I used to be afraid of Injuries. Mainly, I did not invoke them at all, and if I did, it was at a whisper: I just hope we can stay healthy. If I was out and about and Injuries walked up to talk to me, I’d pretend I was on the phone. I had zero interest in getting involved with that demented diva. Well, no more. I’m putting you on blast, Injuries. I think you suck, and I don’t agree with your methods.
From here on out, with me and Injuries, it’s on sight. Injuries can eat heaping trayfuls of shit. I see Injuries in the streets, I’m bringing them the pain they try to inflict on others. For real, who do Injuries think they are? They just get to stroll around and exclusively cause problems? They can’t leave well enough alone? These unholy beasts butt in at the worst possible times, have hearts full of hate, and add nothing to society. They take. They take away happiness. They take away hope. They take away purpose. They are party destroyers, diabolical buzzkills, joy stealers desperate to hurt people. Fuck Injuries. Fuck them forever. They belong in hell.
In the long and winding history of the NBA, many things have changed, but Injuries remain a constant. There is now a 3-point line where there was once nothing. Athletically, the game is on another planet. There are more teams, more players, more choreographed handshakes today than there were when the league first began. Shoes are better. Shorts are longer. As for the jerseys, you and I both know that the moisture is being wicked with a fury nowadays. The fabric meets moisture and gets violent, treats sweat with a lot of hostility. This is a big change from when they were made of … I want to say mercury? But the change we need most is one we’ve yet to see. Injuries still knock out our best and brightest. I want these things bagged, tagged, and dumped in the bay. They deserve to be disappeared.
That fact has never been more on display than it is right now. Injuries have been the main character so far this season—not Wemby, not Flagg, not the Rockets—Injuries. And it’s like, enough, dude. Nobody likes you, Injuries. We all want you to go away. Nobody is trying to hang out with your doofy ass. You make people uncomfortable, and you never give a straight answer. You’ll be back from the store in six to eight weeks? I’m an adult. How am I supposed to plan with a timeline like that? Injuries are a scourge, a plague upon the players, upon love, upon all that is good, and I am against them. The 2026-27 NBA season started 10 days ago. Two days ago, on October 28, this happened:
This is the future Injuries want. They want one of your favorite players, a player you are counting on, to go down. They want him to feel bad, sad, helpless. They want you to feel bad, sad, hopeless. Look at this filth.
- Anthony Edwards will miss up to two months after getting an arthroscopic procedure on his right knee, and Injuries haven’t even apologized.
- Tyrese Haliburton will miss up to two weeks after straining his left hammy. This after being out all last season with an Achilles tear. Impossibly shitty of Injuries to do this to him.
- Jalen Williams is out for the season with a dislocated ankle and a fractured fibula. Injuries are bullies. Injuries are Satan.
- Cason Wallace is out four to six months with a torn labrum. He was supposed to have a much bigger role on the Thunder this season, and Injuries didn’t even care.
- Jaren Jackson Jr.’s out six to eight weeks with an MCL tear. Everyone expected this to be the first exciting Jazz season since Donovan Mitchell went East, but Injuries don’t care about excitement. Injuries hate excitement.
- Paolo Banchero’s out four to six weeks with a high ankle sprain, and Injuries legitimately thinks it was cool to do that.
- Jalen Suggs is out at least a couple of weeks with a bone bruise. This is even worse than when the league told him he can no longer wear his neckband.
- Jalen Duren will be reevaluated in two weeks for a right hammy strain, and Injuries laughed when it happened.
- Alex Caruso’s got a right ankle sprain, and there’s no timetable for his return.
- Yves Missi’s got a bone bruise, and there’s no timetable for his return. Injuries think bruises are fun. They like them. They actually think there aren’t enough bruises in the world. They want there to be more. They want you to get one.
- Kawhi Leonard’s out for a period of weeks with swelling in his left knee. Have Injuries not already taken their pound of flesh from this man?
- Kon Knueppel hurt his hammy before the season started, and there’s no timetable for his return. Injuries would never give him a ride to his hotel.
- Coby White strained his calf before the season, and there’s no timetable for his return. Injuries don’t care if you have a beautiful smile. Can you imagine? Not caring if someone has a beautiful smile? What a disgusting way to be.
- Tobias Harris strained his calf before the season, and there’s no timetable for his return. Injuries want you to watch more Harrison Barnes. They think that’s fun for you. Injuries are perverts.
Fuck all of this, and fuck it very much. Fuck it to infinity and beyond. The season’s sails have had their wind ripped from them by the breaking of bodies, and it sucks tailpipe. As a longtime staunch anti-Injuries activist, I have worked tirelessly to get this parasitic scum eradicated from the game, but the results are the results and we are losing the fight.
Why is all this happening? Theories abound. Between the pace and space and physicality, the modern game puts extreme strain on players’ bodies. There are too many games and not enough rest. The Basketball Gods are sadists. Teams are more careful with ligament strains now, so players are missing more time than they used to. Some still maintain that all this is a coincidence rather than an actual problem, that unlucky things are happening to unlucky players and people need to chill out. Likely it’s some combo of all the above.
Regardless, the NBA needs to do something. Injuries have taken over, and we can’t take it anymore. We have to fight back. Shorten the season, shorten the court, perform a ritual sacrifice of Scott Foster to appease the Basketball Gods. Do something. We cannot just sit back and let Injuries run roughshod over our game. We cannot live like this.
Injuries are always so unoriginal, too. There’s no creativity, no invention. You never hear about an NBA player getting their arm knocked clean off because they dunked the ball too hard. If something rad like that happened, then maybe I could see where Injuries wouldn’t be a total negative, because even though that person would no longer have an arm, they could at least say they were the only person who dunked so hard their arm actually fell off. That alone would get someone into the Hall of Fame. And honestly, with all the advancements in modern science, as long as you get your arm on ice right away, they should be able to sew you right back up no problem. But it’s never anything cool like someone’s arm fell off or they got dysentery or were bitten by a bat or something. It’s always whoops, there goes the ACL. In the NBA specifically, Injuries have become obsessed with calf strains. They’re just spamming us with calf strains. Zero imagination. Zero consideration. Only darkness. Only pain.
Injuries do not arrive in style. They arrive in tepid beige. Without Injuries, we could have acrobatics, firestorms around the rim, fun-running, tire-humming, quick-twitch boom parades. Instead, we have nothing but the fading wind. Fallibility is a current fact of life, but that doesn’t mean we have to respect or accept that. It doesn’t mean we can’t dream of something more. This is what Megalopolis was about. In that film, Francis Ford Coppola was wrestling less with the current state of the NBA and more with all its glorious possibilities. Tables full of fruit? Emersonian minds? You’ve just described NBA front offices, friend.
Injuries think they should get to decide who wins what championship. That’s how arrogant they are. They think they know best. They don’t play the sport. In fact, they specialize in not playing. That doesn’t keep them from trying to impose their will anyway. Injuries are a paean to inertia. All they want from those they put in pain is for them to stop. They don’t want people to move forward. That is why we must.
I have had a body for almost four decades, and while I thank it for getting me this far, my God, has it become a real jerk. It’s one of the reasons I’m so passionate about this cause—I know what it’s like to be targeted by Injuries. My lower back hates me. My knees feel dead. My legs are tired, my arms weak. Some days, for unclear reasons, the bottom of my right foot starts to burn. Why break down when it feels so much better to just work? Why do you insist on ruining everything? I’ve checked in with my body multiple times over the past 72 hours, and each time, my body has been anti-Injury. Its message to me is resounding: It feels better when it doesn’t hurt. Do Injuries care? No. Injuries would rather we suffer.
I say, let flesh and tendon and bone stay together. Don’t break them. Don’t tear them into submission. Let them do what they are meant to do.
Will you stand with me and fight? Injuries hate beauty, and they hate you, too. Why would we let them anywhere near something we care about? We must rid ourselves of these bodily attacks. We must end these contrarian monsters. They don’t deserve the power they hold. Let’s take it from them before it’s too late.
