Athletes are often asked what was running through their minds during given plays. This is what was running through Memphis center Marc Gasol’s when he dunked on Phoenix’s Markieff Morris on Wednesday night.
2:48 on the game clock
There goes Pondexter, here comes Conley. These little men. They run around me. Always running.
Gortat. He will overcommit like the mangy sheepdog that he is. But will I get the ball? These questions vex me. In the night. Memphis, you cruel mistress.
What is happening? I feel like Moses.
There is so much bright light. Am I about to die? No matter. ‘Tis a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done. Hamlet said that. This is for Pau. This is for the postered. This is for everyone who has ever been screamed on, stared at, told to “GET OFF ME.” No, sir. You will get off of me. This is for Kendrick and Mozgov. This is for those who stand beneath those who dunk. I will avenge you. I am certain. Sorry, Marcus Morris.
I mean Markieff.
They say, when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. All I see is Zach Randolph.