| The Roommate From Hell (AKA Eddy Curry) Authored by Tommy Dee - December 10, 2007 - 2:54 pm
For those of us who have actually moved away from home and have been forced into living arrangements with college roommates, this analogy should ring true.
Eddy Curry is the dirty, sloppy, class-skipping, sleep all day, useless waste of space that every college dormitory possesses. If you were fortunate enough not to have been exposed to living in the same space as this person, consider yourself very lucky.
I wasn’t. I had a roommate, let’s call him “Wayne.” Wayne never went to class, and would wear chicken wing bones as fashion accessories. He would never wash his sheets and the only time he went outside, was for vacation, or to pick up food from the delivery man downstairs.
This, Knick fans, is Eddy Curry.
Curry uses the block as his domicile and the only thing he’s missing is a remote control, a naked lady-stamped, zippered beer holder with a Molson Golden bottle resting snuggly in hand, and a fleece blanket that smelt like it hadn’t been washed since last Tuesday, if, of course, last Tuesday was actually in 1994.
He infuriates teammates (roommates) by his lack of motivation, and constantly seems to get in the way without bringing much to the table. Okay so there was that stretch of a few weeks of great play, like the time when Wayne managed to hook up and had his beast bring a few semi-good looking friends over. Boy, did they look better with the lights off. But once you realized that once Wayne’s hookup came to her senses, the first being regaining smell, he lacked the all around skills to have any productive value whatsoever.
He wasn’t smart, so forget about asking him to go to class and take notes for you- actually going to his own classes was hard enough. He couldn’t cook, unless you consider Rahman noodles mixed with Beef-a-roni, a gourmet meal. He didn’t look like me, so using his fake ID would have brought about the questions from bouncers like, “How did you manage to drop those measly 150 lbs?”
And as previously stated he couldn’t bring chicks back to the dorm.
Curry can’t rebound, can't shoot foul shots, and tries to block shots that are clearly on the way down.
But the worse part about Curry is that his production is so bad he actually manages to acquire more turnovers than assists, blocks and steals COMBINED officially making him the league’s most useless player…by far.
Enter Zach Randolph, who you could relate to as the good-looking, but troubled transfer student. Let’s call him uh, “Zach,” thrust into a situation that he sees as his last chance at education before having to go home and work for his dad’s company, which manufactures floor tiles.
He’s a chick magnet with a drinking problem, so he spends every night out chasing and getting tail, but in return has to spend the days on the couch recovering from the 25 beers and five tequila shots it took to land the hot 35-year-old divorced mother of two on a Tuesday night. He even manages to light a fire under Wayne’s ass and drags him out to the bar, because he’s tired of taking cabs alone. They develop a bond.
So there in the tiny dorm living room, the two spend afternoons together, very similar in their traits, but very different on so many levels. At first they build a kinship by getting to know one another, convincing themselves that they can coexist and that one’s talent for getting females can rub off on the other, leading to a dorm full of parties and chicks. Soon, however, not even a good old-fashioned battle of NHL 94 can bring the two together, as the space is just becoming too small and tempers are starting to rise.
It comes to a head when Zach manages to coax a coed back to the apartment upon learning that Wayne had gone home for the weekend, only to find Wayne in his familiar spot posted up on the couch, remote and Molson with the naked-lady, zippered beer cover in hand. Turns out he’s going nowhere.
Can they work things out? Well, let’s just say someone should get Resident Assistance on the phone stat. |
