thelesterlee
This is an excerpt from the Let’s Get This Dread Newsletter. Subscribe for the full Lessons Learned From The NBA This Week article.
Rooting for the Boston Celtics or Los Angeles Lakers will always feel like dweeb endeavors. Vanilla ice cream, Dasani water, white generic New Balance behavior. “Hey, I’m not starting this car until everyone has their seatbelts on”, bib collar tucked, SuperCuts customers.
And now they have Luka Doncic.
Luka Dončić leads LAL to their 6th straight win!
⭐️ 29 PTS (52.9 FG%)
⭐️ 9 AST
⭐️ 6 REB
⭐️ 5 3PMThe @Lakers are now 2nd in the West 👀 pic.twitter.com/saBDr9ahhW
— NBA (@NBA) March 3, 2025
This is hell.
Thanks to a petty general manager convincing a new, cheap, dangerously powerful ownership group they should trade their 25-year-old superstar—less than a year from leading this organization to the NBA Finals—Luka Doncic now plays for your lamest friend’s favorite team: The Los Angeles Lakers.
Luka Doncic is an arrogant, showboating, ball hog who, at any point in the night, can turn a game into a carnival event. His dribbling appears so labored and physically taxing then, in the blink of an eye, through herculean efforts, he finds enough space to launch a deep 3-pointer that rims in, 12 labors later—barking at his defender, or the crowd or the opposing team’s bench—as if he convinced himself someone in the building doubted his talent.
Dallas Mavericks GM, Nico Harrison, claimed Luka was an obese, hookah-smoking alcoholic—like, yea, that’s the shit that makes Luka so cool.
Luka looks like a bus driver in Queens, by day—by night, one of the most dynamic scorers on the planet, smoking cigarettes at half time and finishing a 6-pack of Bud heavies before the team bus gets to the hotel.
He’s like if Clark Kent shotgun a beer to transform into Superman.
And now he’s joining forces with LeBron James—a man who spends more money to maintain his physique than Elon Musk spends on the aliens he keeps siring, whose names are all strong password suggestions.
LeBron’s emitted dad energy for at least 12 years now. I mean, shit, his son is literally on the Lakers. LeBron James is the team dad.
Luka is about to go through Boot Camp, returning from summer vacation with an entirely different personality. Swag confiscated. Luka is about to have the best posture—this soon-to-be well-rested, on-time, well-mannered milquetoast, predictable professional.
All the flashy, risky cross-court passes are memories. Corporate Luka is here to win basketball games efficiently. You must win games and please the sponsors. The Lakers are running Luka through the lame machine.
RIP to the beer-chugging, shit-talking, ass-kicking, Stone Cold Steve Austin of the NBA.
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