This player is no player

Let's play make believe for a minute. You're 6-8, 260. Your ding-dong is probably the size of my forearm. You make a salary somewhere in the seven figures. You're famous. A girl comes up to you in a bar and proclaims that you're her favorite player. You chat her up for a few minutes and later, when she says goodbye to you, you ask for and get her number. You call her up later that night and pick her up in your Escalade. You end up back at her place. You kick it with her for a while. You end up on her bed. Chances are, you're gonna score, right? Well, not if you're Danny Fortson.

That's right, Mr. Fortson, of NBA notoriety employment, apparently has no game.

You see, the story above is a true one, and it's about Danny. It took place not long ago in Seattle, and the tale was told to me by the girl in question, a friend of mine who I saw while visiting Zach in Seattle a few weeks ago.

Now we knew that Danny doesn't have much game on the court, and now we know he doesn't have much off the court either. Seriously, even if the girl is really hot, which she is, if you play in the NBA, make millions of dollars a year, and are hung like a Clydesdale, you should be able to get with pretty much any girl you want to. Especially one who approaches you in a bar. So sorry Danny, I guess she's not a jersey chaser. Better luck next time.