Happy 34th birthday, Vince Carter! Please don’t eat my brain.
The illustrious invention we call the internet is alight with “Happy Birthday!” wishes for Vince Carter. But I’m not so sure we should be wishing Vince a joyous day on the anniversary of his birth.
This has nothing to do with Vince’s recent play – at least, not in a direct way. True, he’s been atrocious on offense (two games in the past four, Vince has shot 1-for-6 from the floor) and a slightly-slower Vince on defense, but players slow as they age, and as Vince told the Arizona Republic:
“It happens sometimes with a team like this where a lot of guys can score and Grant (Hill) and J.D. (Jared Dudley) are playing well,” Carter said. “It’s all about patience.”
No, my friends and fellow Suns fans – we should forgo showering Vince with choruses of “Joyeux Anniversaire!” (does Vince speak French? He sometimes showed up for games in Toronto, so I’m going to assume yes) because he no longer is alive.
That’s silly, you might say. Sure, he’s not the most spry (DDL buzzword!) player on the court anymore, and he certainly won’t be dunking the ball in traffic, but I can see him moving around, and I can even imagine him interacting with his teammates if I close my eyes hard enough!
Oh yes, Vince Carter is still ambulatory. That’s only because, as a result of Stan Van Gundy’s genetic laboratory*, Vince has become one of the living dead. He shuffles from basketball-playing town to town, carrying a highly-evolved form of the Z-virus engineered by Stan Van in a desperate attempt to turn the entire Western Conference into Carter-Zombies.
*Don’t look at me like that. Look at Dwight Howard – you’re going to tell me the Magic don’t have access to such a lab? Granted, they may want to work on their lower-body development, but still…
I know, I know – this seems ridiculous. Surely zombies aren’t real – and even if they are, Vince can’t be one of them! We’ve yet to see him mount a player or referee, Mendenhall-on-Roethlisberger-style, and begin to consume their brains. But Vince isn’t sustained by brains – all he requires are the tears of his point guard, caused by Zombie-Vince’s inability to finish above the rim any longer or guard anyone on a pick-and-roll.
Look at the evidence. Vince doesn’t care about ANYTHING, much like a zombie. Whether he’s “hustling” back on defense, hitting a clutch shot, or standing in the huddle, he always has the same vacant, blank stare on his face. He hardly interacts with his teammates on the court – some might say out of apathy. I believe this is because, since his infection by Mad Scientist Ron Jeremy, Vince has forgotten our language and our way of communicating. He’s trapped in a glass case of zombie, and he just doesn’t care.
And do you really think a human-Vince Carter would have laid the ball up here? Of course not! Real-Vince would have taken that ball straight up against Tayshaun and dunked so ferociously that we’d forget all about his defensive shortcomings. Real-Vince would have torn the roof off the place, even on the road. Zombie-Vince shrugs his shoulders, takes his two points (Woohoo! Over 20,000 now!), and waits for Steve Nash’s tears to come.
In the end, though, the joke will be on Stan Van Gundy. You see, in order for this strain of the Z-Virus to effectively infect its target, the existing zombie’s sweat must come into contact with the target’s skin. Given Vince’s defense so far, no opposing player is in any danger, so long as they refuse to give a zombie dap before or after the game.
…oh God, what about Vince’s teammates, though? Surely this virus can’t be used against them, right? All the symptoms of Vince’s condition – the bad defense, the lack of scoring, the apathy – surely couldn’t bring down one of the classiest players in the league, could it?
No…no! It’s already starting! RUN, STEVE! RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take my medication.