You wake up later than usual – 1:15 in the afternoon, instead of 1:10. You meander about your house, going through your daily routine:

1) Lie on sofa for an hour.
2) Lie to trainer about why you missed workout.
3) Lie on kitchen floor looking for keys.
4) Lie to Portland Trailblazers about something. Anything. You just want to wreck their day, and you do.

4:00 rolls around, and you call up your buddy and teammate, Darius Miles. “Hey Darius, what’s going on?” you say.

“Yo, Zach – did you see the news? You’re all over it! They said you’re being investigated in a sexual assault thing!”

“What’s the news?” you wonder out loud. “I’d like to get high now.”

Darius agrees – he’s just finished his daily workout of 10 layups. He says his game will be tighter than ever next year, and everyone will agree he’s finally the next Kevin Garnett.

As you’re getting in the car to head to Darius’s place, you realize something. Some Tummy Tuck Surgery would save you all the trouble of missing your workouts. You can be that lean, mean Zach you’ve always wanted to be.

You pull up the handy Plastic Surgeon Directory on your Treo and begin looking through it. “Damn! This is handy!” you say to your dog, Ruffles.

That’s when you remember you left your other dog, Cheetos, over at Darius’s place, which makes you remember you’re supposed to be over at Darius’s place.

It’s now 7:30 at night – your typically most productive hour is upon you!

[If you remember, in certain cases, these books actually ended badly for the heroes. Maybe next time, you'll vote differently.]

You take a step toward ‘Nique, who directs you toward the awaiting locker. He nods, and you enter…when the Human Highlight Film grabs the back of your head and shoves you into the locker! “What’re you doing, Mr. Wilkins?!”

“I’m supposed to shove you in! You’re not supposed to step inside yourself!” He slams the door, knocking you into the back of the cramped space. This wasn’t made for someone of your height. It’s hot in here – you start to sweat.

“Mr. Wilkins? Is this – is this supposed to be help -”

“You had it all, Joe! Can’t you see that!? Do you know what I would have given up to play on a team like the Suns, Joe? Are you listening to me? Do you know I’m one of only 12 players to score over 25,000 points in their career? Do you know that I’m not even in the Hall of Fame? Do you see why? Do you understand? Do you see?!?!? ”

“I can’t see anything, Mr. Wilkins! I can’t! It’s all dark in here!” You start banging on the door – you’d do anything to get out of this horrible place and back to your mansion (with no championship banners)! But you’re locked in – you’re trapped! There’s no out clause! “Mr. Wilkins!!!! Help me!!!!”

“See you in 5 years and 70 million dollars, Joe. You should have quite a weekend, playing the Raptors tonight and ooo…the SUNS on Sunday.”

You hear Dominique walk off and out of the room. You’re all alone. You’re all alone.

You’re all alone.

(But you’re rich.)

THE END

[Yesterday was a close vote, meaning you people like phone calls better than mystical lights, dancing, and Lost. Maybe this should be YAYsports! Chooses Your Adventure For You.]

You back away from the light. “Get away from me! I’m boring!” you yell, “I’m going to miss going on a wild adventure that could change my life so that I can call a retired basketball player and talk about being a 2-win basketball team!”

As the light fades away, you pull out your cell phone and dial ‘Nique. If he’ll just forgive you for all that has become of the franchise, maybe it will help you in some way. It rings twice, and the Human Highlight Film himself comes on the line. “Hello?”

“Mr. Wilkins? This is Joe Johnson.” There’s nothing but silence on the other end. “Mr. Wilkins? I – I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize for what, Joe?”

You swallow hard. “For everything, Mr. Wilkins.” You hear a click. He hung up on you? Oh, no…no…

You feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn around, and it’s him! It’s Dominique Wilkins! He looks kind, but serious. “Thank you for that, Joe. I’d like to help you, Joe.”

“Help me? For real?”

“Yes, Joe. We simply can’t have more losses like the ugly one against the Heat last night, Joe. The damn hawk didn’t even fly off the guy’s hand, Joe.”

“Why do you keep saying my name like that, Mr. Wilkins?”

You get nervous, as ‘Nique opens a locker and looks you over a couple times. “You’re going to have to let me stuff you in this locker, Joe. Everything will be clear after that, Joe. I promise, Joe.”

[Due to Mr. Packard's inability to realize a whole day would pass in the real world between installments, the timeline of this thing is all screwed up. Thanks to everyone who voted yesterday.]

WHACK! You punch Tyronn in the face, and he goes down hard. “Damn, Joe! What was that for?”

“I just felt an urge, you little Sisco-fied-ass point guard.” You reach out a hand to help Tyronn up, and apologize for misspelling his name the other day. He tells you it happens all the time, and then he feels sad.

You friendship renewed, you and Tyronn head to shootaround in preparation for your impending 100-85 loss to the Rockets. Coach Woodson can’t help but frown as he watches the team get ready. The rest of the day is a daze, as is most of the game. Afterward, you come to in the middle of trying to explain what happened to the local paper.

“I think we’ve really been like that the whole season,” said Johnson, who led the Hawks with 17 points, seven assists and four rebounds. “The ball really doesn’t move around a lot and that keeps us from getting the easy baskets on the offensive [end]. I think that comes from all of us, not giving up the ball. Guys get it and keep it because they don’t think they’re going to get it back. That’s why it’s on all of us to come together and play the right way.”

Later, alone in the locker room, you’re miserable. Lost. You’re often playing out of position, despite your Muppetesque friend being put into the starting line-up next to you. Can it get any lower? You wonder if you’ve hit rock-bottom…when in the corner, there’s a light. A hazy, glowy light – it’s getting bigger and coming toward you. Is “glowy” even a word? That’s all you can think.

But the light is getting closer. You hear a disembodied voice say, “Hello, Joe…”

You’re Joe Johnson, and you can’t believe your luck. Trix is the hottest hooker in town, and she’s so pretty she almost looks like a stripper. That’s high class here in the ATL. It’s not quite the PHX…but Trix will do. You watch her get dressed and count the 5 grand you just gave her. “Trix are for kids!” she squeals, as she slips the money in her pocket.

She leaves, and you’re left to your own thoughts again. You feel a little better, but as the smell of Trix wears away and the scent of tonight’s game (and another loss) sets in, you become depressed again. Even though you’re playing the equally crappy Houston Rockets, you can’t help but wonder what Steve Nash is up to right now.

There’s a knock on the door. You go to answer it, and it’s your point guard-by-default Tyrone Lue, whose rookie card sits there online for sale endlessly, unable to garner even $4.99.

“Yo, was that Trix?” Tyrone kind of hops up and down when he talks – like a little kid. Or Ja Rule, only shittier. You nod. “Yeah, that was Trix.” Tyrone pulls out a wad of cash.

“We got time before shootaround!”

You’re Joe Johnson. You’ve been turning over and over all night long – you’ve forgotten to take your sleeping pills again. Things have been rough since you’ve come over to the Hawks. Al Harrington is a super nice guy, and Josh Smith can jump really high, but he isn’t blocking shots like he was last year. The team has recently been red hot, winning two in a row, but a harsh home loss to Portland has brought everyone’s spirits crashing back to Earth.

The phone rings. You reach over and check the I.D. – it’s your agent, Arn Tellem. Arn has done a lot for you, helping you sign that big contract and finally getting you off a winning team. But losing isn’t everything you thought it was going to be. Do you really like being the number one option and a league leader in turnovers?

You pick up. Arn doesn’t even give you a chance to say hello. “Do you want me to get you out? Denver needs a shooting guard. Want me to make some calls?”

You think about it. Is it too soon to give up? Is that the type of man you want to be?

“Joe?”

Vote now! To be continued tomorrow and all this week!