I wake up this morning to an email from a friend that made me sad. Here's the gist:
You hit Carl Herrera with a weight
Ran into the stands (because that fan probably did deserve it)
You quit on the team, even though you faked an injury to do it (because you were Mad Max, you had contributed so much already)
But I couldn't let it go when you obviously were a dead beat dad, you couldn't even show up to the trial. You've been accused but never convicted of hitting a lady before. This time, I can't let it go. I'll always remember you as this guy on the court:
But you are dead to me off it. Not that you'd care...
For more, this is a great article by Hubert Mizell of the St. Petersburg Times, no matter how sad the context is: Mad Max threw it all away