Chris Paul knows the singular of “thumbs up”.
So much I’ve missed to talk about in the last couple of weeks of the NBA playoffs. There was the Hawks…and then there wasn’t the Hawks. There were all the teams that lost, there was Steve breaking my heart again, there was an award for Kobe (and not an award for Al). There were sweeps, a seven game series, and the emasculation of LeBron, if only for a game. There was validation; there was utter wrongness. And, of course, there was Chris Paul.
Chris Paul is, at twenty-two, what Steve took thirty years to reach. He is elite. He is amazing. He had the best statistical season (according to PER) of anyone in NBA history except Michael Jordan: he is the GOATEFMJ. He deserves in-depth contemplation and analysis, which is why I’m not going to analyze a thing…except for cute/funny pictures of him, of course.
Chris Paul is adorable.
Chris Paul: c’est le saveur.
Chris Paul is gleeful.
Chris Paul is Obama of the Bayou.
Chris Paul can even make wearing sunglasses at night, inside, look cool.
Chris Paul has eyes in the back of his head.
Chris Paul frightens Jordan Farmar.
When Chris Paul touches fire, he doesn’t get burned. The fire gets Chris Pauled.
Chris Paul LEAPS UPON YOUR CHEST, HAKIM WARRICK!
Chris Paul walks between the raindrops.
Chris Paul says to Tony Parker: “You know we’re going to kick your ass, right?”
Tony Parker says to Chris Paul: “Mais oui, c’est vrai.”
Chris Paul can divide by zero.
And Chris Paul? FEARS NOTHING.