Nate Robinson’s a lot like all of us.
We’ve all been there before on the court. Your team is pretty much guaranteed a win. You’re up by a comfortable margin and all your teammates are smiling from ear-to-ear. This is because the trip to the bar afterwards feels a lot better following a successful run at the court compared to the stink bombs last weekend when you and your boys were still halfway drunk from the night before.
Nevertheless, your jumper’s been working all game and the dude who was talking cash money shit prior to tipoff has been forced to eat humble pie with a toothpick all afternoon.
You may or may not have pulled an Ice Cube and went for a triple double, but your team’s at game point and up by 10. It’s time for some showboating and to see where that jumper of yours really is. You demand the ball from your homie, clapping hands erratically. Suddenly, the rim appears as wide as an ocean. You hit your man with a slight crossover, step back and launch a three (when all your team really needs is a simple layup to win).
It doesn’t matter because this is your moment. And just like you planned it, BOTTOMS. Guess who’s going to be the man at happy hour? That’s right, you are, you gunslinging son of a gun!
This, my friend, is what Nate Robinson did in the final moments of a Denver 112-98 road victory in Toronto.
Happy Holidays, y’all.
Cred: Hardwood Paroxysm
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