Which Duke Player Do You Hate The Most?
You hate Gerald Henderson. You wake up in the morning and watch this GIF of him missing a dunk, because it reminds you that the world is full of wonder and beauty. You are still not over what he did to Tyler Hansbrough's face, and probably never will be. You hate Gerald Henderson.
You hate Austin Rivers. You hate that facial hair. You hate that he was only around for a season and yet you STILL hate him this much. Your most recent Google search always reads "Austin Rivers NBA stats," because you enjoy a good laugh. You hate Austin Rivers.
You hate Christian Laettner. You will hate him until you die, and even then, your hate will continue to live on. Such hate spans the very limits of time itself. It is written in the cosmos, hanging high above as a glorious beacon of hate for all to see. The universe expands, and so does your hate for him, bound together for all eternity. (Also: F*** that shot.) You really hate Christian Laettner.
You hate Shane Battier. You would like this montage of Shane Battier flops set to opera music to be played on your wedding day. You are responsible for each and every YouTube view on the video of him getting blocked at the rim on Senior Night. You have blocked the 2001 Final Four entirely from your memory. You hate Shane Battier.
You hate Greg Paulus. You hated every floor slap. You hated every ESPN mention of his high school quarterbacking career. Your biggest dream in life is to have the chance to flop in front of him, just so he can see what it feels like. You hate Greg Paulus.
You hate Cherokee Parks. Sometimes, just for fun, you Google the words "Worst Tattoos In Basketball History" just to see how high he ranks on the list. The hate for him fills you with a warm, mirthful glow. You really, really hate Cherokee Parks.
You hate Steve Wojciechowski. If you were the last person on Earth, and if an angel descended from the heavens and told you the only way to save the human race was to slap a floor, you wouldn't do it, because f*** you, Wojo. You really hate Steve Wojciechowski.
You hate Jon Scheyer. You hate him for being J.J. Redick's understudy, and for inspiring four years of J.J. Redick comparisons. And also for beating Butler in that national championship game. For all of those Scheyerfaces, too. You just really hate Jon Scheyer.
You do not just hate this man. You LOVE to hate this man. You have, on multiple occasions, fantasized about the things you would do to his face if you two found each other in a darkened alley together. (It may or may not involve reading him his own poetry while pummeling him with your fists.) You hate J.J. Redick, and you don't care who knows.