STEPHEN JACKSON sits at his locker in the Time Warner Cable Arena home locker room. We see his left profile. He turns to us.
JACKSON: What should I do? Should I admit that I've made mistakes? Should I remind you that I've done this before?
Should I give you a history lesson? What should I do? Should I remind you how fun 2007 was? Should I really believe I've ruined my relationship with the referees? What should I do?
Should I have my throat tattoos removed? (Does anyone else even know what they mean?) Wanna see my spanking new headband? Should I stop wearing headbands?
Or should I tell you: "These are not the fouls you're looking for." (Hi, Alec.) JACKSON winks.
Seriously, what should I do? Should I tell you I'm a coach killer? Did it for the notoriety? Street cred?
Should I be who you want me to be? Should I accept my role as a lover of pressure? Maybe I should make love to a vacuum.
Should I stop listening to the little guy on my shoulder who screams every time I've been fouled and the referee misses it? He's the little guy on my shoulder who screams every time I've been fouled, and he's loud. And insistent.
Should I try flopping?
GERALD WALLACE looks up from across the locker room.
WALLACE: Just gotta know when to hit the floor and act like you've been shot in the chest, man. Be patient. It works better and better over time, then it stops working, at which point you'll need to develop a top-notch look of incredulity you can deploy on command to shame the refs. Then everything is free and easy.
JACKSON: Should I be writing this down?
WALLACE: Uh huh.
JACKSON: Should I buy you a pulled pork sandwich? Should I read you a soulful poem?
Hack my wrist as I drive the lane,
Body me up as I launch a three,
The refs won't call it, but I know it's a foul,
And knowing sets me free.
Or should we just acknowledge that nobody really knows what a foul is, and frustration over borderline calls will always be a part of pro basketball? What should I do?
(If you need context, look here.)