Netflix is calling me. My brother Sean was telling me about a show his wife is “making” him watch,Grace and Frankie. He said it’s really funny and I should give it a try. Needing a laugh, I decide to take his suggestion.
At least that’s what I told myself.
Lips pursed to the side, fingers hovering over my keyboard, I pause in my attempt to watch something funny, my mind deceiving me.
Type it in; go ahead. Netflix. N-E-T . . .
But my fingers don’t listen, instead, they type out something entirely different.
I focus on the screen in front of me and squeeze my eyes shut.
Hayden Holmes press conference.
Don’t press enter. Don’t you dare do it. You don’t need to watch his press conference that supposedly got him traded. This will do nothing to help your situation. There is no good in watching it.
Enter.
Oh my finger, what a defiant bitch.
Okay, no need to actually watch the video, despite the multiple links that pop up.
Oh look, there he is, headlines claiming Hayden as angry, a poor sport, and loses his temper. That’s not who he is.
Why am I defending him?
Maybe he is an angry tyrant, and I have no clue. I mean, we were only together for a little over a month. That’s not enough time to show your true colors . . .
Although, he did just lose the game that would have put them in the championships. If I were one step away from the biggest trophy in my sport, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be a smooth-talking fella either.
But what did he say?
My finger hovers over the first link. This is stupid, and you’re just going to regret it in the end. This is a toxic tendency, watching videos of people who are no longer in your life just for the hell of it.
All this is going to do is upset you. Now go on, go watch Netflix.
My finger clicks on the top link.
Son of a bitch.
Angry with myself but also strangely pleased, I sit up and turn up the volume of my computer.
The first thing I notice in the video is Hayden’s posture. He’s hunched over, arms folded on the table in front of him, baseball cap pulled low over his forehead. His eyes are barely visible, his jaw pulsing, his shoulders tense.
Focusing on the interview, I listen intently, watching Hayden’s body language with each question asked and each answer he speaks into the microphone.
“Do you have any regrets about that fight with Marcus Miller?”
Leans into the microphone. Unapologetically. “No.”
Flashes of light instantly bounce off him. He doesn’t flinch.
Sips his water.
Looks around the room.
Tense and vacant.
“So you don’t think the fight cost you advancement in the playoffs?”
