him. you reached out for his hand on the table and he allowed you to caress it, just like how you did. “you still love me right?” he asked. you nodded. “i still love you…that’s enough, isn’t it? i love you and you love me…right? love, please…” “harry, you can’t do this to me. not right now, not like this,” you backed. “love isn’t enough sometimes, harry…”

“fuck, y/n! then what the fuck am i supposed to do? tell me? i miss you everyday and love you always. i’m always missing you and there’s nothing i could do about it. every time i go somewhere to forget you, i see someone who looks just like you and then, i miss you again,” he sobbed, clinging on to your hand—clinging on to you in hopes for you to come back. “i hate you, i hate you so much…” he repeated over and over again. “y—you don’t mean that, harry. take it back,” you begged. you were crumbling in front of him. you knew it wasn’t true but it still hurt. the possibility of harry hating you was too much pain. “i don’t want to be your friend, y/n. i don’t want to hear you talk about how great that fucking prick is. if you can’t be with me then don’t be with me at all,” he scoffed. 

“please, don’t tell me you hate me,” you begged. “you know what, y/n? actually, i do. i hate you so much…” he said, the four letter-word leaving a bad taste in his mouth. he was trying to convince himself that he did, even though he thought of you as the only thing binding his world together. he was so hurt because you were getting better and he was selfish. he wanted you to be as miserable as him. he wanted you to cry over him the way he cried over you. he watched as you fall apart, rubbing your eyes furiously, as you tried your best to stop the tears from falling. he wanted nothing more than to kiss your pain away but he couldn’t. you had vincent and he had no one. he used to have you but how could he have you if you have somebody else now? you stood up from the chair trying your best to run away from harry. how could he be so cruel to you? 

you were making your way through the door hastily without acknowledging the prying eyes around you. you were so set on leaving, not caring if harry ran after you or not. perhaps he wouldn’t, perhaps he would. 

harry was at your usual table, wiping his tears away, covering his eyes with the sunglasses you bought him. did you even notice that he was wearing what you gave him? did you notice that he was wearing your sunglasses? or were you too preoccupied with how he hurt you? he decided to stay in his seat until you were out of sight. 

only then, did he decide not you. he immediately followed after you until he saw you, cradling your phone in your hands. you were sitting at a bus stop, waiting for whatever, probably to get as far away as possible from your ex-boyfriend. he wanted to approach you but he didn’t when he heard you say his name. 

“vincent, please pick me up…i’m at the bus stop near le fatalité macaron, please. nothing big, i’m just upset, something came up and no, no, i want to get away here as soon as possible, mon cherie. please.”

perhaps you were better off without him. 

———

the album finally dropped. did you listen to it? what do you think of it? as he lay down in the hotel where he stayed in versailles, he wanted nothing more than to call you and ask for your opinion. yours was the only opinion that mattered. he reached over the table until he took a hold of his phone. he looked at your name longingly before he decided to press ‘call’. he was staring into space when he heard your voice. 

“cou cou! harry?” 

-------------

sorry for the french, i asked my friend to translate it,,,, don’t forget, a christmas-themed fluff fic will come out next week! 

taglist:

@giitterysuits @bree082 @dezzym17 @bouncebackbyers @lolapuffs @belleamoree @demolition-lovers-blog

#harry #Harry Styles #harrystyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #fan #fiction #fanfic #fan fiction #falling #fine line #styles #one direction #harry styles fanfic

[garyh2628]

QUASI- JUDICIAL OFFICIAL, REGION AND PRIVATE

ELECTED LEADER

CHIEF OF STAFF (VETO)

PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

 Investments/Contracts/Superior/Technically Competent and Right-Hand Men

NGO - (Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

 To my Pharma Hubs, Technology Hubs, Social Creative/Personal Hub, My Private Hubs, My Financial Hubs and my Health and Wellbeing/Scientific Hubs, Legal and Innovation Hubs, Hinterland Hub and to my Eastern Caribbean Hub, Linguistic/Psychology Hub, to my beloved additions and to my Institutions and Partners and Team, Pool of Potential Personal Assistants and Private Secretaries and Business Managers and also to my Fitness Hub which is an extension of my Health and Wellbeing Hub and not to forget my beloved Brooklyn Hub and my Wine/Adviser Hub, Influential Legal Cashier, Strategic Partnerships, STATEMENT OF INTENT, MY WEALTH FUND AND PERSONAL ATTORNEY and PROPERTY EXPERT GUY and THE ATTACHMENT AND MY PERSONAL BOARDROOM AND MY CHIEF STRATEGY AND INNOVATION OFFICER. The core founding support regions of this Network and Global Structure. MY FAVOURITE CEO.

  All Options remain on the Table applying the finishing touches to our Genius and my Genius and the Network and this Global Structure Genius. DRAFT

 The Network, Strategic Partnerships and Global Structure is hot–but watch the margins

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL INTELLECTS IN THE WORLD

THIS GLOBAL STRUCTURE AND INTELLECT SHARE MANY OF THE SAME QUALITIES, INDESTRUCTIBLE, PURE AND BEAUTIFUL TO BEHOLD

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU EXPERIENCE SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL, IT CHANGED HOW YOU SAW THE WORLD

DELIVERING ALL OF THE PREPARATORY PARTICYULARS MAKING WAY FOR PRIVACY AND FOR WORK TO BEGIN BY ME AND ALSO TO DELIVER THAT WE DO NOT SUBSCRIBE TO POVERTY AND WE ARE THE AUTHORITY ON INTELLECT- WE WILL DELIVER ON ALL OF THOSE PARTICULARS USING THE URGENCY OF NOW

And to deliver those official portfolios to me in its entirety with there Global Legal Restrictions.

AND TO MY COMMITTED SUITE OF PHARMA HUBS  and INDUSTRY AND INNOVATION HUB and STRASBOURG INTELLECTUAL FAMILY–

 THE YEAR OF THE SCIENTIST, ATTACHMENT and PRIVACY

  Aligning our funds with Gary and the Global Structure Goals ‘Stepping into world pre-eminence’ Delivering the full suite of Monetary Global Footprints’

 DO NOT PLAY ALONG WITH THEM AND THEIR QUEST FOR MEDIOCRITY-WE ARE NOT HERE TO HELP OUT- OUR INTELLECTUAL CAPACITY IS NOT FOR MEDIOCRITY AND THOSE THINGS OF GROSS FAILURE

 ALL SUPPLEMENTARY PAYROLL MUST WAIT UNTIL THE FULL DELIVERIES ARE MADE TO ME PRIOR PREPARATORY GLOBALLY AND UNTIL I’M BRIEFED AND HAVE MY PRIVATE MEETINGS AND SSUED THE RELEVANT AUTHORITY.

 REGION (INCL STATEMENT OF INTENT, PRIVATE STRATEGIC PLACES)

 Sign up to receive a daily roundup when the Offices are delivered by me.

 Its been a number of years since he died and the full set of deliveries should have reached me and it has been so many years, it took five years for the legal battles to end and today we are on the cusp of delivering the full suite of deliveries to myself for planning and for work to begin.  The Global Structure are so happy that I’ve taken the initiative to keep updating them and as a result keeping them on their toes because there was deafening silence until I took over.  We have come to this point now where things are moving in the right directions and I know you give thanks for me on a daily basis, as a result of me, it will all now stay in the family, you did say, you’ll have Gary to deal with and there is a mountain you cannot scale.  He’s robust, intellectually astute, the authority on Intellect and formidable.  He’s the Chief of Staff, your best days are ahead of you.  Things are moving now in the right direction; we’ve seen through you guys tactics a long time ago.  Now what are you going to do, Gary is the legal owner in all cases across sector and across industry, he’s tipping over financially and Intellectually.  Yes, I’m marrying him.

 He came out of the medically induced come and confirmed it Gary, I’m the legal authority, I am the boss and it is by no accident, I alone.  We will deliver on privacy, and we will deliver for all of our Global Monetary Footprint and we will deliver for the region and all of those names that lives in my office of Signature and Stamp and Approval, we will deliver in those Private Regions and I will deliver on the classified started and I will deliver with him as we lead you into Intellect.  We will deliver for all of my Hubs we will deliver big on Health and we will deliver let me say formidably so, big on Economics and Monetary Policies and we will deliver a classified strategy that is going to match what’s happening on the ground in every region of tis Globe, strong and stable and ready to lead you into the promise land a land full of Intellect, and people being in full control of their destiny, an environment tat is conducive to learning, to investing, to making a contribution, and ready to lead you into your journey of living your best life.  We will win always on Privacy.  We will deliver for you my Private Manager and my Chief Technology dude, I like to use dude because I want to make it impersonal, letting you know your weight when it comes to roll out and our global mandate.  We will deliver on those homes that will be defined as Personally Private and will deliver the difficulty of reporting on our private lives as a means of distraction and wit a further tactic of becoming a cult.  We are the authority on intellect and not to be used as an example in those contexts.

 "I think it was his secret dream to be able to do that someday. That's why now we are applying and doing the difficult work in order to make sure that all deliveries are made, and those excusive things remain so, and our Global Intellectual Property is protected."  There has not been van intellect or leader or someone of this stature for 100 years. Said one Intellectual Expert.  Looking at the private suite of things, you must sit and wonder, and when you travel the globe and see what’s happening in the Global Environment as a result, then you understand why.  Truth be told, you’re only now showing an interest in Gary with the hope that he chooses you as a roll out partner. You’re in crisis and the scientific analysis s saying to you, this is the direction you should take should you want to come out of that crisis.  Those are the truth, but society has moved on from that level of mediocrity and that why the experts were so amazed.  It’s no longer a money spinner, Intellect is.  We won already in the Health Sector and we won already in the Statement of Intent and I won big already in the Private regions, and let me nudge your cleverness, I say these things in of not to cause a furore but I say these things hoping to wake up your latent intellectual capacity not for you to apply basic thinking skills,  I speak to my Network, I speak to my Experts, I speak to my media specialist, I speak to my team in the Statement of Intent, I speak to my classified strategist, I speak to the Economic Community and I speak to the Global Structure and I speak to my Charity also.  We speak the same language.  I speak as the Chief of Staff.  We got them there and we got them across there and we got them at the side there and we got them right here. Gary isn’t getting mad, he’s getting everything. Stripped, stripped, stripped, stripped.  We will deliver the requisite region and provide the best possible care and deliver the requisite details to maintain privacy.  We will be sequestered, and we will have a great time delivering policies and working on guidelines and perusing those reports and delivering on philosophy. And working on the stimulus.  We will deliver so that you can understand that when I speak as Chief of Staff, I quest always means business.

[thrashermaxey]

Cage Match Tournament: Exceeding Expectations

Brayden Point. Kim Klement / USA Today Sports Images

  When December rolls around it’s time for gifts galore, including from DobberHockey in the form of the popular winter Cage Match Tournaments! This year I’m sticking again with the “new normal” concept to use your votes to identify players whose current scoring pace – for better or worse – is most likely to represent their new normal, namely what they’ll produce not just for the rest of this season but at least the next few seasons to come. This week and next are for players currently exceeding expectations (this week for those under age 25, next week for those 25+). For week three, it’s time for the lumps of coal in fantasy stockings –players falling below expectations.

  Players not included among voting choices, and why

Like last year I’ve limited the choices to skaters only, despite a lot of netminders arguably deserving of inclusion this season due to over or underachieving based on expectations. Still, this column only covers skaters, so I stuck with my bread and butter. I’ll try and rope in goalies at some point down the road, perhaps when I resume doing monthly Goldipucks entries in the coming months or in some sort of future tournament.

And just like last year, the players included as voting choices all had at least 50+ games worth of NHL experience prior to this season, so that means no Elias Pettersson or Brady Tkachuk. And for those exceeding expectations (i.e., this week and next), none can have previously tasted significant success. What that signifies, in terms of specifics, is I only included forwards who had never previously posted 75+ points or scored at a 75 point pace in a prior season (i.e., no Mikko Rantanen or Jack Eichel) and defensemen who’ve yet to tally 50+ points or previously score at a 50+ point pace in a season (i.e., no John Carlson or Morgan Rielly). But the “new normal” for all forwards this week and next is 60+ points and for all d-men, it’s 45+ points, so as to ensure the polls have the most relevance to the most leagues.

  How to base your vote(s)

For each player, there will two numbers listed: his previous career best 82 game scoring rate and his “new normal” rate on which you should base your vote. In some cases the player’s current scoring rate might be a bit below his listed “new normal” rate or instead a bit above it, but the “new normal” rate should be the basis for deciding your vote, whereby if you think a player will score at or above (for this week and next) or at or below (for week three) that “new normal” total/rate this season and in at least the next few seasons, then he should get your vote. For this week and next, if instead you think either he won’t at least achieve his “new normal” rate for 2018-19, or will achieve it this year but not again going forward, then don’t vote for him, while for week three if you think he’ll return to more of his old, higher scoring ways and this season is a mere blip in the radar, then he should not get your vote.

Of course, some of these players might change teams or lines during this season or in future seasons, so you should feel free to take those and other factors (age, contract status, Ice Time, depth charts on their teams, etc.) into account in deciding your votes. If you want to vote based solely on your own hunches that’s fine too; however, keep in mind that fellow voters/readers will look to the poll results for fantasy guidance, so best to be objective. And don’t decide your vote based whether these players are helping or hurting your fantasy team. Consider the totality of their present – and likely future – circumstances in order to hone in on the best choice(s).

  How Voting Will Work

The voting polls will allow for multiple selections, so for this week and next vote for any and all players you think will retain their designated “new normal” scoring pace for 2018-19 and beyond. There’s also a “none of the above” choice if you think none of the listed players will achieve/surpass his “new normal.” I’ll put a direct link to each week’s poll at the end of each column. But without further ado, here are the 19 choices (in alphabetical order) for the week one tournament – players under age 25 for whom you’re deciding if they’ve entered a “new normal” territory in terms of their present and future scoring.

  Sebastian Aho (Previous career high scoring rate = 68 points; New Normal = 80+ points)

After his scoring went from 49 points in 82 games to 65 in 79 contests, then he starred on the bright stage of the IIHF World Championships with 18 points in just 8 games, expectations were sky high for Aho entering 2018-19. And although an 80 point season still seems within reach, keep in mind he tallied only ten points in his next 16 games after at least one point in 12 straight games to start the season. It could be Aho has the talent to produce gaudy numbers but the team around him is not good enough for him to achieve point per game output, at least not yet.

  Thomas Chabot (Previous career high scoring rate = 32 points; New Normal = 60+ points)

Sure – Chabot was highly touted, and most saw him as the heir apparent to Erik Karlsson once he was traded to San Jose, but Chabot has been a huge force for a team many thought would be a doormat. Some might wonder why I set his new normal so low given his better than a point per game scoring thus far? Two reasons – he’s bound to hit some sort of a wall, plus his non-primary assists rate is very high, meaning he’s all but assured to lose points just in the normal course. When casting your vote, keep in mind you’re doing so based on his output for this season (when he’s all but assured to get 60+ due to banked points) but also seasons to come, when good luck might not smile so brightly upon him.

  Kyle Connor (Previous career high scoring rate = 61 points; New Normal = 75+ points)

Despite only having 20 prior career games under his belt, last season Connor landed one of the best gigs in the NHL, playing alongside Mark Scheifele and Blake Wheeler both at even strength and on the PP. This season the line didn’t click as well, and Connor is seeing more time on the second line at even strength, leading many poolies to fear his days of solid production would end. Yet lo and behold despite what was seemingly a demotion he’s found chemistry with Bryan Little and Patrik Laine, leading many to believe he’s a star in his own right, not just a coattail rider.

  Max Domi (Previous career high scoring rate = 52 points; New Normal = 80+ points)

As was the case with Ottawa, not much was expected from the Montreal offence, including Domi, who’d gone from top prospect to someone who’d barely bested the 50 point mark in any of his first three NHL seasons. Fast forward to now, and Domi is showing why he was a former 12th overall pick, staying at or above the point per game mark for virtually all of 2018-19 to date. Was a change of scenery indeed all he needed, or are we dealing with someone having an extended honeymoon phase with his new team? That’s your call to make with your votes.

  Jonathan Drouin (Previous career high scoring rate = 59 points; New Normal = 75+ points)

First, it was his checkered tenure with Tampa Bay, which included him not reporting to the AHL but then mending fences and posting 53 points in 2016-17. Still, it wasn’t surprising for Drouin to find himself on a new team for 2017-18; but on Montreal, his minutes went up yet his scoring rate dropped. That was last season though, and for 2018-19 he’s seemingly starting to show signs of the promise he held when drafted third overall, with both scoring and SOG rates that are way up from his part norms.

  Pierre-Luc Dubois (Previous career high scoring rate = 48 points; New Normal = 70+ points)

This is a case where a career-high is deceiving, as once Dubois was put on a line with Artemi Panarin and Cam Atkinson last season he thrived, to the tune of 17 points in his last 17 games. The big question, as was the case in my Cage Match featuring Cam Atkinson last week, is what happens to Dubois once what most feel is the inevitable happens, namely Panarin leaves town. Sure – Dubois was a former third overall pick, so he could succeed in his own right. Yet does he have what it takes to keep up this pace minus Panarin? Tough to say; but perhaps there’s enough doubt as to not earn him your votes here.

  Bo Horvat (Previous career high scoring rate = 52 points; New Normal = 70+ points)

Overshadowed by the splash being made by Elias Pettersson, Horvat is on pace to see his scoring rate increase for the fourth straight season. That goes a long way toward showing this indeed is his new normal, or perhaps him still just scratching the surface. Yet the concern is once the Canucks improve as a team he could catch a case of “Toews-itis,” where a talented player’s production drops because he’s tasked with too many duties and responsibilities. For now, though, it looks like Horvat might be able to be a solid real-world player yet still produce at or above his current rate for this season and beyond. Let’s see what your votes have to say.

  Dylan Larkin (Previous career high scoring rate = 63 points; New Normal = 75+ points)

After rebounding last season from a dreadful sophomore campaign, Larkin was thrust into a starring role with Detroit upon the retirement of Zetterberg. And how has Larkin responded? By taking his game up another notch, and being on pace to produce even better despite a supporting cast that offers little in the way of others as skilled as him. Still – perhaps Larkin is the kind of player talented enough to make magic happen on his own, in which case he should have no trouble maintaining at least his current level of scoring for the remainder of this season and beyond.

  Elias Lindholm (Previous career high scoring rate = 51 points; New Normal = 80+ points)

It used to be that Lindholm would start slow and then finish strong enough to give poolies hope that his breakthrough was set to occur the following season. Yet year after year it never happened. Apparently, all he needed was talent around him, as he was dropped onto the first line upon his arrival in Calgary and, despite the looming presence of veteran James Neal, has not only held a firm grip on that spot but thrived, including multi-point production in his last five games. Still only 23 years old, what we’re seeing from Lindholm now might just be him scratching his true surface.

  Mitch Marner (Previous career high scoring rate = 69 points; New Normal = 95+ points)

After barely upping his rookie scoring rate last season and playing under what was a conservative Mike Babcock system, not many poolies were predicting a scoring binge from Marner. Not that he lacked the talent – it’s just the thinking was the opportunity to excel wouldn’t be there, with low ice times and no stacked PP. Fast forward to now and Babcock has changed his approach, allowing players like Marner to thrive. With all the firepower the team has, it’s difficult to picture Marner slowing down this season or in the future, even with William Nylander now back in the fold.

  Timo Meier (Previous career high scoring rate = 36 points; New Normal = 75+ points)

After Meier potted 21 goals while firing a robust 210 SOG in his first full season, pundits and poolies alike seemed convinced he was primed to better those totals. Then Evander Kane surprised many by not testing the UFA market and deciding to stay with San Jose, which, on paper, would seem to have represented a major roadblock to Meier’s continued development. Yet here we are over two months into the season and Meier is the one putting up gaudy numbers, not Kane. And at more than three SOG per game and one goal per two contests, Meier looks every bit like a sniper who’s officially arrived as an NHL star.

  Sean Monahan (Previous career high scoring rate = 71 points; New Normal = 90+ points)

Much like Lindholm, Monahan tended to save his best hockey for last, finishing strong but starting slowly enough as to not be able to clear the 58-63 point range for three straight seasons. For 2017-18 though, Monahan started superbly (58 points in 62 games) before an injury-shortened final quarter. Thus, his better than a point per game scoring might have already happened were it not for bad luck last season, making it all the more likely he can continue at his current pace for this season and beyond.

  Josh Morrissey (Previous career high scoring rate = 27 points; New Normal = 45+ points)

Always a multi-cat stud, Morrissey chipped in with 26 points in 81 games last season. But on a team with Dustin Byfuglien, Jacob Trouba and even Tyler Myers, few expected Morrissey to improve his offensive output. Yet don’t look now, but he’s on pace for 45 points; and although some of that came while Big Buff was injured, Morrissey has shown enough to garner more minutes, including on the PP. That, plus playing for an offensively potent team might be more than enough for Morrissey to become a perennial 45+ point threat.

  Brayden Point (Previous career high scoring rate = 66 points; New Normal = 90+ points)

Many poolies figured Point might have a difficult time surpassing his 66 point output from last season, what with the balanced ice time and breadth of talent in Tampa Bay. But Point has shown he’s a very special player and just perhaps the new second half of a one-two punch with Nikita Kucherov. Granted, Point’s team and individual shooting percentage both are too high to be sustainable; but his IPP and other metrics are reasonable enough to foresee him keeping up this blistering pace, especially on such an offensively potent squad.

  Sam Reinhart (Previous career high scoring rate = 50 points; New Normal = 75+ points)

Last season Reinhart’s 50 points were so backloaded that he nearly had a point per game second half. So imagine the concern when yet again he emerged slowly this season. This time though he’s connecting the scoring dots a lot earlier, going from six points in his first 13 games to 19 in his next 17 after being reunited with Jack Eichel. With the addition of Jeff Skinner to complete that line, they might end up finishing the season as one of the NHL’s best trios, putting Reinhart on a path to stardom along the way.

  Damon Severson (Previous career high scoring rate = 32 points; New Normal = 45+ points)

All the preseason fantasy focus on the New Jersey blueline was centred upon Will Butcher, who’d put up 44 points as a freshman in 2017-18, and Sami Vatanen, who earlier in his career had scored 75 points in 138 games for the Ducks and posted 23 points in his final 42 games last season. Yet once the spotlight no longer was shining on Severson, lo and behold he’s excelled and is taking the ice for more minutes than in any previous season. One concern is he’s still not on PP1; however, with neither Vatanen nor Butcher able to lock down that role Severson might get a chance to strut his stuff there, in which case he could really see his scoring explode.

  Matthew Tkachuk (Previous career high scoring rate = 59 points; New Normal =80+ points)

Once the Flames brought in both Elias Lindholm and James Neal this offseason, not only did it seem like Tkachuk’s chances at top line deployment went from slim to none, but his plum gig on PP1 could be in jeopardy. Thus far Tkachuk has only solidified his PP1 role, hitting double digits in PPPts after only 26 games and providing strong secondary scoring. But with his SOG rate down from last season and stuck spending most of his even-strength shifts with Michael Frolik and Mikael Backlund, one has to wonder if Tkachuk’s early season numbers are an unsustainable run of hot play, as opposed to something poolies can count on going forward.

  Alex Tuch (Previous career high scoring rate = 39 points; New Normal = 70+ points)

The former first rounder – who came to Vegas as part of a deal for the Knights to agree to select Erik Haula in the expansion draft – didn’t exactly pay dividends upon his arrival, failing to tally a point per every over game last season. Yet in 2018-19 he’s found a home within the top six and has stayed at or just below the point per game mark for most of this season. With other teams honing in on the Vegas top line, Tuch should continue to get favorable deployment, making 70+ points within reach.

  Tom Wilson (Previous career high scoring rate = 36 points; New Normal = 65+ points)

Yes, his on-ice antics make Brad Marchand seems like a Lady Byng finalist by comparison; but what we saw emerging in the 2017-18 playoffs, and what continued after he returned from his suspension and prior to his injury, has made it clear Wilson is also a very talented player who can mesh with some of the best in the game in order to fill the scoresheet. No one is pretending that his current scoring pace is sustainable; but based on his deployment and how he’s fared for – including the playoffs – nearly a half season’s worth of games, the reality seems to be that Wilson has become a player who’s as much of a threat to hit the scoresheet as he is taking a seat in the sin bin.

  Link to Cast Your Vote(s)

To vote in the Tournament, click here. Remember – you can vote for as many (or a few) players as you want. While you’re voting, be sure to post a comment in the poll thread on which player(s) you voted for a why, since my hope is this Tournament will be as useful for fantasy purposes as it is enjoyable. See you next week for the second tournament!

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-home/cage-match/cage-match-tournament-exceeding-expectations/

[gracewithducks]

Not Easily Broken (Ecclesiastes 3:16, 4:1, 9-12)

A note: This is an unpolished draft of the sermon I intended to preach on July 29, 2018. However, I was called away due to a family emergency; I sent the message to a colleague who had agreed to care for my congregation in my absence. Though not as pulled together as I’d like it to be, I still am sharing my reflections on community and relationship in Ecclesiastes, as they are important in our conversations about wisdom and how we might live faithfully – together.

  I’ve recently gotten back into an old hobby of mine: thanks to my daughters, I’ve rediscovered the joy of origami. Actually, I think I had a book growing up called “The Joy of Origami.” For those of you who may be a bit rusty on your Japanese papercraft, “origami” is an art form where you take a single square of paper and fold it into something new: a kite, a dog, an elephant, a peace crane – really, the possibilities are endless. I will say that treasure boxes, dragons, and t-rexes are very popular at the Desotell house right now.

 I’m enjoying getting back into origami, and watching my daughters fall in love with the magic of paper folding, too – although as Michaela will tell you, it’s an art form that takes precision and patience, and it’s very common to hear us remind each other, when we’re getting frustrated, that “it’s just paper.” Because like anything else, there is a learning curve; like just about anything else, there are easy projects – and there are harder ones.

 And there are times, when you’ve started out folding a 6 inch square of paper, and you’re on step 52, there are times when it just seems impossible to fold the paper any more.

 When I was growing up, I remember being told that it’s impossible to fold a piece of paper more than seven times – well, to fold it in half, anyway. The reason is because the paper gets smaller, and thicker, with each fold: at the beginning you’re folding a single layer of paper, no problem, but by the time you’ve fold it seven times, you’re now trying to fold sixty-four layers of paper in half.

 Try it sometimes. It’s exactly as difficult as you’d think. I try to remember that, when I’m fighting with that little origami square.

 I don’t know if you remember MythBusters – it was a great show on the Discovery Channel, where they would test popular myths, like the one about folding a piece of paper more than seven times. What they found is, when you start with a plain piece of paper, yeah, seven folds is about all you can get. But the MythBusters wanted to think bigger: so they got themselves a piece of paper the size of a football field.

 The first fold was tricky, because a piece of paper the size of a football field, with even a slight breeze, pretty much turns into a gigantic paper sail. As they folded, though, the paper got thicker, heavier, and smaller – until finally the team achieved the elusive and mythical eighth fold.

 They didn’t stop there; they brought in a steamroller and a forklift, and managed – with a lot of pressure and a lot of patience – to fold the paper in half a ninth time, and a tenth, and finally, eleven times.[1]

 The theory goes, then, if you have a big enough piece of paper, and enough patience and pressure, you can fold that paper as many times as you want. Although, if you folded your paper in half 103 times, it would end up 93 billion light-years across… larger than the observable universe.

 A single sheet of paper, by itself, is a weak and fragile thing. But put a few layers or sheets of paper together, and it’s just about impossible to tear – and you’ll need a steamroller to convince it to bend.

 Or, as Ecclesiastes puts it, “A cord of three strands is not easily broken.”

 Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 is, in many ways, very similar to 1 Corinthians 13: chances are, if you’ve heard it before, you’ve heard it at a wedding. After all, the message seems appropriate for a wedding ceremony:

 “Two are better than one…

For if they fall, one will lift up the other; but woe to the one who is alone and falls down and has no one to help.

Again, if two lie together, they keep warm; but how can one keep warm alone?

Though one might prevail against another, two will withstand one.

A threefold cord is not easily broken.”

 It’s a beautiful bit of imagery… and though we don’t often have to worry about huddling for warmth at night or withstanding bandits alongside the road, it’s still a beautiful thing to celebrate two people who are committing to be there for one another, to help one another, to lift each other up, to stand alongside one another when the trials come.

 It’s a beautiful reading for a wedding ceremony – except, much like Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians, it’s not about marriage at all. “Love is patient, love is kind; love doesn’t keep score, but forgives, and delights in the truth” – that was Paul’s advice for how we all should live together. And here in Ecclesiastes, the Teacher is lifting up the value of any trusted relationship – of a friend, a sibling, a parent, a neighbor, or yes, a spouse – someone who can be trusted, someone who can be counted on, someone who will be with you through thick and thin, who will lift you when you’re struggling and who counts on you to do the same.

 There is value in having an ally. There is strength that comes from knowing that you are not alone.

 It’s why infants long to be held, and why we all instinctively look for a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold during the hard times. It’s why we share our lives, why we pray for one another, why we keep caring even when we’re powerless to make it better: because even that caring, matters. Sometimes, when we can’t hold on any more – someone else holds on to us, they hold on for us, and that’s the thread that gets us through.

 Relationship, support – dare I say love – is a powerful thing. It’s why doctors expect better outcomes for patients with a strong support system. It’s why people who have close relationships, and people who are a part of a community – whether it’s a book club, basketball team, or bible study – it’s why those people tend to be happier and healthier than their counterparts. It’s why even having a pet for companionship can give you strength and a reason to get through the day. And it’s why even a smile or a kind word from a stranger, even that small recognition, that small kindness, sometimes can be the thing that gives you hope and buoys you up and helps you make it through.

 There is value in having an ally, in knowing that you are not alone.

 But I don’t want us to forget that this beautiful and powerful depiction of strength in relationship - not only is it not about marriage, but it’s actually embedded in a thread of reflection on the reality of injustice in the world.

 The Teacher observes, “I saw… that in the place of justice, wickedness was there, and in the place of righteousness, wickedness was there as well… Again, I saw all the oppressions that are practiced under the sun. [Behold], the tears of the oppressed – with no one to comfort them! On the side of their oppressors there was power – with no one to comfort them.”

 The oppressed cry out, with no one to comfort them. The oppressors have power – but they, too, are isolated and alone.

 This is, perhaps, one of the roots of evil in the world: we have cut ourselves off from one another; we have dedicated our lives to finding the power that comes with money or position, and we have forgotten the power that comes in relationship. We have forgotten what matters most; we have forgotten that – we are not, in fact, in competition for limited resources, but we belong to one another, and there is so much power when we come together as one.

 I recently reread George Orwell’s novel 1984. Orwell paints a world where power is maintained through a constant campaign of hatred: the elite few have discovered that, if they can stir up and maintain in the masses of people a hatred of a common enemy, then those people will never turn against or question those few in power. And that power is ultimate, power so supreme that history is rewritten, that people can be erased, that the truth can be manipulated and changed – and if Big Brother tells you that today, two and two make five, you nod and say, of course, it has always been so.

 It’s a scary novel to revisit, especially in these days of “fake news” where contradictions and falsehoods abound. In the world of 1984, an elite 2% hold all the power and make all the decisions, while the common people, the vast majority of the nation, 85% of the people – the common people live and die with no money, no voice, no hope. The hero looks around, in one of his moments of clarity, and realizes: everything could change – the only way everything could chance – is if the common people come together, if they organize, if they recognize their numbers and find their strength.

 But they never do. They are so blinded by the propaganda, blinded by hatred, blinded by their own suffering and fear. And so it is that change doesn’t come.

 There is power when we realize we belong to one another. There is strength in numbers. But coming together, so often, is easier said than done.

 Back in the 1950s, a psychologist named Solomon Asch did a series of experiments testing this phenomenon. Asch asked a group of individuals, strangers, to look at a line, and then to tell him which of three other lines was the same length as the first. It was supposedly a test of “perception,” and the answers were painfully obvious.

 But the thing is, everybody but one person in each group were actors. And after a few rounds, those actors were all instructed to give the wrong answer – the same wrong answer, over and over again. And the question was, would the one other person, the one real subject in the study, would they have the courage to go against the tide and give the obvious right answer, even when no one else did.

 Almost 4 times out of 10, people changed their answers; though they could clearly see the truth, they chose to easiest route, the less uncomfortable path of conformity, and they gave the same answer as everyone else – even knowing that it was obviously wrong. And across several rounds, ¾ of the participants gave at least one answer they knew to be wrong.

 And what’s especially curious is that, afterwards, many of those participants were convinced that the group had given the right answer. They allowed their own memory, their own perception, to be distorted by the pressure of the people around them.[2]

 It’s hard to speak the truth, when you’re the only one. Even in a small group of strangers, behind closed doors, with people you will never see again, it’s hard to speak up, and it’s hard to stand out.

 And it’s terrifying, isn’t it? Because this experiment has been repeated, in a variety of forms, over the decades – and the results have stayed the same. This, friends, is how history gets rewritten, how fake news becomes the gospel truth. This is how prejudice and injustice continue, even among people who are otherwise honest and educated and kind. Community pressure is a powerful thing, and it’s hard to stand up for what’s right when you have to stand alone.

 But the researchers have also found something encouraging. If there is just one other person in the room who is willing to go against the flow, just one other person who speaks up and tells the truth – then participants will almost always answer correctly. Let me say that again: the presence of just one other person who is willing to say what you yourself believe is right, even if that person is a stranger, even if that person is outnumbered by lies – the presence of just one other truthteller makes it easier for us to also stay true.

 And so we come back again to the words of Ecclesiastes:

 “Two are better than one… if they fall, one will lift the other up… And though one might prevail against one, two will withstand one. A threefold cord is not easily broken.”

 When we are facing up to falsehoods, when we are confronting injustice, when we are standing against prejudice and hatred, there is power in standing together. There is strength in knowing that we are not alone.

 It’s why God set out to create a family, to establish a people, that together they might be a blessing. It’s why Jesus didn’t just call individuals; he created a community. And it’s why we still need each other, if we are going to bless and change the world today.

 A single sheet of paper is easily bent and torn. But put a few sheets together, and it takes a steamroller to get them to turn. May we never underestimate the strength that we have, when we remember  that we belong to one another. May we never forget that, together, we have the strength to withstand the pressures around us – and in turn, together, we can make a better world.

    [1] http://www.mythbusterstheexhibition.com/try-this-at-home/try-this-entry/

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asch_conformity_experiments

[immajustwriteoverhere]

Reflection

I am on a plane.

On a plane, there isn’t much to do when you take off but look out the window, and contemplate the world as it shrinks below.

Mostly I thought about how I could be doing this assignment as I looked out the window, so perhaps that took away from some of the more meaningful contemplation.

Reflection.

I can see some of my reflection in the window, but that is not the sort of reflection we speak of in this context.

Although, it is a bit odd that the more light inside, the more you see a reflection than what is happening on the other side of the glass. I know this because of countless hours looking out and into a car window at night, but also because now that the person next to me has turned on their light, there is a near replication of their textbook in the window, and the outside has all but disappeared. Were it not for the shaking and obnoxiously loud white noise that I can hear through my headphones, one could almost forget you were nearly 4,000 feet in the air. Well, that number could be wrong. It sounds wrong.

I was trying to drown out the noise with more noise in my headphones.

I’ve been informed it’s more like 37,000 feet. That makes so much more sense.

The point of this is that though you look through the windows of your eyes a majority of the time, the more you become aware of your mind inside, the less you see outwardly. The best example I can think of is a few weeks ago, when I was thinking of where my next class was, laying out the plan of the building. Because of this I didn’t see my friend until he’d said my name and was five feet in front of me.

Or perhaps I am simply not the best multitasker.

But, my metaphor.

When you write, a similar phenomenon occurs to that of the light going on behind the windows of your eyes. You think about what you’re writing, you think about your own experiences that shaped your writing, even if you’re not writing a memoir. See previous statement about my superb observation skills.

Anything you ever write will be a reflection of yourself.

Historical essay, lab report, poem, analysis of an article, a sticky note reminding yourself to do laundry.

This.

Why, you may ask?

I will try to explain, though it is a rather abstract concept.

One of those things that just makes sense, like your morning routine, or why you are infatuated with a certain type of food.

Anything you ever write will be a reflection of yourself.

Because you write it, it is written by you, and you do not write with anyone’s mind but your own.

You may imitate, everyone imitates, but it will never be a replica.

As was previously hinted at, your experiences will shape how you write.

I have a theory that people that come from suburbs and go through the same curriculum together, given that no major event shakes the foundation of their lives, will produce approimately the same writing. Obviously I could be wrong, but it seems to me that when you shove everyone through the same mould they all come out about the same, unless that person either avoids the process altogether (hello yes that would be me), or they are purposefully exposed to things outside of the prescribed curriculum.

Thus this winding and twisting road of mismatched tones within a single piece of writing.

Somehow, it is coherent, but that could just be me, the author, the creator, the sole perpetrator of this crime against the prescribed curriculum that has been drilled into so many heads.

My paragraphs are haphazard.

I began having caffeine at about this time. (Oh look, a reflection. Keep reading, it’ll make sense.)

And yet, this does not have the ring of a true poem, but rather of my thoughts in general.

In the end, isn’t that what a reflection should be?

Your own disjointed thoughts as they bump over what you’ve already done, existing both in the present and the past?

I can tell you that I’ve gone over this piece of writing at least three times, and shall continue to go over it at least five more times. That in itself is a form of reflection. It fits my description, which pleases me.

If there was a way to show you all the corrections I’ve made it would be a much more interesting showcase of what reflection looks like when applied to writing.

Upon reflection, there are almost always things you notice that could be improved. It is a part of human nature, I think, to want to improve. Stagnation chafes, and how else did we get to where we are today?

We do not settle. We improve. We innovate. We evolve.

Side note: That sounds like an excellent motto for something. Probably a technology company.

Continuing on.

As such, our writing does the same with each sweep through our thoughts.

There is a reason the first draft nearly never makes the cut.

Example: Perhaps for some reason I decided I hated this form of writing, and I was going to change it all. Keep some phrases, the meaningful ones, and scrap the rest. This would be the first draft that never saw the light of day. (Quite literally)

However, due to many circumstances and my own slight eccentricity, you get to see this rough version of thoughts not many think about.

It is a rare thing, to be able to revise one’s own thoughts after a reflection.

Behold. Appreciate. Imitate.

It will still be a piece all your own.

Reflect on that.

I have.

#iwrotethisonaplane #reflection #whenwillmyreflectionshow #whoiaminside #sorryitslate

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say

Jimmy Butler’s cell phone is shaking. We’re plopped down in the last row of his home theatre on a couch that feels like a velvet sponge, a blanket covers his outstretched legs.

Butler leans over, looks down, smiles. He picks the phone up, shakes his head, then turns it around to reveal who’s on the other end. Coach Thibs. “See?” Butler says. “It’s crazy, right? He’s always on my phone.”

Everything about Butler’s place in this exact moment and time can and should be described as “crazy.” From the majestic hillside villa tucked away in Malibu—a remote paradise where the 27-year-old lives with a tight crew of friends, family, and paid aides (a photographer is sleeping in the guest house)—to the sudden reunion with Tom Thibodeau, the tireless coach who helped turn Butler into one of the least probable success stories in NBA history, to the Chicago Bulls needlessly trading Butler earlier this summer…the list can go on forever.

Butler’s origin story is absurd. Small town Texas kids with no scholarship offers out of high school don’t become NBA role players, much less superstars. They aren’t oddball country music-loving characters who pal around with famous actors. And they certainly don’t accomplish all they have while going out of their way to stand tall as a positive figure off the court. Butler won the NBA Cares Community Assist Award last April, and says he aspires to use his broadening platform to navigate the contentious social issues that plague the country. But his rags to riches past and lavish present are not as moving as what promises to lie ahead.

Butler was voted onto his first All-NBA team last season, with scoring, assist, and rebound averages usually associated with someone headed to the Hall of Fame. (Butler tallied more Win Shares last year than Larry Bird when he won his first MVP). But there’s still room for improvement, and next season Butler will be surrounded by players with enough talent to relieve some of the pressure he’s felt in years past.

It’s been an intense, course-altering summer for Butler, whose reward for establishing himself as one of the world’s 15 best basketball players was the trade, three months ago, from Chicago to the Minnesota Timberwolves, a franchise that’s perpetually struggling to stand on its own two feet. But Butler—alongside Karl-Anthony Towns and Andrew Wiggins, two Rookie of the Year winners who can fill an ocean with their talent and upside—is poised to change all that.

Coach Thibs is always calling Butler—and always calling his number. Photo: Russ Isabella-USA TODAY Sports

Already one of, if not the, most physically fit individuals in a league overcrowded by the most athletic specimens on earth, Butler dedicated his summer to figuring out a way to get into even more ridiculous shape—the better to handle one of the NBA’s toughest workloads. (According to NBA.com, he ran more miles per game than all but two other players during 2016-17, and led the entire league in each of the previous two seasons.)

“The man, simply, is addicted to working,” says Butler’s personal skills trainer Chris Johnson.

His weekly schedule consists of approximately nine hundred thousand hours of on-court basketball drills, spliced with a grueling workout plan that made my eyes water when I first heard it. Without an alarm, Butler is out of bed by 5:45 AM and on the court by 6:00.

“He’s a serial killer’s dream. He does the same shit every fucking day.”

Meals hardly deviate. It’s scrambled egg whites, turkey bacon, turkey sausage, and a protein shake for breakfast. Lunch is Chipotle, with plain white rice, double chicken, light lettuce, and half a cup of vinaigrette (no cilantro). At night, his chef will prepare a dish around fish or chicken. He hasn’t had red meat in years and steers clear of alcohol.

When Butler isn’t drenched in sweat, most of his free time is either spent in his theatre watching the same movies over and over (Friday is a favorite), or escaping into never-ending games of Spades or dominoes. Yoga is on the docket. Nightclubs are not.

“He’s a serial killer’s dream,” says Butler’s personal strength trainer Travelle Gaines, who counts NFL superstars like Antonio Brown and Demaryius Thomas as clients. “He does the same shit every fucking day.”

Butler is shirtless in tan pants and Jordan slides when we first meet outside his pool house. “Want a beer?” He reaches into a brown Albertson’s bag and removes a cold can of Michelob Ultra. His hair is braided tight like a crown, and it’s impossible not to notice how much his chest looks like gladiator armor. This is also a reminder that our interview (and a photo shoot he’s doing) have pushed Butler out of his usual routine, but he doesn’t seem too worried about it.

“I’ll just make it all up in a short period tonight and be really tired in the morning when I wake up and start my schedule all over again, but it’s part of it,” he says.

The mood when Butler enters a room somehow relaxes and tightens at the exact same time. His personality glides from standup comedian to superintendent. He’s genuinely curious, cerebral, and a little mischievous. Ultimately, everything, from his schedule to his diet to the people he chooses to spend every waking minute around, is about efficiency. Even in this wonderland, with potted lemon trees at every turn, a hoard of wicker patio furniture, and a Southern California sun that dares anyone under it to do nothing but sip gin and tonics on end, Butler’s playfulness has limitations.

“I’m confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go.”

The conversation turns to his work ethic. He understands not everyone is as driven as he is, but can’t comprehend the thought of someone (especially another NBA player) not doing all they can to reach their full potential. It bugs him, even though he knows it shouldn’t.

“I think it’s wrong for me to think that people want what I want because in reality they don’t. Some people are OK with getting drafted. Some people are OK with playing two years in the league, four years in the league, six years in the league. Some people are OK with just scoring a basket in an NBA game. I’m not OK with any of that. I’m not satisfied until I win a championship,” he says. “I want everybody to work the way that I work and it’s wrong for me to think like that because people don’t do it! But in my mind I’m just like why? Why don’t you want to chase greatness the way that I do?”

Last January, after a humiliating loss in Atlanta that saw the Bulls blow a 10 point lead with three minutes left, Butler was fined for publicly dragging his teammates through the mud. After he was traded, former NBA player Antoine Walker called Butler a “bad locker room guy.” A recent report suggested the Boston Celtics had concerns about trading for the three-time All-Star because Butler might clash with Gordon Hayward, who they eventually signed in free agency.

Butler has little patience for people less driven than he is. Photo: Mike DiNovo-USA TODAY Sports.

“Even as a first-semester freshman, he wasn’t gonna let guys drift through practice,” says Mike Marquis, Butler’s coach at Tyler Junior College. “He is very, very competitive, and he is great when he finds an enemy. I think that’s one of his charms. He knows how to psychologically find an enemy and attack it.”

I ask Butler if he’s a difficult person to be around.

“Yes,” he says.

But it’s not as simple as that. Difficult is in the eye of the beholder, just like laziness.

“But then again it’s bad on my part because I know better,” Butler says. “It’s kind of contradicting itself. It’s like, ‘Well Jimmy you know better, don’t do that.’ But then the other half is just like, ‘Well, if you can do it everybody can do it.’ But then it goes back again. ‘You know that it don’t work like that, right? Yeah, I know, but I think that it can so everybody needs to work like this.'”

“I think it takes a very special person to deal with Jimmy Butler,” says Gaines. “He’s actually too smart for his own good.”

Once the photo shoot ends, we migrate down to the main house. Ready to play Spades, Butler is hunched over a square folding table that’s been pummeled by thousands of domino tiles. He’s flanked by Phil Ducasse, his newly appointed personal photographer, Ifeyani Koggu, a former Arkansas State guard who Butler introduces as his brother, and Mike Smith, Butler’s mentee, of sorts, from Chicago who’s about to enter his sophomore season at Columbia. A chandelier the size of a kiddie pool hangs overhead. Boxes of Size 14 retro Jordans are stacked against the dining room wall, with loose jewelry and designer clothes casually spread across the table and floor.

Nearly two hours later the card game ends and Butler recedes to his theatre. He acknowledges that his whirlwind ascent altered relationships and transfigured his behavior in Chicago, but doesn’t feel taken for granted by the Bulls organization. Still, an old truism lingers: the one about how those who start in the mailroom can never shake how co-workers perceive them no matter how high they climb within the company. There’s a sense, from the outside looking in, that the Bulls didn’t appreciate how awesome Butler truly is.

He didn’t crack 400 minutes his rookie year. By his third season—his first of three straight appearances on the NBA’s All-Defensive second team—Butler averaged a team-high 38.7 minutes per game. That year he averaged 13.1 points. Two seasons later he was up to 20.9.

“I think they maybe expected me to stay the same, and I don’t think that that’s right. Like, I have changed. I will tell you that. But I think that I’ve changed for the better,” he says. “When I say for the better, whenever I was a rookie, averaging 0.8 points per game or whatever it might be, it wouldn’t matter if I scored that 0.8 because it wasn’t going to win or lose us a game. Now, you go forward a couple years when I’m averaging 20 points per game, that’s more than likely gonna cost us a game. It’s gonna be the difference between winning or losing. Am I right? So now I don’t give a damn about pressure, but if someone’s going to take the blame for something, who they gonna point to? Me. So yeah, I’ve changed, because I want to fucking win. I want to show that I can win. So the way I go about things, it’s not gonna be the way I went about things when I was a rookie, [when] I’m not gonna say anything. Now I’ve got something to fucking say.”

This is what he has to say. Or at least some of it:

“I’m confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go. Not everybody’s like that. [Bulls head coach Fred Hoiberg] is not that coach, and there’s nothing wrong with that. There are different coaching styles and people are gonna say—which is what they did say—’It’s gonna be Jimmy’s team or it’s gonna be Fred’s team.’ Two total opposite ends of the spectrum. They’re either gonna try to win it now or they’re gonna go young. And you see which way they went with it. Completely fine. Yo, it’s y’all’s business. It’s y’all’s organization. It’s cool. And now I’m in Minnesota and couldn’t be happier.”

Despite elevating his game to an all-time high last year, too often he was forced to be MacGyver, constantly scraping for useful contributions from his scanty supporting cast while refusing to let constant double and triple teams minimize his impact. The Bulls struggled to boil water whenever he rested on the bench.

Chicago ranked 28th in three-point rate and 24th in three-point percentage yet Butler still dragged them to the playoffs. The floor opened up a tiny bit when Nikola Mirotic played the four, but aging, antiquated guards like Dwyane Wade and Rajon Rondo too often made the offense feel claustrophobic. It wasn’t an ideal environment for a wing scorer to thrive, but somehow Butler did.

From 2015 to 2017, the percentage of Butler’s two-point field goals that were unassisted increased by just over 20 percent, but his True Shooting percentage didn’t fall. He finished with more Win Shares than LeBron James, Russell Westbrook, and Kawhi Leonard last year, and was third in “Real Plus-Minus Wins,” a stat that estimates how many wins a player contributes to his team’s season total, behind only LeBron James and Steph Curry.

“You can’t put somebody in a box and then have them think outside the box. Jimmy thinks like there’s no box, so he has no ceiling. Every day we wake up to break boundaries,” Johnson says. “I’m able to develop him as a point guard, as a shooting guard, as a small forward, as a power forward, and as a center. He’s a basketball player. He’s a scorer. He’s not a shooter. He’s not just a primary driver. He can do pretty much anything that is asked of him from his coaches because he allowed me to prepare him for every single situation. The only person who can stop Jimmy is Jimmy. He don’t have a flaw.”

Even for a person as motivated as he is, Butler’s journey to the NBA was a miraculous tightrope walk. There were no AAU connections or free sneakers. Butler is from Tomball, Texas, a slight town about 30 miles outside Houston. After his mother kicked him out of the house when he was 13, Butler couchsurfed through his teenage years before finding relative stability when his friend’s mother agreed to take him in. The story has been told often, but remains too incredible to be sensationalized.

For the typical prospect, coming to average 20 points in the NBA is less likely than purchasing a winning Powerball ticket. For Butler, it was less likely than holding said ticket while riding in the backseat of a limousine with Beyonce, eloping in Vegas.

Butler didn’t receive any scholarship offers out of high school, but he did get noticed by a scout named Alan Branch. Branch identified qualities his colleagues missed, and started to chirp in the direction of any coaches who’d listen. You guys are missing a steal. But no offers were made even after Butler played well in a couple spring tournaments. Nobody thought he was Division-I material.

“The biggest thing I can say is he wasn’t flashy, he wasn’t a freak talent, and he was in the bushes,” Branch says.

So instead of preparing for his first year at a school like Texas Christian University or Morehead State, Branch introduced Butler to Coach Marquis at Tyler Junior College, about three hours north of Tomball. He spent a day working out in their gym, scrimmaged with some of their players and local high-school competition, and was offered a spot right away.

“Mike never saw him shoot the basketball,” Branch said. “Jimmy played like four or five possessions, made the right passes, got a rebound. He was just solid. You could just see the IQ.”

It’s impossible to know what would’ve happened had Branch never brought Butler to Marquis’s attention. There were other junior colleges in the area that might have granted Butler a chance to walk on, but a few critical variables would’ve spun in unpredictable directions had he played anywhere else. To start, Tyler was very good, and good teams draw Division-I eyeballs.

Up until that point in his career, Butler mostly operated in the frontcourt. He crashed the glass, defended well, and offered a tenaciousness that probably wouldn’t have the same effect against bigger, stronger competition. But thanks to the team’s roster construction, Marquis shifted Butler to the perimeter on a full-time basis, forcing him to showcase a more appealing and varied skill-set.

“I didn’t think people would draft him out of junior college after one year, but I thought he was draftable,” Marquis said. “I called [Bulls general manager] Gar Forman, who I had known since he was coaching at Iowa State and New Mexico State, and said there’s something special about Jimmy. If they just continued to watch his progress, they’d really, really like him.”

Far and away the longest lasting benefit from his time in Tyler was who he met while there. Butler’s roommate that season was a 6’7″ wing named Joe Fulce, who was recruited to play for Marquette University by the school’s then-assistant coach Buzz Williams.

“Every time I went to go see Joe, of course, I would say hello to Jimmy,” Williams says.

Fulce—who’s now a graduate assistant coach under Williams at Virginia Tech—and Butler were like a pair of Siamese fighting fish (who also happened to be friends). They competed in everything and played countless games of one on one, after practice, before games; even at random times in the middle of the night—whenever Butler wasn’t hypnotized by his eight hundredth viewing of The Lion King.

“I don’t know how many times I’d either wake up in the morning or wake up at night and his ass is sitting in bed, eating some snacks, with his feet crossed, with a cowboy hat on, watching the damn Lion King with some country music softly playing,” Fulce said to VICE Sports. “His ass is weird.” (Butler still really loves country music.)

Butler led Tyler in scoring and guided them to a 24-5 record. All the while, Fulce relentlessly pitched Williams on his roommate’s all-around potential. A little while later Williams became Marquette’s head coach. Butler was the first player he signed. His letter of intent was famously faxed over from a nearby McDonald’s, and his first day on campus doubled as the first day of school. Butler still had Fulce as his roommate, but never visited Milwaukee beforehand.

“I think from day one until the day he graduated, he became much more confident in who he was on and off the floor,” Williams says. “I think he became less distrustful. His personality showed more often. He was much more comfortable. Obviously, that was an extended period of time where his environment and the people in his environment were stable.”

In three years, Butler never dropped a class, skipped a meeting with his tutor, or showed up late to a weightlifting session. In large part due to Butler being Williams’s first signing, there was inescapable pressure on them both to perform. And through some tough times early on, a mutually beneficial bond was formed.

“What can I say, in some ways I’m proud of it and in other ways I’m not proud of it,” Williams says. “I was hard on him. I was hard on him in every way. I never gave him any relief in any facet of his life, and to his credit he never wanted one. I think as our time together transpired, he expected that. He wanted that. He wanted that as an example to everybody else on the team.”

Butler says the lessons learned in three years at Marquette still resonate, and his relationship with Williams remains strong. Now the head coach at Virginia Tech, Williams gave Butler a journal during his second year in the league. He still writes in it.

Next year, the journal will be different. He’ll be in a new city, with a new team, and a new set of expectations—at least externally. Internally, Butler still has a bottomless urge to be great. He’s forever that serial killer’s dream. He rolls out of bed each morning focused and ready to go for a 90-minute session with Johnson. It’s the first of two workouts they fight through every day. They start by zooming in on ball-handling, finishing, floaters, runners, one-legged jumpers, off-balance jumpers, side pick-and-rolls, middle pick-and-rolls, pick-and-roll passing, and so on and so forth.

He’s already one of the craftiest and effective downhill playmakers in basketball, but for Butler to truly max out his potential in the coming seasons, that jumper needs to stabilize. Last year, he knocked down 36.7 percent of his threes, which is right around league average and an improvement on the previous season. But a higher percentage of his field goal attempts were launched from the inefficient mid-range, where he only canned 38.2 percent. On the whole, that’s not an atrocious number, but it badly trails positional peers like Kawhi Leonard, Paul George, and Kevin Durant.

Later in the day, the second session with Johnson is devoted to shot mechanics—how he can better himself shooting on the move and off the bounce. They study preferable ways for him to create separation and sharpen his technique on fadeaways. Every workout is filmed, allowing Butler and Johnson to obsess over ball and hand placement. They really dig into the finer details that are necessary to make him a more potent all-around weapon.

After the morning workout, Butler rewards himself with a five-minute break and then embarks on a soul-crippling hour with Gaines. Gaines and Johnson work with other professional athletes but have still met with Butler almost every day for the past four years. They will continue to do so in Minnesota. When Butler goes on vacation, be it to Europe, Canada, Mexico, or Mars, Gaines and Johnson come along for the ride.

“I’m not cheap,” Gaines says. “But he pays whatever it costs and whatever it takes to keep his body right.”

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are reserved for corrective exercises, movement prep, movement training, and strength training. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for conditioning work and agility training. Saturdays and Sundays are strictly conditioning. Sometimes they race on the beach or hop on a football field to sprint 110 yards at a time.

Sometimes they’ll get back on an actual basketball court just to embrace the delightful sensation that a gasser can have on the human body. Gassers are timed sprints where, starting on the baseline, Butler has 17 seconds to go half the court and back, then dart to the opposite end line before returning to where he started. “We’ll do 10 to 15 of those,” Gaines said. It sounds like torture, but for Butler the entire process is more vital than oxygen.

There are obvious reasons to think the hard work will continue to pay off. This year, Butler may find that instead of doing more with less, he’ll have the chance to do more with more. In Minnesota, defenses will have to worry about Towns, Wiggins, and Jeff Teague, the kind of score-first point guard Butler hasn’t played with since Derrick Rose’s body broke down. He’ll be able to allocate more energy towards the defensive end—Butler failed to make an All-Defensive team for the first time in three years last season. Despite just four percent body fat hanging from his 230-pound frame, Butler still gets tired every once in a while.

If he can hunt for more open opportunities behind the three-point line instead of settling on tough, contested heaves, he can be one of the most efficient players in the entire NBA.

That won’t necessarily be easy. The Timberwolves actually finished behind Chicago in three-point rate last season. And given how their roster is built, Thibodeau will likely lean on dated lineups that can be exploited when up against modernized rotations. Gorgui Dieng and Taj Gibson will platoon the power forward position, even though they’re both better suited as backup fives. Life on the court may be cluttered once again.

But if Towns leaps forward on the defensive end, Thibs could deploy more versatile units that will accentuate Butler’s strengths. The floor will open up and, if that’s the case, it’s hard to see how he won’t be a legitimate MVP candidate. According to Synergy Sports, Butler ranked in the 77th percentile as a pick-and-roll ball-handler last year. He was 95th in transition, 92nd in spot-up situations, and 91st in the post.

The Timberwolves boast a core that can, in Towns’s words, evolve into a dynasty. Butler likes the fit and is confident he can teach Thibodeau’s system to younger teammates who struggled to grasp it last season. But he’s also understandably cautious when it comes to attaching any bold claims to a group that ranked 26th in defense last year.

“I don’t like the word ‘Super Team’,” he says. “I think everybody’s human. That’s [what] people label Golden State. They’re a really really, really good basketball team. Super team?…On any given time they can be beat, too. It’s all about who’s playing basketball the best at the right time.”

Towns and Wiggins can fill an ocean with their upside. Photo: Chris Humphreys-USA TODAY Sports.

Dethroning the Warriors is goal number one. But even if the Timberwolves fall short, Butler will certainly use his time in Minneapolis to expand his fame over the next few years. With the league’s popularity increasing every day in countries all over the world, a genuine superstar’s brand is worth exponentially more than the $19.3 million Minnesota owes Butler this season. Off-court opportunities are constantly nipping at his attention. Three years ago, he took a 75 percent pay cut to go from adidas to Jordan, joining Blake Griffin, Carmelo Anthony, Kawhi Leonard, Russell Westbrook, and over a dozen other NBA stars. (During our day together, Butler poked fun at a camera operator wearing adidas tennis shoes.)

Bonobos, a menswear company that was recently bought by Walmart, made Butler their brand ambassador last August. And just this month he released his own signature underwear line with PSD, a company Kyrie Irving and Chandler Parsons are also affiliated with. (Butler’s photographer Phil envisions a coffee table book. “If Kim Kardashian can do it,” he says. “Why can’t Jimmy?”)

Last year, he dipped his toe in Hollywood by appearing in Office Christmas Party, a comedy his life guru Mark Wahlberg helped put him in. Butler met Wahlberg in 2013 while the actor was filming a Transformers movie in Chicago. They’ve been close friends ever since, with Butler citing the 46-year-old’s vigorous work ethic as one of the biggest inspirations in his life.

“He’s already one of the best at what he does, but he works as though he’s not. The guy wakes up at 3:30, 4:00 AM to work out. Then he’ll go take his mind off of stuff and play some golf,” Butler says. “He eats healthy and spends time with his family and he’s reading scripts and he’s in meetings and he’s on phone calls. Before you know it, it’s time to do it all over again the next day.” (Butler’s all-time favorite Wahlberg movie is Shooter. “Bob Lee Swagger is that dude,” he says.)

Butler played himself in Office Christmas Party, alongside Jason Bateman and Olivia Munn. He wasn’t stiff in his only scene; the film’s two directors, Josh Gordon and Will Speck, were impressed by his initial foray into a brand new field. “LeBron surprised everyone in Trainwreck by being so fully formed as an actor,” Gordon told VICE Sports. “If Jimmy wanted to [act in the future], he could do it. He’s got that kind of charisma. It’s up to him.”

Butler isn’t sure how much longer he wants to be an NBA player, but hopes to squeeze in at least seven years, two championships, and widespread respect as one of his era’s greatest stars before his body cries uncle. (No big deal.) If he opts out of his player option in 2019, the former Most Improved Player can experience unrestricted free agency for the very first time; just about every team that can afford a max contract will be interested. Even though that level of courtship is something Butler has never gone through before, he’s yet to think about what it’ll feel like.

“I’ll tell you one thing. I’m gonna go or I’m gonna be or I’m gonna stay wherever I’m wanted, man. Because that’s all anybody ever wants,” he says. “To be appreciated.”

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[flauntpage]

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say

Jimmy Butler's cell phone is shaking. We're plopped down in the last row of his home theatre on a couch that feels like a velvet sponge, a blanket covers his outstretched legs.

Butler leans over, looks down, smiles. He picks the phone up, shakes his head, then turns it around to reveal who's on the other end. Coach Thibs. "See?" Butler says. "It's crazy, right? He's always on my phone."

Everything about Butler's place in this exact moment and time can and should be described as "crazy." From the majestic hillside villa tucked away in Malibu—a remote paradise where the 27-year-old lives with a tight crew of friends, family, and paid aides (a photographer is sleeping in the guest house)—to the sudden reunion with Tom Thibodeau, the tireless coach who helped turn Butler into one of the least probable success stories in NBA history, to the Chicago Bulls needlessly trading Butler earlier this summer...the list can go on forever.

Butler's origin story is absurd. Small town Texas kids with no scholarship offers out of high school don't become NBA role players, much less superstars. They aren't oddball country music-loving characters who pal around with famous actors. And they certainly don't accomplish all they have while going out of their way to stand tall as a positive figure off the court. Butler won the NBA Cares Community Assist Award last April, and says he aspires to use his broadening platform to navigate the contentious social issues that plague the country. But his rags to riches past and lavish present are not as moving as what promises to lie ahead.

Butler was voted onto his first All-NBA team last season, with scoring, assist, and rebound averages usually associated with someone headed to the Hall of Fame. (Butler tallied more Win Shares last year than Larry Bird when he won his first MVP). But there's still room for improvement, and next season Butler will be surrounded by players with enough talent to relieve some of the pressure he's felt in years past.

It's been an intense, course-altering summer for Butler, whose reward for establishing himself as one of the world's 15 best basketball players was the trade, three months ago, from Chicago to the Minnesota Timberwolves, a franchise that's perpetually struggling to stand on its own two feet. But Butler—alongside Karl-Anthony Towns and Andrew Wiggins, two Rookie of the Year winners who can fill an ocean with their talent and upside—is poised to change all that.

Coach Thibs is always calling Butler—and always calling his number. Photo: Russ Isabella-USA TODAY Sports

Already one of, if not the, most physically fit individuals in a league overcrowded by the most athletic specimens on earth, Butler dedicated his summer to figuring out a way to get into even more ridiculous shape—the better to handle one of the NBA's toughest workloads. (According to NBA.com, he ran more miles per game than all but two other players during 2016-17, and led the entire league in each of the previous two seasons.)

"The man, simply, is addicted to working," says Butler's personal skills trainer Chris Johnson.

His weekly schedule consists of approximately nine hundred thousand hours of on-court basketball drills, spliced with a grueling workout plan that made my eyes water when I first heard it. Without an alarm, Butler is out of bed by 5:45 AM and on the court by 6:00.

"He's a serial killer's dream. He does the same shit every fucking day."

Meals hardly deviate. It's scrambled egg whites, turkey bacon, turkey sausage, and a protein shake for breakfast. Lunch is Chipotle, with plain white rice, double chicken, light lettuce, and half a cup of vinaigrette (no cilantro). At night, his chef will prepare a dish around fish or chicken. He hasn't had red meat in years and steers clear of alcohol.

When Butler isn't drenched in sweat, most of his free time is either spent in his theatre watching the same movies over and over (Friday is a favorite), or escaping into never-ending games of Spades or dominoes. Yoga is on the docket. Nightclubs are not.

"He's a serial killer's dream," says Butler's personal strength trainer Travelle Gaines, who counts NFL superstars like Antonio Brown and Demaryius Thomas as clients. "He does the same shit every fucking day."

Butler is shirtless in tan pants and Jordan slides when we first meet outside his pool house. "Want a beer?" He reaches into a brown Albertson's bag and removes a cold can of Michelob Ultra. His hair is braided tight like a crown, and it's impossible not to notice how much his chest looks like gladiator armor. This is also a reminder that our interview (and a photo shoot he's doing) have pushed Butler out of his usual routine, but he doesn't seem too worried about it.

"I'll just make it all up in a short period tonight and be really tired in the morning when I wake up and start my schedule all over again, but it's part of it," he says.

The mood when Butler enters a room somehow relaxes and tightens at the exact same time. His personality glides from standup comedian to superintendent. He's genuinely curious, cerebral, and a little mischievous. Ultimately, everything, from his schedule to his diet to the people he chooses to spend every waking minute around, is about efficiency. Even in this wonderland, with potted lemon trees at every turn, a hoard of wicker patio furniture, and a Southern California sun that dares anyone under it to do nothing but sip gin and tonics on end, Butler's playfulness has limitations.

"I'm confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go."

The conversation turns to his work ethic. He understands not everyone is as driven as he is, but can't comprehend the thought of someone (especially another NBA player) not doing all they can to reach their full potential. It bugs him, even though he knows it shouldn't.

"I think it's wrong for me to think that people want what I want because in reality they don't. Some people are OK with getting drafted. Some people are OK with playing two years in the league, four years in the league, six years in the league. Some people are OK with just scoring a basket in an NBA game. I'm not OK with any of that. I'm not satisfied until I win a championship," he says. "I want everybody to work the way that I work and it's wrong for me to think like that because people don't do it! But in my mind I'm just like why? Why don't you want to chase greatness the way that I do?"

Last January, after a humiliating loss in Atlanta that saw the Bulls blow a 10 point lead with three minutes left, Butler was fined for publicly dragging his teammates through the mud. After he was traded, former NBA player Antoine Walker called Butler a "bad locker room guy." A recent report suggested the Boston Celtics had concerns about trading for the three-time All-Star because Butler might clash with Gordon Hayward, who they eventually signed in free agency.

Butler has little patience for people less driven than he is. Photo: Mike DiNovo-USA TODAY Sports.

"Even as a first-semester freshman, he wasn't gonna let guys drift through practice," says Mike Marquis, Butler's coach at Tyler Junior College. "He is very, very competitive, and he is great when he finds an enemy. I think that's one of his charms. He knows how to psychologically find an enemy and attack it."

I ask Butler if he's a difficult person to be around.

"Yes," he says.

But it's not as simple as that. Difficult is in the eye of the beholder, just like laziness.

"But then again it's bad on my part because I know better," Butler says. "It's kind of contradicting itself. It's like, 'Well Jimmy you know better, don't do that.' But then the other half is just like, 'Well, if you can do it everybody can do it.' But then it goes back again. 'You know that it don't work like that, right? Yeah, I know, but I think that it can so everybody needs to work like this.'"

"I think it takes a very special person to deal with Jimmy Butler," says Gaines. "He's actually too smart for his own good."

Once the photo shoot ends, we migrate down to the main house. Ready to play Spades, Butler is hunched over a square folding table that's been pummeled by thousands of domino tiles. He's flanked by Phil Ducasse, his newly appointed personal photographer, Ifeyani Koggu, a former Arkansas State guard who Butler introduces as his brother, and Mike Smith, Butler's mentee, of sorts, from Chicago who's about to enter his sophomore season at Columbia. A chandelier the size of a kiddie pool hangs overhead. Boxes of Size 14 retro Jordans are stacked against the dining room wall, with loose jewelry and designer clothes casually spread across the table and floor.

Nearly two hours later the card game ends and Butler recedes to his theatre. He acknowledges that his whirlwind ascent altered relationships and transfigured his behavior in Chicago, but doesn't feel taken for granted by the Bulls organization. Still, an old truism lingers: the one about how those who start in the mailroom can never shake how co-workers perceive them no matter how high they climb within the company. There's a sense, from the outside looking in, that the Bulls didn't appreciate how awesome Butler truly is.

He didn't crack 400 minutes his rookie year. By his third season—his first of three straight appearances on the NBA's All-Defensive second team—Butler averaged a team-high 38.7 minutes per game. That year he averaged 13.1 points. Two seasons later he was up to 20.9.

"I think they maybe expected me to stay the same, and I don't think that that's right. Like, I have changed. I will tell you that. But I think that I've changed for the better," he says. "When I say for the better, whenever I was a rookie, averaging 0.8 points per game or whatever it might be, it wouldn't matter if I scored that 0.8 because it wasn't going to win or lose us a game. Now, you go forward a couple years when I'm averaging 20 points per game, that's more than likely gonna cost us a game. It's gonna be the difference between winning or losing. Am I right? So now I don't give a damn about pressure, but if someone's going to take the blame for something, who they gonna point to? Me. So yeah, I've changed, because I want to fucking win. I want to show that I can win. So the way I go about things, it's not gonna be the way I went about things when I was a rookie, [when] I'm not gonna say anything. Now I've got something to fucking say."

This is what he has to say. Or at least some of it:

"I'm confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go. Not everybody's like that. [Bulls head coach Fred Hoiberg] is not that coach, and there's nothing wrong with that. There are different coaching styles and people are gonna say—which is what they did say—'It's gonna be Jimmy's team or it's gonna be Fred's team.' Two total opposite ends of the spectrum. They're either gonna try to win it now or they're gonna go young. And you see which way they went with it. Completely fine. Yo, it's y'all's business. It's y'all's organization. It's cool. And now I'm in Minnesota and couldn't be happier."

Despite elevating his game to an all-time high last year, too often he was forced to be MacGyver, constantly scraping for useful contributions from his scanty supporting cast while refusing to let constant double and triple teams minimize his impact. The Bulls struggled to boil water whenever he rested on the bench.

Chicago ranked 28th in three-point rate and 24th in three-point percentage yet Butler still dragged them to the playoffs. The floor opened up a tiny bit when Nikola Mirotic played the four, but aging, antiquated guards like Dwyane Wade and Rajon Rondo too often made the offense feel claustrophobic. It wasn't an ideal environment for a wing scorer to thrive, but somehow Butler did.

From 2015 to 2017, the percentage of Butler's two-point field goals that were unassisted increased by just over 20 percent, but his True Shooting percentage didn't fall. He finished with more Win Shares than LeBron James, Russell Westbrook, and Kawhi Leonard last year, and was third in "Real Plus-Minus Wins," a stat that estimates how many wins a player contributes to his team's season total, behind only LeBron James and Steph Curry.

"You can't put somebody in a box and then have them think outside the box. Jimmy thinks like there's no box, so he has no ceiling. Every day we wake up to break boundaries," Johnson says. "I'm able to develop him as a point guard, as a shooting guard, as a small forward, as a power forward, and as a center. He's a basketball player. He's a scorer. He's not a shooter. He's not just a primary driver. He can do pretty much anything that is asked of him from his coaches because he allowed me to prepare him for every single situation. The only person who can stop Jimmy is Jimmy. He don't have a flaw."

Even for a person as motivated as he is, Butler's journey to the NBA was a miraculous tightrope walk. There were no AAU connections or free sneakers. Butler is from Tomball, Texas, a slight town about 30 miles outside Houston. After his mother kicked him out of the house when he was 13, Butler couchsurfed through his teenage years before finding relative stability when his friend's mother agreed to take him in. The story has been told often, but remains too incredible to be sensationalized.

For the typical prospect, coming to average 20 points in the NBA is less likely than purchasing a winning Powerball ticket. For Butler, it was less likely than holding said ticket while riding in the backseat of a limousine with Beyonce, eloping in Vegas.

Butler didn't receive any scholarship offers out of high school, but he did get noticed by a scout named Alan Branch. Branch identified qualities his colleagues missed, and started to chirp in the direction of any coaches who'd listen. You guys are missing a steal. But no offers were made even after Butler played well in a couple spring tournaments. Nobody thought he was Division-I material.

"The biggest thing I can say is he wasn't flashy, he wasn't a freak talent, and he was in the bushes," Branch says.

So instead of preparing for his first year at a school like Texas Christian University or Morehead State, Branch introduced Butler to Coach Marquis at Tyler Junior College, about three hours north of Tomball. He spent a day working out in their gym, scrimmaged with some of their players and local high-school competition, and was offered a spot right away.

"Mike never saw him shoot the basketball," Branch said. "Jimmy played like four or five possessions, made the right passes, got a rebound. He was just solid. You could just see the IQ."

It's impossible to know what would've happened had Branch never brought Butler to Marquis's attention. There were other junior colleges in the area that might have granted Butler a chance to walk on, but a few critical variables would've spun in unpredictable directions had he played anywhere else. To start, Tyler was very good, and good teams draw Division-I eyeballs.

Up until that point in his career, Butler mostly operated in the frontcourt. He crashed the glass, defended well, and offered a tenaciousness that probably wouldn't have the same effect against bigger, stronger competition. But thanks to the team's roster construction, Marquis shifted Butler to the perimeter on a full-time basis, forcing him to showcase a more appealing and varied skill-set.

"I didn't think people would draft him out of junior college after one year, but I thought he was draftable," Marquis said. "I called [Bulls general manager] Gar Forman, who I had known since he was coaching at Iowa State and New Mexico State, and said there's something special about Jimmy. If they just continued to watch his progress, they'd really, really like him."

Far and away the longest lasting benefit from his time in Tyler was who he met while there. Butler's roommate that season was a 6'7" wing named Joe Fulce, who was recruited to play for Marquette University by the school's then-assistant coach Buzz Williams.

"Every time I went to go see Joe, of course, I would say hello to Jimmy," Williams says.

Fulce—who's now a graduate assistant coach under Williams at Virginia Tech—and Butler were like a pair of Siamese fighting fish (who also happened to be friends). They competed in everything and played countless games of one on one, after practice, before games; even at random times in the middle of the night—whenever Butler wasn't hypnotized by his eight hundredth viewing of The Lion King.

"I don't know how many times I'd either wake up in the morning or wake up at night and his ass is sitting in bed, eating some snacks, with his feet crossed, with a cowboy hat on, watching the damn Lion King with some country music softly playing," Fulce said to VICE Sports. "His ass is weird." (Butler still really loves country music.)

Butler led Tyler in scoring and guided them to a 24-5 record. All the while, Fulce relentlessly pitched Williams on his roommate's all-around potential. A little while later Williams became Marquette's head coach. Butler was the first player he signed. His letter of intent was famously faxed over from a nearby McDonald's, and his first day on campus doubled as the first day of school. Butler still had Fulce as his roommate, but never visited Milwaukee beforehand.

"I think from day one until the day he graduated, he became much more confident in who he was on and off the floor," Williams says. "I think he became less distrustful. His personality showed more often. He was much more comfortable. Obviously, that was an extended period of time where his environment and the people in his environment were stable."

In three years, Butler never dropped a class, skipped a meeting with his tutor, or showed up late to a weightlifting session. In large part due to Butler being Williams's first signing, there was inescapable pressure on them both to perform. And through some tough times early on, a mutually beneficial bond was formed.

"What can I say, in some ways I'm proud of it and in other ways I'm not proud of it," Williams says. "I was hard on him. I was hard on him in every way. I never gave him any relief in any facet of his life, and to his credit he never wanted one. I think as our time together transpired, he expected that. He wanted that. He wanted that as an example to everybody else on the team."

Butler says the lessons learned in three years at Marquette still resonate, and his relationship with Williams remains strong. Now the head coach at Virginia Tech, Williams gave Butler a journal during his second year in the league. He still writes in it.

Next year, the journal will be different. He'll be in a new city, with a new team, and a new set of expectations—at least externally. Internally, Butler still has a bottomless urge to be great. He's forever that serial killer's dream. He rolls out of bed each morning focused and ready to go for a 90-minute session with Johnson. It's the first of two workouts they fight through every day. They start by zooming in on ball-handling, finishing, floaters, runners, one-legged jumpers, off-balance jumpers, side pick-and-rolls, middle pick-and-rolls, pick-and-roll passing, and so on and so forth.

He's already one of the craftiest and effective downhill playmakers in basketball, but for Butler to truly max out his potential in the coming seasons, that jumper needs to stabilize. Last year, he knocked down 36.7 percent of his threes, which is right around league average and an improvement on the previous season. But a higher percentage of his field goal attempts were launched from the inefficient mid-range, where he only canned 38.2 percent. On the whole, that's not an atrocious number, but it badly trails positional peers like Kawhi Leonard, Paul George, and Kevin Durant.

Later in the day, the second session with Johnson is devoted to shot mechanics—how he can better himself shooting on the move and off the bounce. They study preferable ways for him to create separation and sharpen his technique on fadeaways. Every workout is filmed, allowing Butler and Johnson to obsess over ball and hand placement. They really dig into the finer details that are necessary to make him a more potent all-around weapon.

After the morning workout, Butler rewards himself with a five-minute break and then embarks on a soul-crippling hour with Gaines. Gaines and Johnson work with other professional athletes but have still met with Butler almost every day for the past four years. They will continue to do so in Minnesota. When Butler goes on vacation, be it to Europe, Canada, Mexico, or Mars, Gaines and Johnson come along for the ride.

"I'm not cheap," Gaines says. "But he pays whatever it costs and whatever it takes to keep his body right."

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are reserved for corrective exercises, movement prep, movement training, and strength training. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for conditioning work and agility training. Saturdays and Sundays are strictly conditioning. Sometimes they race on the beach or hop on a football field to sprint 110 yards at a time.

Sometimes they'll get back on an actual basketball court just to embrace the delightful sensation that a gasser can have on the human body. Gassers are timed sprints where, starting on the baseline, Butler has 17 seconds to go half the court and back, then dart to the opposite end line before returning to where he started. "We'll do 10 to 15 of those," Gaines said. It sounds like torture, but for Butler the entire process is more vital than oxygen.

There are obvious reasons to think the hard work will continue to pay off. This year, Butler may find that instead of doing more with less, he'll have the chance to do more with more. In Minnesota, defenses will have to worry about Towns, Wiggins, and Jeff Teague, the kind of score-first point guard Butler hasn't played with since Derrick Rose's body broke down. He'll be able to allocate more energy towards the defensive end—Butler failed to make an All-Defensive team for the first time in three years last season. Despite just four percent body fat hanging from his 230-pound frame, Butler still gets tired every once in a while.

If he can hunt for more open opportunities behind the three-point line instead of settling on tough, contested heaves, he can be one of the most efficient players in the entire NBA.

That won't necessarily be easy. The Timberwolves actually finished behind Chicago in three-point rate last season. And given how their roster is built, Thibodeau will likely lean on dated lineups that can be exploited when up against modernized rotations. Gorgui Dieng and Taj Gibson will platoon the power forward position, even though they're both better suited as backup fives. Life on the court may be cluttered once again.

But if Towns leaps forward on the defensive end, Thibs could deploy more versatile units that will accentuate Butler's strengths. The floor will open up and, if that's the case, it's hard to see how he won't be a legitimate MVP candidate. According to Synergy Sports, Butler ranked in the 77th percentile as a pick-and-roll ball-handler last year. He was 95th in transition, 92nd in spot-up situations, and 91st in the post.

The Timberwolves boast a core that can, in Towns's words, evolve into a dynasty. Butler likes the fit and is confident he can teach Thibodeau's system to younger teammates who struggled to grasp it last season. But he's also understandably cautious when it comes to attaching any bold claims to a group that ranked 26th in defense last year.

"I don't like the word 'Super Team'," he says. "I think everybody's human. That's [what] people label Golden State. They're a really really, really good basketball team. Super team?...On any given time they can be beat, too. It's all about who's playing basketball the best at the right time."

Towns and Wiggins can fill an ocean with their upside. Photo: Chris Humphreys-USA TODAY Sports.

Dethroning the Warriors is goal number one. But even if the Timberwolves fall short, Butler will certainly use his time in Minneapolis to expand his fame over the next few years. With the league's popularity increasing every day in countries all over the world, a genuine superstar's brand is worth exponentially more than the $19.3 million Minnesota owes Butler this season. Off-court opportunities are constantly nipping at his attention. Three years ago, he took a 75 percent pay cut to go from adidas to Jordan, joining Blake Griffin, Carmelo Anthony, Kawhi Leonard, Russell Westbrook, and over a dozen other NBA stars. (During our day together, Butler poked fun at a camera operator wearing adidas tennis shoes.)

Bonobos, a menswear company that was recently bought by Walmart, made Butler their brand ambassador last August. And just this month he released his own signature underwear line with PSD, a company Kyrie Irving and Chandler Parsons are also affiliated with. (Butler's photographer Phil envisions a coffee table book. "If Kim Kardashian can do it," he says. "Why can't Jimmy?")

Last year, he dipped his toe in Hollywood by appearing in Office Christmas Party, a comedy his life guru Mark Wahlberg helped put him in. Butler met Wahlberg in 2013 while the actor was filming a Transformers movie in Chicago. They've been close friends ever since, with Butler citing the 46-year-old's vigorous work ethic as one of the biggest inspirations in his life.

"He's already one of the best at what he does, but he works as though he's not. The guy wakes up at 3:30, 4:00 AM to work out. Then he'll go take his mind off of stuff and play some golf," Butler says. "He eats healthy and spends time with his family and he's reading scripts and he's in meetings and he's on phone calls. Before you know it, it's time to do it all over again the next day." (Butler's all-time favorite Wahlberg movie is Shooter. "Bob Lee Swagger is that dude," he says.)

Butler played himself in Office Christmas Party, alongside Jason Bateman and Olivia Munn. He wasn't stiff in his only scene; the film's two directors, Josh Gordon and Will Speck, were impressed by his initial foray into a brand new field. "LeBron surprised everyone in Trainwreck by being so fully formed as an actor," Gordon told VICE Sports. "If Jimmy wanted to [act in the future], he could do it. He's got that kind of charisma. It's up to him."

Butler isn't sure how much longer he wants to be an NBA player, but hopes to squeeze in at least seven years, two championships, and widespread respect as one of his era's greatest stars before his body cries uncle. (No big deal.) If he opts out of his player option in 2019, the former Most Improved Player can experience unrestricted free agency for the very first time; just about every team that can afford a max contract will be interested. Even though that level of courtship is something Butler has never gone through before, he's yet to think about what it'll feel like.

"I'll tell you one thing," he says. "I'm gonna go or I'm gonna be or I'm gonna stay wherever I'm wanted, man. Because that's all anybody ever wants," he says. "To be appreciated."

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[69tell-blog]

Windowpane [EXCERPT]

1st Chapter, Villa Vance.

         I hear footsteps coming down the hallway, probably Julia, my brother’s girlfriend. The three of us just started living in this apartment about a month ago. I still haven’t unpacked all my things and boxes crowd my room. I’m happy that Terrence isn’t selfish and that Julia can stand me. If not for those two I don’t know where I’d be. It’s been rough for me since graduation; my degree seems not to have made finding a job easy at all, and I’d settle for fast-food or retail, but I hate dealing with people. It’s awkward and sometimes embarrassing for me. In a perfect world, I’d have a desk at a prominent magazine or newspaper company. Alas, The freelance gigs I’ve been so loyal to are paying less & less now. Money is tight.          Her footsteps get louder; she pauses briefly before turning the doorknob, without a knock.          She walks in; her face is flushed. I can tell she’s upset about something, or someone.          “My God Vill, do you ever plan on cleaning up around here? I mean seriously, it’s like you haven’t unpacked a single thing. Are you living out of a box? She asks. “And another thing, when are you going to start working? Me and Terrence can’t pay for this place alone you know!”          “Well, I’m trying my best & that’s all I can tell you. I know money is tight, I know I’m not working. I’m sure I’ll find a job soon, I’ve been applying to a lot of publications. Don’t let my junky room distract you; I’m getting everything straightened out, believe it.”          I say that I’ve been trying, but the truth is, I haven’t applied myself at all. I haven’t filled any applications out. This white lie is all I need to buy some time until I can find something I can bear. To me, it seems selfish to be so choosy when I know Terrence and Julia are handling most of the bills. I’m optimistic that I’ll come across something soon and if not… there can’t be an “if not.” I’d never let them know the truth; they couldn’t understand. I just need a little while longer.          “I’ve got an interview with Express tomorrow morning.” I lie.          “Well, that’s a start I guess.” Her tone softens, and she becomes a concerned mother, worried that her scolding has hurt her child’s feelings.          “You know I don’t mean to get so worked up, but Me and Terrence can’t afford to keep splitting these bills alone. We have other places we need to spend our money Vill, and we’re counting on you for relief.”          “I know Julia, I know. I’m trying my hardest to pull it together.”          “Okay.”          She walks out, closing the door behind her. I’m relieved she didn’t ask what Express was, I wouldn’t have had an answer. It’s just some company I saw in a magazine before. Julia’s concern is a sign that I need to make a move soon. I figure that as long as Express is a part of my lie, I may as well look into it. I pull the magazine out from one of the boxes I rummaged through last night and flip to the last page. It reads “Express — Highway to life, now hiring. Call 1 333 999 9966.”          I grab the house phone, but before I can lift a finger to dial, I hear a knock, an entrance more subtle than the last.          “Come in,” I answer. No response.          “Come in!” I shout. Still, no answer.          I get up to check and see who’s knocking and why they didn’t they just walk in. I crack the door a little and peep through the opening; no one is there. Probably Terrence is playing a joke on me, though it isn't very funny. I shrug it off and get ready to redial the number.          Then, another knock on the door.          “Terrence I’m in the middle of something, stop kidding around!” I shout.          He didn’t respond. I quickly get up to answer the door once again, this time more furious and agitated. I fling the door open and out pops Terrence from behind a corner. He’s wearing a Ghostface mask.          “Am I supposed to be scared?”          “Haha, you fell for it last time.”          “Which is why it didn’t work this time. I was right in the middle of an important call, so I’m not going for any of your shenanigans. Julia just got on my case about not having a job, so this is serious. I think she’ll be less flustered once I land something; I'll pull my weight around here too.”          “Well, guess what Villy. You don’t have to worry anymore! You can keep all your money buddy. I’ve got everything covered. I thought my shenanigans might brighten your day since you’re always moping around here looking depressed and shit.”           “What are you talking about? How can you have everything covered? Do you know what you're saying? The rent here is way too much for one person to handle, and I know that call center isn’t paying that much.”          He begins to explain his luck at being offered a position with a new organization called Express. The same company I was about to call and apply. He's ecstatic to tell me the salary and how much fun the job is. Oddly, he never sheds light on what the job entails. When I ask, he changes the subject, over and over, every time I ask. There’s nothing I want to know more than the type of work involved. Every ad I saw was bereft of anything more than a cheesy slogan.          I had heard enough of Terrence's stories. It’s good that he found a high paying job but if he covers everything I’ll feel like a freeloader. I hurried to end the conversation. When he finished talking, I praised him and continued my phone call with Express.          "Hello—Express Career Services, my name is Jenny. How may I help you?"          "Yes, Ms. Jenny, I'd like information about any job openings you have."          "Okay sir, may I please have your name and SSN?"          Social security? That’s peculiar. I’m not inclined to divulge the information, but since Terrence got the job, he must have gone through the same process.          "Oh… yes ma'am, of course. My name is Villa Vance and my So—"          “Villa Vance!” She exclaims. Sir, please meet me at my office, tomorrow at 5:00 p.m. sharp. Thank you. Click!          "But where is your office? Where do I need to go?" I was talking to myself; she had already hung up the phone.          It seemed promising, in fact, I almost had a little hope that things would turn around. Now, I'm back at square one. Why couldn't the lady just tell me where her office was before she hung up. How could she expect me to know where to go or how to get there.          The phone began to make a dial tone. I had forgotten to dismiss the call. I click end and flop onto my bed. The plan was to go to college, get a bachelor’s degree in English, then snag a job writing for a company or teaching. The plan failed. In reality, I’m sitting in a room full of boxes with no clue what to do next. In a moment, every depressive thought of my future begins to creep into my consciousness, so the walls close in and my brain feels too big for my head with every analysis fighting the other for a space to occupy. From college, life has never seemed this volatile. I’m used to a set routine with predictable outcomes. Now, I truly don’t know what’s to come next or how well I can handle it. I’m already unstable. Tonight will be cold I know. I should get to bed.          Writing is the only thing that ever helped me relieve stress. Before I go to sleep, I have to write in my journal. It’s something I’ve done since I was a little boy. By documenting what happens in the past, I can remember it easier than a mere memory. My memory is frail. I write in detail, lest I forget a single instance.          I grab my notebook and a pen to jot down everything that took place today. When I woke up this morning, I found that my cell phone had stopped working. For some reason, it wouldn’t cut on. Next, I couldn’t find the remote to the TV, even though I distinctly remember putting it on my nightstand before going to bed last night. Which was right after I looked through a box of magazines, where I found the Express ad.          I continue to write about my day until the ink in my pen runs out. Of course, the ink would run out. With everything going wrong, why would anything decide to go in the right direction? I don’t remember having another pen in my drawer, but I check anyway. I open it up to behold a bright red pen I never knew existed, Express is printed in small white words on the side. Before I reach to pick the pen up, I hear a voice. It shouts in my ear, “Express!.”          I jolt back and quickly check my surroundings. Maybe I had been awake too long. My clock says 1 a.m. as if I’d been writing that long. At any rate, How did this pen get in the drawer?          “Walk toward the window.” The voice calls. And like a fool I follow. I walk to my window and peek through the blinds to see no one.          This better not be another one of Terrence’s tricks. No, it couldn’t be.          “Open it!” The voice shouts.          But I won’t move, I’m not willing to open a window for a voice alone. I don’t know who or where the speaker is. I’m reviewing every concept of reality introduced to me, trying to disprove them all to explain how and why this is happening.          “This is for your own good.” It whispers.          Suddenly, My hand moves to the window without my permission. I slide the lock to the left and slowly raise the glass. My body is no longer under my control. It has a will of its own. Terror and confusion have replaced any sense of security and common sense I had. The chilling wind from the draft of the open window bites my lip with a gust that is much more bitter than it should be. The calling voice spirals from a whisper to a mumble. Finally, an obnoxious shout breaks my thought.         “You are no longer a part of this world. Listen to my voice to uncover great wisdom. You must understand before you walk blindly. I am here to lead you, accept my presence and follow my will. Let your body do the work. Put your mind to rest.” It claims.          Before I knew it, I climbed out of the window. The wind whipped so rapidly that it hurt to hold my eyes open, so I kept them closed. I'm now dangling from the third floor of an apartment building without a hint as to what will happen next. My body is frozen, I can't see, and a seemingly benevolent, but eerie voice is dictating my actions. It told me to let my mind rest. It feels like this voice knows me. Does this entity have control of my body? Something I thought was a joke at first has changed into a phenomenon I can’t fathom, let alone explain. If I am no longer a part of this world, then what world have I entered?          I've been dangling for at least ten minutes now, and the voice hasn’t yielded another command since. My arms have yet to tire out, and despite a severe, arctic wind, I’ve resisted hypothermic shock.          Then, all motion of the wind stopped, and something began to counteract the bitter cold. It was dark outside, but now I feel rays of light surround me. My eyes remain closed; I begin to imagine the environment around me. It feels like I’ve arrived in a place where sunshine and light are persistent and dazzling. What is this world?          I'm no longer dangling from the window of an apartment building, but now standing straight up with little space between my feet. My back is erect, and my head is tilted slightly up. My eyes are still closed, but this is by choice. I'm not ready to see.          The voice calls me by my first name. I'm not willing to answer this soon. I don't feel like I should have to speak, I’m the one expecting answers. After a long pause, the voice seems to fade away, while murmuring what sounded like a rant. I stand here, quietly and patiently, as my life whirls around in my noggin. I think about Terrence and Julia; the debt and trouble I'm in. I question the possibility of all this being a dream. I convince myself that it is indeed an odd dream, which gives a good reason as to why I have not yet opened my eyes. Perhaps, once I open them, I'll be in my room lying on the bed.          That's it; it's time to stop this dream. I'll count to three and open my eyes. One... Two... Th— “Are you ready Villa?” The voice interrupts.

#short story #prose #novel #story #writing

[garyh2628]

QUASI- JUDICIAL

PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

Investments/Contracts/Superior/Technically Competent and Right-Hand Men

NGO - (Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

To my Pharma Hubs, Technology Hubs, Social Creative/Personal Hub, My Private Hubs, My Financial Hubs and my Health and Wellbeing/Scientific Hubs, Legal and Innovation Hubs, Hinterland Hub and to my Eastern Caribbean Hub, Linguistic/Psychology Hub, to my beloved additions and to my Institutions and Partners and Team, Pool of Potential Personal Assistants and Private Secretaries and Business Managers and also to my Fitness Hub which is an extension of my Health and Wellbeing Hub and not to forget my beloved Brooklyn Hub and my Wine/Adviser Hub, Influential Legal Cashier, Strategic Partnerships, STATEMENT OF INTENT, MY WEALTH FUND AND PERSONAL ATTORNEY and PROPERTY EXPERT GUY and THE ATTACHMENT AND MY PERSONAL BOARDROOM AND MY CHIEF STRATEGY AND INNOVATION OFFICER. The core founding support regions of this Network and Global Structure. MY FAVOURITE CEO.

All Options remain on the Table applying the finishing touches to our Genius and my Genius and the Network and this Global Structure Genius. DRAFT

The Network, Strategic Partnerships and Global Structure is hot–but watch the margins

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL INTELLECTS IN THE WORLD

THIS GLOBAL STRUCTURE AND INTELLECT SHARE MANY OF THE SAME QUALITIES, INDESTRUCTIBLE, PURE AND BEAUTIFUL TO BEHOLD

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU EXPERIENCE SOMETHING SO BEAUTIFUL, IT CHANGED HOW YOU  SAW THE WORLD

How Intellect and the Network and the Economic Community and I are sweeping the Globe.

I would like to first make it very clear that those irresponsible assumption and basic strategy being employed by those of that order to reopen a market that buy their guesses and who tolerate their nonsense to create deflection, I’m happy to report that you’re out of business.  The allure is no longer there, and we have not even began to roll out our set of Intellectual Programs or begin to apply the requisite ingredients to the environment.  This was an earlier strategy employed to slow progress and prevent Intellectual Growth. I’m delighted that the Network and the relevant capacity within the Global Structure were made aware of this. We are applying the requisite pressure across the board and to the various CEOs to keep growth going – and those pressures will pave the way for all the Global Particulars to be delivered to me personally after the preparatory work is completed using the urgency of NOW. We will deliver for the full delivery of the Network to myself, we will deliver for rigorous analysis and we will deliver for the velocity of money.

It is clear now that the appearance of furore and tensions were instigated by those of that order and it backfired on them spectacularly, it has now taken its toll. The leadership previously has made light of the impact of those actions as it relates to the delivery, as it relates to the work that needed to get done in the Statement of Intent, the Region and those Strategic Regions.  I’m happy to note that as a result of those same actions trey sponsored, it was those same acts that instigated their downfall and their fall from grace.  I would go further and say, it’s intellect and the environment not making room or allowing for mediocrity.  It’s intellect at work. My Strategic Partners and my Team et al and my Network and Global Structure and this Economic Community and Industry sounded a clear alarm, saying that all of the Global Portfolios and tool kits and all those Official Details will get delivered to me in full for perusal and further to aid in the delivery of the various offices and also the preparatory work to begin to make way for privacy and also to make way for the requisite briefings and Strategic Partners meetings to take place.  

This clarity is to show our consistency and a clear symbol as to how closely linked this Global Structure is and how closely linked my Strategic Partner, my Official Partner and my CEOs, the Network and myself are and those Strategic Areas and attachment and Region.  This Global Structure and these Network and I and the Statement of Intent and those Foundation Sector means business.  We will deliver as the Foundation Family-we will deliver as money people, we will deliver those philosophy as it relates to our further responsibility to the environment and living your best life. We will roll out our costed and favourably scientifically predicted new Sector.  Our partnership is more than divine, it is more than scientific, it’s more than strategic and it’s more than finance can bind, we were called to deliver this Generation at this turn of the century into Intellect, and their Journey of living their best life and allowing them to be in full control of their destiny. You and I will neither falter, we will never fail.  We will deliver well paying jobs across the Globe, it’s a jobs gift.  It’s time for you to live your best life. Get well soon and I’m looking forward to seeing you at our Intellectual retreat.  I’m aware that the requisite safeguards and security detail was stepped up and I will be briefed accordingly using the urgency of NOW.

I have a special reason for wanting to solve this problem in a lasting way. Agreement have been reached today and I’m overly joyed and my Intellectual Serotonin are flowing as I write this - agreement of a five-year contract with a special Initiative of mine.  I have achieved my number one target today.  Today Intellectuals, is a great day for the Network and Global Structure up and down the Globe.  From one chief Executive to another, let’s roll our sleeves up and deliver the particulars and the Global portfolios to me, as we have a lot of planning to do. This week the world found out how highly I’m rated in the powerful boardrooms of this world, and in the hallways of legal authority and across the Network and Global Structure and in Countries up and down this Globe and in the Sectors,  I represent and, in the Company, that my largest Investor lead.

The pounding economic responsibility this Network and Global Structure is taking on, didn’t come overnight, it was years in the making.  We will win for the Economy and we will win for Health. In recent weeks, a lot of people have been playing what I call the ``blame game.'' The accusing finger has been pointed in every direction of the compass, and a lot of time hot air have been spent looking for scapegoats. Well, there's plenty of blame to go around. I your leader have staying Power. But, of course, the idea of me signing a Strategic Partnership contract is tosh and nonsense. It is not going to happen. Whoever is in that technical Office, the initials on the training top will not be GSJA. They can put him on either end of their letterheads, and it will not alter the odds.   They were proven wrong, I’m looking forward for the delivery of the legally binding agreement to be delivered to my Offices of Signature and Stamp and Approval.  My CEOs and my Team and my Partners and my Institution and my Influential Advisers Council and my Personal Wealth Fund CEO and my large array of extended influential friends, signed a letter and it states, “we will certainly never be abandoned Gary, the Network or the Global Structure”.  This family loves winning, us alone have the requisite ingredient to win, thus our responsibility to the environment.

More good news, today a friend of mine have pitched a four-year fixed term legally binding agreement with my Office of Budget and Management to back up his gift.  He also said to my OLC tell Gary “I am happy to commit to his request”.  With your support, we can show the world that we mean business and that this time we're going to get the job done and get it done right. This time, we're going to keep inflation, interest rates and we are going to spend and spend on Intellectual Capacity. We are going to win for pay and taxes and compliance and transfer pricing.

The hearts and arrows phenomenon occur when a traditional Intellect, facet round and brilliant is precision cut to the “Ideal Proportions” with superior optical symmetry and polish. When all these factors are in harmony the results will be seen is a continuous near perfect pattern of symmetrical arrows in the table up Position called “mentored” and hearts when viewed in the table down position, called pavilion (sympathetic bag).  I love you, I love you, I lover you!  Truth to Tell.

But the LORD came down to see the city and the tower the people were building.

This family will not disappoint you because our further responsibility isn’t to you, what we will do is deliver the ingredients to the environment in order for you to develop your own sense of responsibility, to be in control of your own destiny and for you to achieve and succeed because you have developed the requisite grip on Intellect.  You will win, you must win, because you are in control of your destiny.  It’s time for you to live your best life!  We the People, By the People!  We will win the Election, we must win the Election, because it’s time for us also to live our best life.  This family, you and I have a rendezvous with Intellectual Destiny.  We must and will deliver for humanity.

QUASI JUDICIAL

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

Investments/Contracts/Superior/Technically Competent and Right-Hand Men

NGO - (Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

QUASI JUDICIAL

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say

Jimmy Butler’s cell phone is shaking. We’re plopped down in the last row of his home theatre on a couch that feels like a velvet sponge, a blanket covers his outstretched legs.

Butler leans over, looks down, smiles. He picks the phone up, shakes his head, then turns it around to reveal who’s on the other end. Coach Thibs. “See?” Butler says. “It’s crazy, right? He’s always on my phone.”

Everything about Butler’s place in this exact moment and time can and should be described as “crazy.” From the majestic hillside villa tucked away in Malibu—a remote paradise where the 27-year-old lives with a tight crew of friends, family, and paid aides (a photographer is sleeping in the guest house)—to the sudden reunion with Tom Thibodeau, the tireless coach who helped turn Butler into one of the least probable success stories in NBA history, to the Chicago Bulls needlessly trading Butler earlier this summer…the list can go on forever.

Butler’s origin story is absurd. Small town Texas kids with no scholarship offers out of high school don’t become NBA role players, much less superstars. They aren’t oddball country music-loving characters who pal around with movie stars. And they certainly don’t accomplish all they have while going out of their way to stand tall as a positive figure off the court. Butler won the NBA Cares Community Assist Award last April, and says he aspires to use his broadening platform to navigate the contentious social issues that plague the country. But his rags to riches past and lavish present are not as moving as what promises to lie ahead.

Butler was voted onto his first All-NBA team last season, with scoring, assist, and rebound averages usually associated with someone headed to the Hall of Fame. (Butler tallied more Win Shares last year than Larry Bird when he won his first MVP). But there’s still room for improvement, and next season Butler will be surrounded by players with enough talent to relieve some of the pressure he’s felt in years past.

It’s been an intense, course-altering summer for Butler, whose reward for establishing himself as one of the world’s 15 best basketball players was the trade, three months ago, from Chicago to the Minnesota Timberwolves, a franchise that’s perpetually struggling to stand on its own two feet. But Butler—alongside Karl-Anthony Towns and Andrew Wiggins, two Rookie of the Year winners who can fill an ocean with their talent and upside—is poised to change all that.

Coach Thibs is always calling Butler—and always calling his number. Photo: Russ Isabella-USA TODAY Sports

Already one of, if not the, most physically fit individuals in a league overcrowded by the most athletic specimens on earth, Butler dedicated his summer to figuring out a way to get into even more ridiculous shape—the better to handle one of the NBA’s toughest workloads. (According to NBA.com, he ran more miles per game than all but two other players during 2016-17, and led the entire league in each of the previous two seasons.)

“The man, simply, is addicted to working,” says Butler’s personal skills trainer Chris Johnson.

His weekly schedule consists of approximately nine hundred thousand hours of on-court basketball drills, spliced with a grueling workout plan that made my eyes water when I first heard it. Without an alarm, Butler is out of bed by 5:45 AM and on the court by 6:00.

“He’s a serial killer’s dream. He does the same shit every fucking day.”

Meals hardly deviate. It’s scrambled egg whites, turkey bacon, turkey sausage, and a protein shake for breakfast. Lunch is Chipotle, with plain white rice, double chicken, light lettuce, and half a cup of vinaigrette (no cilantro). At night, his chef will prepare a dish around fish or chicken. He hasn’t had red meat in years and steers clear of alcohol.

When Butler isn’t drenched in sweat, most of his free time is either spent in his theatre watching the same movies over and over (Friday is a favorite), or escaping into never-ending games of Spades or dominoes. Yoga is on the docket. Nightclubs are not.

“He’s a serial killer’s dream,” says Butler’s personal strength trainer Travelle Gaines, who counts NFL superstars like Antonio Brown and Demaryius Thomas as clients. “He does the same shit every fucking day.”

Butler is shirtless in tan pants and Jordan slides when we first meet outside his pool house. “Want a beer?” He reaches into a brown Albertson’s bag and removes a cold can of Michelob Ultra. His hair is braided tight like a crown, and it’s impossible not to notice how much his chest looks like gladiator armor. This is also a reminder that our interview (and a photo shoot he’s doing) have pushed Butler’s out of his usual routine, but he doesn’t seem too worried about it.

“I’ll just make it all up in a short period tonight and be really tired in the morning when I wake up and start my schedule all over again, but it’s part of it,” he says.

The mood when Butler enters a room somehow relaxes and tightens at the exact same time. His personality glides from standup comedian to superintendent. He’s genuinely curious, cerebral, and a little mischievous. Ultimately, everything, from his schedule to his diet to the people he chooses to spend every waking minute around, is about efficiency. Even in this wonderland, with potted lemon trees at every turn, a hoard of wicker patio furniture, and a Southern California sun that dares anyone under it to do nothing but sip gin and tonics on end, Butler’s playfulness has limitations.

“I’m confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go.”

The conversation turns to his work ethic. He understands not everyone is as driven as he is, but can’t comprehend the thought of someone (especially another NBA player) not doing all they can to reach their full potential. It bugs him, even though he knows it shouldn’t.

“I think it’s wrong for me to think that people want what I want because in reality they don’t. Some people are OK with getting drafted. Some people are OK with playing two years in the league, four years in the league, six years in the league. Some people are OK with just scoring a basket in an NBA game. I’m not OK with any of that. I’m not satisfied until I win a championship,” he says. “I want everybody to work the way that I work and it’s wrong for me to think like that because people don’t do it! But in my mind I’m just like why? Why don’t you want to chase greatness the way that I do?”

Last January, after a humiliating loss in Atlanta that saw the Bulls blow a 10 point lead with three minutes left, Butler was fined for publicly dragging his teammates through the mud. After he was traded, former NBA player Antoine Walker called Butler a “bad locker room guy.” A recent report suggested the Boston Celtics had concerns about trading for the three-time All-Star because Butler might clash with Gordon Hayward, who they eventually signed in free agency.

Butler has little patience for people less driven than he is. Photo: Mike DiNovo-USA TODAY Sports.

“Even as a first-semester freshman, he wasn’t gonna let guys drift through practice,” says Mike Marquis, Butler’s coach at Tyler Junior College. “He is very, very competitive, and he is great when he finds an enemy. I think that’s one of his charms. He knows how to psychologically find an enemy and attack it.”

I ask Butler if he’s a difficult person to be around.

“Yes,” he says.

But it’s not as simple as that. Difficult is in the eye of the beholder, just like laziness.

“But then again it’s bad on my part because I know better,” Butler says. “It’s kind of contradicting itself. It’s like, ‘Well Jimmy you know better, don’t do that.’ But then the other half is just like, ‘Well, if you can do it everybody can do it.’ But then it goes back again. ‘You know that it don’t work like that, right? Yeah, I know, but I think that it can so everybody needs to work like this.'”

“I think it takes a very special person to deal with Jimmy Butler,” says Gaines. “He’s actually too smart for his own good.”

Once the photo shoot ends, we migrate down to the main house. Ready to play Spades, Butler is hunched over a square folding table that’s been pummeled by thousands of domino tiles. He’s flanked by Phil Ducasse, his newly appointed personal photographer, Ifeyani Koggu, a former Arkansas State guard who Butler introduces as his brother, and Mike Smith, Butler’s mentee, of sorts, from Chicago who’s about to enter his sophomore season at Columbia. A chandelier the size of a kiddie pool hangs overhead. Boxes of Size 14 retro Jordans are stacked against the dining room wall, with loose jewelry and designer clothes casually spread across the table and floor.

Nearly two hours later the card game ends and Butler recedes to his theatre. He acknowledges that his whirlwind ascent altered relationships and transfigured his behavior in Chicago, but doesn’t feel taken for granted by the Bulls organization. Still, an old truism lingers: the one about how those who start in the mailroom can never shake how co-workers perceive them no matter how high they climb within the company. There’s a sense, from the outside looking in, that the Bulls didn’t appreciate how awesome Butler truly is.

He didn’t crack 400 minutes his rookie year. By his third season—his first of three straight appearances on the NBA’s All-Defensive second team—Butler averaged a team-high 38.7 minutes per game. That year he averaged 13.1 points. Two seasons later he was up to 20.9.

“I think they maybe expected me to stay the same, and I don’t think that that’s right. Like, I have changed. I will tell you that. But I think that I’ve changed for the better,” he says. “When I say for the better, whenever I was a rookie, averaging 0.8 points per game or whatever it might be, it wouldn’t matter if I scored that 0.8 because it wasn’t going to win or lose us a game. Now, you go forward a couple years when I’m averaging 20 points per game, that’s more than likely gonna cost us a game. It’s gonna be the difference between winning or losing. Am I right? So now I don’t give a damn about pressure, but if someone’s going to take the blame for something, who they gonna point to? Me. So yeah, I’ve changed, because I want to fucking win. I want to show that I can win. So the way I go about things, it’s not gonna be the way I went about things when I was a rookie, [when] I’m not gonna say anything. Now I’ve got something to fucking say.”

This is what he has to say. Or at least some of it:

“I’m confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go. Not everybody’s like that. [Bulls head coach Fred Hoiberg] is not that coach, and there’s nothing wrong with that. There are different coaching styles and people are gonna say—which is what they did say—’It’s gonna be Jimmy’s team or it’s gonna be Fred’s team.’ Two total opposite ends of the spectrum. They’re either gonna try to win it now or they’re gonna go young. And you see which way they went with it. Completely fine. Yo, it’s y’all’s business. It’s y’all’s organization. It’s cool. And now I’m in Minnesota and couldn’t be happier.”

Despite elevating his game to an all-time high last year, too often he was forced to be MacGyver, constantly scraping for useful contributions from his scanty supporting cast while refusing to let constant double and triple teams minimize his impact. The Bulls struggled to boil water whenever he rested on the bench.

Chicago ranked 28th in three-point rate and 24th in three-point percentage yet Butler still dragged them to the playoffs. The floor opened up a tiny bit when Nikola Mirotic played the four, but aging, antiquated guards like Dwyane Wade and Rajon Rondo too often made the offense feel claustrophobic. It wasn’t an ideal environment for a wing scorer to thrive, but somehow Butler did.

From 2015 to 2017, the percentage of Butler’s two-point field goals that were unassisted increased by just over 20 percent, but his True Shooting percentage didn’t fall. He finished with more Win Shares than LeBron James, Russell Westbrook, and Kawhi Leonard last year, and was third in “Real Plus-Minus Wins,” a stat that estimates how many wins a player contributes to his team’s season total, behind only LeBron James and Steph Curry.

“You can’t put somebody in a box and then have them think outside the box. Jimmy thinks like there’s no box, so he has no ceiling. Every day we wake up to break boundaries,” Johnson says. “I’m able to develop him as a point guard, as a shooting guard, as a small forward, as a power forward, and as a center. He’s a basketball player. He’s a scorer. He’s not a shooter. He’s not just a primary driver. He can do pretty much anything that is asked of him from his coaches because he allowed me to prepare him for every single situation. The only person who can stop Jimmy is Jimmy. He don’t have a flaw.”

Even for a person as motivated as he is, Butler’s journey to the NBA was a miraculous tightrope walk. There were no AAU connections or free sneakers. Butler is from Tomball, Texas, a slight town about 30 miles outside Houston. After his mother kicked him out of the house when he was 13, Butler couchsurfed through his teenage years before finding relative stability when his friend’s mother agreed to take him in. The story has been told often, but remains too incredible to be sensationalized.

For the typical prospect, coming to average 20 points in the NBA is less likely than purchasing a winning Powerball ticket. For Butler, it was less likely than holding said ticket while riding in the backseat of a limousine with Beyonce, eloping in Vegas.

Butler didn’t receive any scholarship offers out of high school, but he did get noticed by a scout named Alan Branch. Branch identified qualities his colleagues missed, and started to chirp in the direction of any coaches who’d listen. You guys are missing a steal. But no offers were made even after Butler played well in a couple spring tournaments. Nobody thought he was Division-I material.

“The biggest thing I can say is he wasn’t flashy, he wasn’t a freak talent, and he was in the bushes,” Branch says.

So instead of preparing for his first year at a school like Texas Christian University or Morehead State, Branch introduced Butler to Coach Marquis at Tyler Junior College, about three hours north of Tomball. He spent a day working out in their gym, scrimmaged with some of their players and local high-school competition, and was offered a spot right away.

“Mike never saw him shoot the basketball,” Branch said. “Jimmy played like four or five possessions, made the right passes, got a rebound. He was just solid. You could just see the IQ.”

It’s impossible to know what would’ve happened had Branch never brought Butler to Marquis’s attention. There were other junior colleges in the area that might have granted Butler a chance to walk on, but a few critical variables would’ve spun in unpredictable directions had he played anywhere else. To start, Tyler was very good, and good teams draw Division-I eyeballs.

Up until that point in his career, Butler mostly operated in the frontcourt. He crashed the glass, defended well, and offered a tenaciousness that probably wouldn’t have the same effect against bigger, stronger competition. But thanks to the team’s roster construction, Marquis shifted Butler to the perimeter on a full-time basis, forcing him to showcase a more appealing and varied skill-set.

“I didn’t think people would draft him out of junior college after one year, but I thought he was draftable,” Marquis said. “I called [Bulls general manager] Gar Forman, who I had known since he was coaching at Iowa State and New Mexico State, and said there’s something special about Jimmy. If they just continued to watch his progress, they’d really, really like him.”

Far and away the longest lasting benefit from his time in Tyler was who he met while there. Butler’s roommate that season was a 6’7″ wing named Joe Fulce, who was recruited to play for Marquette University by the school’s then-assistant coach Buzz Williams.

“Every time I went to go see Joe, of course, I would say hello to Jimmy,” Williams says.

Fulce—who’s now a graduate assistant coach under Williams at Virginia Tech—and Butler were like a pair of Siamese fighting fish (who also happened to be friends). They competed in everything and played countless games of one on one, after practice, before games; even at random times in the middle of the night—whenever Butler wasn’t hypnotized by his eight hundredth viewing of The Lion King.

“I don’t know how many times I’d either wake up in the morning or wake up at night and his ass is sitting in bed, eating some snacks, with his feet crossed, with a cowboy hat on, watching the damn Lion King with some country music softly playing,” Fulce said to VICE Sports. “His ass is weird.” (Butler still really loves country music.)

Butler led Tyler in scoring and guided them to a 24-5 record. All the while, Fulce relentlessly pitched Williams on his roommate’s all-around potential. A little while later Williams became Marquette’s head coach. Butler was the first player he signed. His letter of intent was famously faxed over from a nearby McDonald’s, and his first day on campus doubled as the first day of school. Butler still had Fulce as his roommate, but never visited Milwaukee beforehand.

“I think from day one until the day he graduated, he became much more confident in who he was on and off the floor,” Williams says. “I think he became less distrustful. His personality showed more often. He was much more comfortable. Obviously, that was an extended period of time where his environment and the people in his environment were stable.”

In three years, Butler never dropped a class, skipped a meeting with his tutor, or showed up late to a weightlifting session. In large part due to Butler being Williams’s first signing, there was inescapable pressure on them both to perform. And through some tough times early on, a mutually beneficial bond was formed.

“What can I say, in some ways I’m proud of it and in other ways I’m not proud of it,” Williams says. “I was hard on him. I was hard on him in every way. I never gave him any relief in any facet of his life, and to his credit he never wanted one. I think as our time together transpired, he expected that. He wanted that. He wanted that as an example to everybody else on the team.”

Butler says the lessons learned in three years at Marquette still resonate, and his relationship with Williams remains strong. Now the head coach at Virginia Tech, Williams gave Butler a journal during his second year in the league. He still writes in it.

Next year, the journal will be different. He’ll be in a new city, with a new team, and a new set of expectations—at least externally. Internally, Butler still has a bottomless urge to be great. He’s forever that serial killer’s dream. He rolls out of bed each morning focused and ready to go for a 90-minute session with Johnson. It’s the first of two workouts they fight through every day. They start by zooming in on ball-handling, finishing, floaters, runners, one-legged jumpers, off-balance jumpers, side pick-and-rolls, middle pick-and-rolls, pick-and-roll passing, and so on and so forth.

He’s already one of the craftiest and effective downhill playmakers in basketball, but for Butler to truly max out his potential in the coming seasons, that jumper needs to stabilize. Last year, he knocked down 36.7 percent of his threes, which is right around league average and an improvement on the previous season. But a higher percentage of his field goal attempts were launched from the inefficient mid-range, where he only canned 38.2 percent. On the whole, that’s not an atrocious number, but it badly trails positional peers like Kawhi Leonard, Paul George, and Kevin Durant.

Later in the day, the second session with Johnson is devoted to shot mechanics—how he can better himself shooting on the move and off the bounce. They study preferable ways for him to create separation and sharpen his technique on fadeaways. Every workout is filmed, allowing Butler and Johnson to obsess over ball and hand placement. They really dig into the finer details that are necessary to make him a more potent all-around weapon.

After the morning workout, Butler rewards himself with a five-minute break and then embarks on a soul-crippling hour with Gaines. Gaines and Johnson work with other professional athletes but have still met with Butler almost every day for the past four years. They will continue to do so in Minnesota. When Butler goes on vacation, be it to Europe, Canada, Mexico, or Mars, Gaines and Johnson come along for the ride.

“I’m not cheap,” Gaines says. “But he pays whatever it costs and whatever it takes to keep his body right.”

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are reserved for corrective exercises, movement prep, movement training, and strength training. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for conditioning work and agility training. Saturdays and Sundays are strictly conditioning. Sometimes they race on the beach or hop on a football field to sprint 110 yards at a time.

Sometimes they’ll get back on an actual basketball court just to embrace the delightful sensation that a gasser can have on the human body. Gassers are timed sprints where, starting on the baseline, Butler has 17 seconds to go half the court and back, then dart to the opposite end line before returning to where he started. “We’ll do 10 to 15 of those,” Gaines said. It sounds like torture, but for Butler the entire process is more vital than oxygen.

There are obvious reasons to think the hard work will continue to pay off. This year, Butler may find that instead of doing more with less, he’ll have the chance to do more with more. In Minnesota, defenses will have to worry about Towns, Wiggins, and Jeff Teague, the kind of score-first point guard Butler hasn’t played with since Derrick Rose’s body broke down. He’ll be able to allocate more energy towards the defensive end—Butler failed to make an All-Defensive team for the first time in three years last season. Despite just four percent body fat hanging from his 230-pound frame, Butler still gets tired every once in a while.

If he can hunt for more open opportunities behind the three-point line instead of settling on tough, contested heaves, he can be one of the most efficient players in the entire NBA.

That won’t necessarily be easy. The Timberwolves actually finished behind Chicago in three-point rate last season. And given how their roster is built, Thibodeau will likely lean on dated lineups that can be exploited when up against modernized rotations. Gorgui Dieng and Taj Gibson will platoon the power forward position, even though they’re both better suited as backup fives. Life on the court may be cluttered once again.

But if Towns leaps forward on the defensive end, Thibs could deploy more versatile units that will accentuate Butler’s strengths. The floor will open up and, if that’s the case, it’s hard to see how he won’t be a legitimate MVP candidate. According to Synergy Sports, Butler ranked in the 77th percentile as a pick-and-roll ball-handler last year. He was 95th in transition, 92nd in spot-up situations, and 91st in the post.

The Timberwolves boast a core that can, in Towns’s words, evolve into a dynasty. Butler likes the fit and is confident he can teach Thibodeau’s system to younger teammates who struggled to grasp it last season. But he’s also understandably cautious when it comes to attaching any bold claims to a group that ranked 26th in defense last year.

“I don’t like the word ‘Super Team’,” he says. “I think everybody’s human. That’s [what] people label Golden State. They’re a really really, really good basketball team. Super team?…On any given time they can be beat, too. It’s all about who’s playing basketball the best at the right time.”

Towns and Wiggins can fill an ocean with their upside. Photo: Chris Humphreys-USA TODAY Sports.

Dethroning the Warriors is goal number one. But even if the Timberwolves fall short, Butler will certainly use his time in Minneapolis to expand his fame over the next few years. With the league’s popularity increasing every day in countries all over the world, a genuine superstar’s brand is worth exponentially more than the $19.3 million Minnesota owes Butler this season. Off-court opportunities are constantly nipping at his attention. Three years ago, he took a 75 percent pay cut to go from adidas to Jordan, joining Blake Griffin, Carmelo Anthony, Kawhi Leonard, Russell Westbrook, and over a dozen other NBA stars. (During our day together, Butler poked fun at a camera operator wearing adidas tennis shoes.)

Bonobos, a menswear company that was recently bought by Walmart, made Butler their brand ambassador last August. And just this month he released his own signature underwear line with PSD, a company Kyrie Irving and Chandler Parsons are also affiliated with. (Butler’s photographer Phil envisions a coffee table book. “If Kim Kardashian can do it,” he says. “Why can’t Jimmy?”)

Last year, he dipped his toe in Hollywood by appearing in Office Christmas Party, a comedy his life guru Mark Wahlberg helped put him in. Butler met Wahlberg in 2013 while the actor was filming a Transformers movie in Chicago. They’ve been close friends ever since, with Butler citing the 46-year-old’s vigorous work ethic as one of the biggest inspirations in his life.

“He’s already one of the best at what he does, but he works as though he’s not. The guy wakes up at 3:30, 4:00 AM to work out. Then he’ll go take his mind off of stuff and play some golf,” Butler says. “He eats healthy and spends time with his family and he’s reading scripts and he’s in meetings and he’s on phone calls. Before you know it, it’s time to do it all over again the next day.” (Butler’s all-time favorite Wahlberg movie is Shooter. “Bob Lee Swagger is that dude,” he says.)

Butler played himself in Office Christmas Party, alongside Jason Bateman and Olivia Munn. He wasn’t stiff in his only scene; the film’s two directors, Josh Gordon and Will Speck, were impressed by his initial foray into a brand new field. “LeBron surprised everyone in Trainwreck by being so fully formed as an actor,” Gordon told VICE Sports. “If Jimmy wanted to [act in the future], he could do it. He’s got that kind of charisma. It’s up to him.”

Butler isn’t sure how much longer he wants to be an NBA player, but hopes to squeeze in at least seven years, two championships, and widespread respect as one of his era’s greatest stars before his body cries uncle. (No big deal.) If he opts out of his player option in 2019, the former Most Improved Player can experience unrestricted free agency for the very first time; just about every team that can afford a max contract will be interested. Even though that level of courtship is something Butler has never gone through before, he’s yet to think about what it’ll feel like.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” he says. “I’m gonna go or I’m gonna be or I’m gonna stay wherever I’m wanted, man. Because that’s all anybody ever wants,” he says. “To be appreciated.”

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[flauntpage]

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say

Jimmy Butler's cell phone is shaking. We're plopped down in the last row of his home theatre on a couch that feels like a velvet sponge, a blanket covers his outstretched legs.

Butler leans over, looks down, smiles. He picks the phone up, shakes his head, then turns it around to reveal who's on the other end. Coach Thibs. "See?" Butler says. "It's crazy, right? He's always on my phone."

Everything about Butler's place in this exact moment and time can and should be described as "crazy." From the majestic hillside villa tucked away in Malibu—a remote paradise where the 27-year-old lives with a tight crew of friends, family, and paid aides (a photographer is sleeping in the guest house)—to the sudden reunion with Tom Thibodeau, the tireless coach who helped turn Butler into one of the least probable success stories in NBA history, to the Chicago Bulls needlessly trading Butler earlier this summer...the list can go on forever.

Butler's origin story is absurd. Small town Texas kids with no scholarship offers out of high school don't become NBA role players, much less superstars. They aren't oddball country music-loving characters who pal around with movie stars. And they certainly don't accomplish all they have while going out of their way to stand tall as a positive figure off the court. Butler won the NBA Cares Community Assist Award last April, and says he aspires to use his broadening platform to navigate the contentious social issues that plague the country. But his rags to riches past and lavish present are not as moving as what promises to lie ahead.

Butler was voted onto his first All-NBA team last season, with scoring, assist, and rebound averages usually associated with someone headed to the Hall of Fame. (Butler tallied more Win Shares last year than Larry Bird when he won his first MVP). But there's still room for improvement, and next season Butler will be surrounded by players with enough talent to relieve some of the pressure he's felt in years past.

It's been an intense, course-altering summer for Butler, whose reward for establishing himself as one of the world's 15 best basketball players was the trade, three months ago, from Chicago to the Minnesota Timberwolves, a franchise that's perpetually struggling to stand on its own two feet. But Butler—alongside Karl-Anthony Towns and Andrew Wiggins, two Rookie of the Year winners who can fill an ocean with their talent and upside—is poised to change all that.

Coach Thibs is always calling Butler—and always calling his number. Photo: Russ Isabella-USA TODAY Sports

Already one of, if not the, most physically fit individuals in a league overcrowded by the most athletic specimens on earth, Butler dedicated his summer to figuring out a way to get into even more ridiculous shape—the better to handle one of the NBA's toughest workloads. (According to NBA.com, he ran more miles per game than all but two other players during 2016-17, and led the entire league in each of the previous two seasons.)

"The man, simply, is addicted to working," says Butler's personal skills trainer Chris Johnson.

His weekly schedule consists of approximately nine hundred thousand hours of on-court basketball drills, spliced with a grueling workout plan that made my eyes water when I first heard it. Without an alarm, Butler is out of bed by 5:45 AM and on the court by 6:00.

"He's a serial killer's dream. He does the same shit every fucking day."

Meals hardly deviate. It's scrambled egg whites, turkey bacon, turkey sausage, and a protein shake for breakfast. Lunch is Chipotle, with plain white rice, double chicken, light lettuce, and half a cup of vinaigrette (no cilantro). At night, his chef will prepare a dish around fish or chicken. He hasn't had red meat in years and steers clear of alcohol.

When Butler isn't drenched in sweat, most of his free time is either spent in his theatre watching the same movies over and over (Friday is a favorite), or escaping into never-ending games of Spades or dominoes. Yoga is on the docket. Nightclubs are not.

"He's a serial killer's dream," says Butler's personal strength trainer Travelle Gaines, who counts NFL superstars like Antonio Brown and Demaryius Thomas as clients. "He does the same shit every fucking day."

Butler is shirtless in tan pants and Jordan slides when we first meet outside his pool house. "Want a beer?" He reaches into a brown Albertson's bag and removes a cold can of Michelob Ultra. His hair is braided tight like a crown, and it's impossible not to notice how much his chest looks like gladiator armor. This is also a reminder that our interview (and a photo shoot he's doing) have pushed Butler's out of his usual routine, but he doesn't seem too worried about it.

"I'll just make it all up in a short period tonight and be really tired in the morning when I wake up and start my schedule all over again, but it's part of it," he says.

The mood when Butler enters a room somehow relaxes and tightens at the exact same time. His personality glides from standup comedian to superintendent. He's genuinely curious, cerebral, and a little mischievous. Ultimately, everything, from his schedule to his diet to the people he chooses to spend every waking minute around, is about efficiency. Even in this wonderland, with potted lemon trees at every turn, a hoard of wicker patio furniture, and a Southern California sun that dares anyone under it to do nothing but sip gin and tonics on end, Butler's playfulness has limitations.

"I'm confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go."

The conversation turns to his work ethic. He understands not everyone is as driven as he is, but can't comprehend the thought of someone (especially another NBA player) not doing all they can to reach their full potential. It bugs him, even though he knows it shouldn't.

"I think it's wrong for me to think that people want what I want because in reality they don't. Some people are OK with getting drafted. Some people are OK with playing two years in the league, four years in the league, six years in the league. Some people are OK with just scoring a basket in an NBA game. I'm not OK with any of that. I'm not satisfied until I win a championship," he says. "I want everybody to work the way that I work and it's wrong for me to think like that because people don't do it! But in my mind I'm just like why? Why don't you want to chase greatness the way that I do?"

Last January, after a humiliating loss in Atlanta that saw the Bulls blow a 10 point lead with three minutes left, Butler was fined for publicly dragging his teammates through the mud. After he was traded, former NBA player Antoine Walker called Butler a "bad locker room guy." A recent report suggested the Boston Celtics had concerns about trading for the three-time All-Star because Butler might clash with Gordon Hayward, who they eventually signed in free agency.

Butler has little patience for people less driven than he is. Photo: Mike DiNovo-USA TODAY Sports.

"Even as a first-semester freshman, he wasn't gonna let guys drift through practice," says Mike Marquis, Butler's coach at Tyler Junior College. "He is very, very competitive, and he is great when he finds an enemy. I think that's one of his charms. He knows how to psychologically find an enemy and attack it."

I ask Butler if he's a difficult person to be around.

"Yes," he says.

But it's not as simple as that. Difficult is in the eye of the beholder, just like laziness.

"But then again it's bad on my part because I know better," Butler says. "It's kind of contradicting itself. It's like, 'Well Jimmy you know better, don't do that.' But then the other half is just like, 'Well, if you can do it everybody can do it.' But then it goes back again. 'You know that it don't work like that, right? Yeah, I know, but I think that it can so everybody needs to work like this.'"

"I think it takes a very special person to deal with Jimmy Butler," says Gaines. "He's actually too smart for his own good."

Once the photo shoot ends, we migrate down to the main house. Ready to play Spades, Butler is hunched over a square folding table that's been pummeled by thousands of domino tiles. He's flanked by Phil Ducasse, his newly appointed personal photographer, Ifeyani Koggu, a former Arkansas State guard who Butler introduces as his brother, and Mike Smith, Butler's mentee, of sorts, from Chicago who's about to enter his sophomore season at Columbia. A chandelier the size of a kiddie pool hangs overhead. Boxes of Size 14 retro Jordans are stacked against the dining room wall, with loose jewelry and designer clothes casually spread across the table and floor.

Nearly two hours later the card game ends and Butler recedes to his theatre. He acknowledges that his whirlwind ascent altered relationships and transfigured his behavior in Chicago, but doesn't feel taken for granted by the Bulls organization. Still, an old truism lingers: the one about how those who start in the mailroom can never shake how co-workers perceive them no matter how high they climb within the company. There's a sense, from the outside looking in, that the Bulls didn't appreciate how awesome Butler truly is.

He didn't crack 400 minutes his rookie year. By his third season—his first of three straight appearances on the NBA's All-Defensive second team—Butler averaged a team-high 38.7 minutes per game. That year he averaged 13.1 points. Two seasons later he was up to 20.9.

"I think they maybe expected me to stay the same, and I don't think that that's right. Like, I have changed. I will tell you that. But I think that I've changed for the better," he says. "When I say for the better, whenever I was a rookie, averaging 0.8 points per game or whatever it might be, it wouldn't matter if I scored that 0.8 because it wasn't going to win or lose us a game. Now, you go forward a couple years when I'm averaging 20 points per game, that's more than likely gonna cost us a game. It's gonna be the difference between winning or losing. Am I right? So now I don't give a damn about pressure, but if someone's going to take the blame for something, who they gonna point to? Me. So yeah, I've changed, because I want to fucking win. I want to show that I can win. So the way I go about things, it's not gonna be the way I went about things when I was a rookie, [when] I'm not gonna say anything. Now I've got something to fucking say."

This is what he has to say. Or at least some of it:

"I'm confrontational. I feed off of confrontation. It makes me go. Not everybody's like that. [Bulls head coach Fred Hoiberg] is not that coach, and there's nothing wrong with that. There are different coaching styles and people are gonna say—which is what they did say—'It's gonna be Jimmy's team or it's gonna be Fred's team.' Two total opposite ends of the spectrum. They're either gonna try to win it now or they're gonna go young. And you see which way they went with it. Completely fine. Yo, it's y'all's business. It's y'all's organization. It's cool. And now I'm in Minnesota and couldn't be happier."

Despite elevating his game to an all-time high last year, too often he was forced to be MacGyver, constantly scraping for useful contributions from his scanty supporting cast while refusing to let constant double and triple teams minimize his impact. The Bulls struggled to boil water whenever he rested on the bench.

Chicago ranked 28th in three-point rate and 24th in three-point percentage yet Butler still dragged them to the playoffs. The floor opened up a tiny bit when Nikola Mirotic played the four, but aging, antiquated guards like Dwyane Wade and Rajon Rondo too often made the offense feel claustrophobic. It wasn't an ideal environment for a wing scorer to thrive, but somehow Butler did.

From 2015 to 2017, the percentage of Butler's two-point field goals that were unassisted increased by just over 20 percent, but his True Shooting percentage didn't fall. He finished with more Win Shares than LeBron James, Russell Westbrook, and Kawhi Leonard last year, and was third in "Real Plus-Minus Wins," a stat that estimates how many wins a player contributes to his team's season total, behind only LeBron James and Steph Curry.

"You can't put somebody in a box and then have them think outside the box. Jimmy thinks like there's no box, so he has no ceiling. Every day we wake up to break boundaries," Johnson says. "I'm able to develop him as a point guard, as a shooting guard, as a small forward, as a power forward, and as a center. He's a basketball player. He's a scorer. He's not a shooter. He's not just a primary driver. He can do pretty much anything that is asked of him from his coaches because he allowed me to prepare him for every single situation. The only person who can stop Jimmy is Jimmy. He don't have a flaw."

Even for a person as motivated as he is, Butler's journey to the NBA was a miraculous tightrope walk. There were no AAU connections or free sneakers. Butler is from Tomball, Texas, a slight town about 30 miles outside Houston. After his mother kicked him out of the house when he was 13, Butler couchsurfed through his teenage years before finding relative stability when his friend's mother agreed to take him in. The story has been told often, but remains too incredible to be sensationalized.

For the typical prospect, coming to average 20 points in the NBA is less likely than purchasing a winning Powerball ticket. For Butler, it was less likely than holding said ticket while riding in the backseat of a limousine with Beyonce, eloping in Vegas.

Butler didn't receive any scholarship offers out of high school, but he did get noticed by a scout named Alan Branch. Branch identified qualities his colleagues missed, and started to chirp in the direction of any coaches who'd listen. You guys are missing a steal. But no offers were made even after Butler played well in a couple spring tournaments. Nobody thought he was Division-I material.

"The biggest thing I can say is he wasn't flashy, he wasn't a freak talent, and he was in the bushes," Branch says.

So instead of preparing for his first year at a school like Texas Christian University or Morehead State, Branch introduced Butler to Coach Marquis at Tyler Junior College, about three hours north of Tomball. He spent a day working out in their gym, scrimmaged with some of their players and local high-school competition, and was offered a spot right away.

"Mike never saw him shoot the basketball," Branch said. "Jimmy played like four or five possessions, made the right passes, got a rebound. He was just solid. You could just see the IQ."

It's impossible to know what would've happened had Branch never brought Butler to Marquis's attention. There were other junior colleges in the area that might have granted Butler a chance to walk on, but a few critical variables would've spun in unpredictable directions had he played anywhere else. To start, Tyler was very good, and good teams draw Division-I eyeballs.

Up until that point in his career, Butler mostly operated in the frontcourt. He crashed the glass, defended well, and offered a tenaciousness that probably wouldn't have the same effect against bigger, stronger competition. But thanks to the team's roster construction, Marquis shifted Butler to the perimeter on a full-time basis, forcing him to showcase a more appealing and varied skill-set.

"I didn't think people would draft him out of junior college after one year, but I thought he was draftable," Marquis said. "I called [Bulls general manager] Gar Forman, who I had known since he was coaching at Iowa State and New Mexico State, and said there's something special about Jimmy. If they just continued to watch his progress, they'd really, really like him."

Far and away the longest lasting benefit from his time in Tyler was who he met while there. Butler's roommate that season was a 6'7" wing named Joe Fulce, who was recruited to play for Marquette University by the school's then-assistant coach Buzz Williams.

"Every time I went to go see Joe, of course, I would say hello to Jimmy," Williams says.

Fulce—who's now a graduate assistant coach under Williams at Virginia Tech—and Butler were like a pair of Siamese fighting fish (who also happened to be friends). They competed in everything and played countless games of one on one, after practice, before games; even at random times in the middle of the night—whenever Butler wasn't hypnotized by his eight hundredth viewing of The Lion King.

"I don't know how many times I'd either wake up in the morning or wake up at night and his ass is sitting in bed, eating some snacks, with his feet crossed, with a cowboy hat on, watching the damn Lion King with some country music softly playing," Fulce said to VICE Sports. "His ass is weird." (Butler still really loves country music.)

Butler led Tyler in scoring and guided them to a 24-5 record. All the while, Fulce relentlessly pitched Williams on his roommate's all-around potential. A little while later Williams became Marquette's head coach. Butler was the first player he signed. His letter of intent was famously faxed over from a nearby McDonald's, and his first day on campus doubled as the first day of school. Butler still had Fulce as his roommate, but never visited Milwaukee beforehand.

"I think from day one until the day he graduated, he became much more confident in who he was on and off the floor," Williams says. "I think he became less distrustful. His personality showed more often. He was much more comfortable. Obviously, that was an extended period of time where his environment and the people in his environment were stable."

In three years, Butler never dropped a class, skipped a meeting with his tutor, or showed up late to a weightlifting session. In large part due to Butler being Williams's first signing, there was inescapable pressure on them both to perform. And through some tough times early on, a mutually beneficial bond was formed.

"What can I say, in some ways I'm proud of it and in other ways I'm not proud of it," Williams says. "I was hard on him. I was hard on him in every way. I never gave him any relief in any facet of his life, and to his credit he never wanted one. I think as our time together transpired, he expected that. He wanted that. He wanted that as an example to everybody else on the team."

Butler says the lessons learned in three years at Marquette still resonate, and his relationship with Williams remains strong. Now the head coach at Virginia Tech, Williams gave Butler a journal during his second year in the league. He still writes in it.

Next year, the journal will be different. He'll be in a new city, with a new team, and a new set of expectations—at least externally. Internally, Butler still has a bottomless urge to be great. He's forever that serial killer's dream. He rolls out of bed each morning focused and ready to go for a 90-minute session with Johnson. It's the first of two workouts they fight through every day. They start by zooming in on ball-handling, finishing, floaters, runners, one-legged jumpers, off-balance jumpers, side pick-and-rolls, middle pick-and-rolls, pick-and-roll passing, and so on and so forth.

He's already one of the craftiest and effective downhill playmakers in basketball, but for Butler to truly max out his potential in the coming seasons, that jumper needs to stabilize. Last year, he knocked down 36.7 percent of his threes, which is right around league average and an improvement on the previous season. But a higher percentage of his field goal attempts were launched from the inefficient mid-range, where he only canned 38.2 percent. On the whole, that's not an atrocious number, but it badly trails positional peers like Kawhi Leonard, Paul George, and Kevin Durant.

Later in the day, the second session with Johnson is devoted to shot mechanics—how he can better himself shooting on the move and off the bounce. They study preferable ways for him to create separation and sharpen his technique on fadeaways. Every workout is filmed, allowing Butler and Johnson to obsess over ball and hand placement. They really dig into the finer details that are necessary to make him a more potent all-around weapon.

After the morning workout, Butler rewards himself with a five-minute break and then embarks on a soul-crippling hour with Gaines. Gaines and Johnson work with other professional athletes but have still met with Butler almost every day for the past four years. They will continue to do so in Minnesota. When Butler goes on vacation, be it to Europe, Canada, Mexico, or Mars, Gaines and Johnson come along for the ride.

"I'm not cheap," Gaines says. "But he pays whatever it costs and whatever it takes to keep his body right."

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are reserved for corrective exercises, movement prep, movement training, and strength training. Tuesdays and Thursdays are for conditioning work and agility training. Saturdays and Sundays are strictly conditioning. Sometimes they race on the beach or hop on a football field to sprint 110 yards at a time.

Sometimes they'll get back on an actual basketball court just to embrace the delightful sensation that a gasser can have on the human body. Gassers are timed sprints where, starting on the baseline, Butler has 17 seconds to go half the court and back, then dart to the opposite end line before returning to where he started. "We'll do 10 to 15 of those," Gaines said. It sounds like torture, but for Butler the entire process is more vital than oxygen.

There are obvious reasons to think the hard work will continue to pay off. This year, Butler may find that instead of doing more with less, he'll have the chance to do more with more. In Minnesota, defenses will have to worry about Towns, Wiggins, and Jeff Teague, the kind of score-first point guard Butler hasn't played with since Derrick Rose's body broke down. He'll be able to allocate more energy towards the defensive end—Butler failed to make an All-Defensive team for the first time in three years last season. Despite just four percent body fat hanging from his 230-pound frame, Butler still gets tired every once in a while.

If he can hunt for more open opportunities behind the three-point line instead of settling on tough, contested heaves, he can be one of the most efficient players in the entire NBA.

That won't necessarily be easy. The Timberwolves actually finished behind Chicago in three-point rate last season. And given how their roster is built, Thibodeau will likely lean on dated lineups that can be exploited when up against modernized rotations. Gorgui Dieng and Taj Gibson will platoon the power forward position, even though they're both better suited as backup fives. Life on the court may be cluttered once again.

But if Towns leaps forward on the defensive end, Thibs could deploy more versatile units that will accentuate Butler's strengths. The floor will open up and, if that's the case, it's hard to see how he won't be a legitimate MVP candidate. According to Synergy Sports, Butler ranked in the 77th percentile as a pick-and-roll ball-handler last year. He was 95th in transition, 92nd in spot-up situations, and 91st in the post.

The Timberwolves boast a core that can, in Towns's words, evolve into a dynasty. Butler likes the fit and is confident he can teach Thibodeau's system to younger teammates who struggled to grasp it last season. But he's also understandably cautious when it comes to attaching any bold claims to a group that ranked 26th in defense last year.

"I don't like the word 'Super Team'," he says. "I think everybody's human. That's [what] people label Golden State. They're a really really, really good basketball team. Super team?...On any given time they can be beat, too. It's all about who's playing basketball the best at the right time."

Towns and Wiggins can fill an ocean with their upside. Photo: Chris Humphreys-USA TODAY Sports.

Dethroning the Warriors is goal number one. But even if the Timberwolves fall short, Butler will certainly use his time in Minneapolis to expand his fame over the next few years. With the league's popularity increasing every day in countries all over the world, a genuine superstar's brand is worth exponentially more than the $19.3 million Minnesota owes Butler this season. Off-court opportunities are constantly nipping at his attention. Three years ago, he took a 75 percent pay cut to go from adidas to Jordan, joining Blake Griffin, Carmelo Anthony, Kawhi Leonard, Russell Westbrook, and over a dozen other NBA stars. (During our day together, Butler poked fun at a camera operator wearing adidas tennis shoes.)

Bonobos, a menswear company that was recently bought by Walmart, made Butler their brand ambassador last August. And just this month he released his own signature underwear line with PSD, a company Kyrie Irving and Chandler Parsons are also affiliated with. (Butler's photographer Phil envisions a coffee table book. "If Kim Kardashian can do it," he says. "Why can't Jimmy?")

Last year, he dipped his toe in Hollywood by appearing in Office Christmas Party, a comedy his life guru Mark Wahlberg helped put him in. Butler met Wahlberg in 2013 while the actor was filming a Transformers movie in Chicago. They've been close friends ever since, with Butler citing the 46-year-old's vigorous work ethic as one of the biggest inspirations in his life.

"He's already one of the best at what he does, but he works as though he's not. The guy wakes up at 3:30, 4:00 AM to work out. Then he'll go take his mind off of stuff and play some golf," Butler says. "He eats healthy and spends time with his family and he's reading scripts and he's in meetings and he's on phone calls. Before you know it, it's time to do it all over again the next day." (Butler's all-time favorite Wahlberg movie is Shooter. "Bob Lee Swagger is that dude," he says.)

Butler played himself in Office Christmas Party, alongside Jason Bateman and Olivia Munn. He wasn't stiff in his only scene; the film's two directors, Josh Gordon and Will Speck, were impressed by his initial foray into a brand new field. "LeBron surprised everyone in Trainwreck by being so fully formed as an actor," Gordon told VICE Sports. "If Jimmy wanted to [act in the future], he could do it. He's got that kind of charisma. It's up to him."

Butler isn't sure how much longer he wants to be an NBA player, but hopes to squeeze in at least seven years, two championships, and widespread respect as one of his era's greatest stars before his body cries uncle. (No big deal.) If he opts out of his player option in 2019, the former Most Improved Player can experience unrestricted free agency for the very first time; just about every team that can afford a max contract will be interested. Even though that level of courtship is something Butler has never gone through before, he's yet to think about what it'll feel like.

"I'll tell you one thing," he says. "I'm gonna go or I'm gonna be or I'm gonna stay wherever I'm wanted, man. Because that's all anybody ever wants," he says. "To be appreciated."

Jimmy Butler Has Something To Say published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv