The first time I ever saw Troy Hennum, he was following my buddy Phil around. Phil stood 6’7″, played for the University of Washington basketball team, and cast a long shadow over his much more diminutive tagalong. The alignment was symbolic — Phil silently and casually strolling into the IMA (UW’s student gym) with Troy damn near stalking the Husky athlete as he ran behind him, all while talking a million miles a minute. It was the personification of jersey-chasing, and it was awesome to behold.
They say that one of the best ways to find out about a man’s character is to play basketball with him. On that day, I played ball with Phil and Troy, Troy for the first time. Immediately, he bugged the shit out of me. This was a bro’s bro. A headband-wearing frat boy instigator, the ultimate in brodaciousness come to life.
Woke up this morning remembering every detail of my dream in complete clarity. To call this the greatest dream ever is an understatement. At the very least, we need to refer to it with unnecessary capitalization of letters (EVER!).
So here’s the premise.
I’m stuck in Eugene, Oregon for whatever awful reason and find my way into a basketball arena where I’m quickly trapped along with about 20,000 or so other people.
Unbeknownst to everyone else (but beknownst to me, even though beknownst isn’t a word) we are here to be killed. Killed by none other than University of Oregon basketball coach/diabolical genius bent on world domination Ernie Kent.
Using Detroit Lions quarterback Matthew Stafford as a robot weapon of mass destruction, Kent has plotted to have us all murdered for his pure enjoyment (his motive is not made entirely clear to me, though at this point in my dream I’m in that “act first, ask question later” mode).