"Dirk is Clumsy on Horseback, Nash Skillful."
At first, I thought maybe it was a chopped-and-screwed variation on Jesse Hyde's cover story from 2007, about the time Dirk Nowitzki hightailed it to Australia to find hisself, dig? ("Then came the summer of Dirk's retreat--into the mountains? The desert? On a single-sailed raft, adrift in uncharted seas?") Then I thought it might be just an artfully crafted scouting report ("Dirk drains the first one, all net, and starts screaming and beating his chest like a fucking insane person, stares down the closest Piston or Sixer, who won't meet his fucking eyes, okay?"). Then I thought it could be some overwrought Esquire celebrity profile ("As my stature in the Association swelled, I grew accustomed to hearing the assembled American thousands thunderously chanting my name, causing it to reverberate from the rafters and shake the foundations of the arenas in which we would compete --"). Then I realized, nope, it's just fan fiction ("Well, for a guy who's seven-foot tall, his cock was actually surprisingly average").