The following is a piece of fan fiction written by Josh Zavadil and submitted to RedsArmy.com. If you have posts you want to submit, use the contact tab at the top of the site.
He was up before the sun rose on that cold winter morning. Not because he had anything to do, he just hadn’t slept well the night before.
Sunday night had not been too kind to him. Just before the game, Coach Stevens told him that he would be increasing Jeff Green’s minutes, thus taking some playing time away from Gerald.
Naturally, Gerald wasn’t happy.
The Celtics lost and Gerald, for what seemed like the one-hundredth time, complained about the Celtics to the press.
“This team just doesn’t want to win,” he said to reporters after the game. “Everything they do, they do for themselves. They don’t try hard enough. It’s frustrating.”
***
The streets of Boston are awfully lonely when there’s a winter storm, especially at 7 a.m. But snow doesn’t stop a man from needing a warm cup of coffee in the morning.
Gerald set out for a coffee shop down the street. On his way, he encountered an elderly man walking slowly through the snowy sidewalk.
“Morning to you,” the man said to Gerald.
“Hey,” Gerald replied as he tried to walk by as quickly as possible. Gerald hated casual conversation.
“Where ya headed?” the man asked.
“Coffee shop,” said Gerald.
“Coffee sounds good today. Mind if I join you?” replied the man.
“Sure,” said Gerald.
The man picked up his pace a bit to keep up with Gerald. The coffee shop was only two blocks down the street.
***
Gerald ordered the the Caffé Mocha with soy milk and no whipped cream. He sat down to enjoy it for a bit before walking back to his place, and the man approached him and asked if he could sit down and talk.
“Until I’m ready to leave,” Gerald responded.
“Good. My name is Phillip. So what brings you to Boston,” he said as he sipped his hot coffee.
“Not fate. Probably not even destiny. It mainly just happened, like everything in life,” Gerald said.
“Ah, yes. Life plays itself out in a funny way, doesn’t it? One minute you’re here, and the next minute you’re there. One minute you’re happy, and the next minute you’re upset,” Phillp said.
Gerald was always upset, it seemed. Whether it had to do with his playing time, Coach Stevens leaving him on the bench to begin the fourth quarter or his food not being cooked properly — he always had his reasons for being upset.
“Yeah, life is pretty strange like that, I guess,” Gerald said. “It’s just not cool. You work so hard, you try so hard, and then sometimes you get put into a situation you don’t want to be in, when in reality, I should be rewarded for working hard all of those years.”
“Says who? You?” Phillip asked. “People work hard for years and never catch a big break. People put in long hours of work and sometimes it never gets noticed, err, what’s your name?”
“Gerald.”
“Gerald. Everyone desires to be noticed and rewarded for hard work. But sometimes that doesn’t happen in the way we think it should. And if it did, we’d be living in a perfect world. But we don’t,” Phillip explained.
Gerald’s eyes were focused on the dog peeing on the lightpost outside. His attention was focused on his poorly made CaffeMocha. His ears caught most of what Phillip was saying. His brain processed it between sips of his drink.
“Yeah. I guess. But it’s just that I work my butt off for this team. I give my all. I want it bad. I want to win, but nobody else seems to want to win,” Gerald explained.
“Gerald Wallace. My goodness. I thought I recognized you,” Phillip said. “You do work hard. You’ve worked hard your whole career. But don’t for a second try to tell me your teammates don’t want to win. That’s a cop out, son.”
This wasn’t Phillip’s first run-in with Boston Celtics players. He grew up in Boston. He understood the Celtics lore. Earlier in the summer he sat on the subway with Jordan Crawford and encouraged him to work hard at his craft.
Apparently Jordan listened, but he wasn’t about to tell Gerald about that encounter. He knew Gerald needed to see things for himself.
“I’m about finished with this. I think I’m gonna go. Was nice talking to you, Phillip,” Gerald said.
“Wait, Gerald. I hate to be a burden, but do you think you could get me a cab? I live a ways away and don’t think walking all the way back in the cold is wise with how hard the snow is falling now,” Phillip said.
So Gerald called a cab. The two got into the taxi and the driver slowly made his way towards Phillip’s home first.
“Thank you so much, Gerald. You keep your chin up and keep working hard. Things will work out. Just remember. When the going gets tough, the tough either stay inside, watch Oxygen and order pizza, or they decide to keep going. It’s your choice,” said Phillip.
Gerald wasn’t listening. He was busy sending texts to his friend Kris about his awful morning trip to the coffee shop. Kris wasn’t awake to read them. It was 8:30 a.m.
“One block away,” the driver said as he approached an intersection.
“Oh, one last thing, Gerald,” Phillip said. “I heard your nickname is ‘Crash’ and I was wondering where you got that nickname.”
“I think it happened because I developed a reputation of,” Gerald began.
He farted loudly, and it startled the driver.
The cab spun out of control and crashed into a light post.
Hope you all enjoyed this piece of fan fiction, and you can read more from Josh by following him on Twitter.
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