PLAYER OF THE WEAK: Kevin Love

A slob in the sheets and a slob in the streets, dressed in his sheets, the sheets from his bed he hasn’t changed in over a week, that’s how the saying about Kevin Love goes.

Four-time All-Star? NBA Championship winner? Apparently 28-years-old? All these things and more might come to mind when Kevin Love’s name comes up, and that’s fair, you might mistake him for an accomplished athlete but guess again: HUGE SLOB.

Kevin Federline? No, it’s Kevin Love.

Kevin seemed almost slight of frame in last year’s playoff run, didn’t he? He seemed lithe and able as he bound to the net and drove an angelic Kyle Lowry, and later, a playoff-mode evil Draymond Green from the line. Fearless, nimble, not out of breath. You took one look at this guy’s body and were like wow, how much sugar is this guy cutting out of his diet and would that be something I could do? But anybody can hold it together for one season, a fact that Kevin is counting on you to forget.

He’s started to slip. And he can’t help it, but that still doesn’t mean you should feel bad for him. Genetics are a gift and a curse and the same reason why Kevin Love once looked like a down-home Adonis who happened to land on a championship team with LeBron for his boss is the same reason why he’s slowly fulfilling his family’s curse.

Exhibit A: The handlebar stache which seems quite natural (side note: what sport do you even play, Kevin?)

Slob is in his blood. He shook it off early on but it’s catching up with him, as time inevitably makes out for all of us. For Kevin, you see, is becoming a Beach Boy.

Not like a guy who is hanging out at the beach on the reg, God no. He’s becoming a member of the preeminent American rock band, but due to the acceleration of genetics, he’s becoming a Beach Boy now.

Exhibit B: The gingham headband seemingly materialized without there being a nearby fabric source

His desperation has shown itself to be strong, something that helped him to steer away from the baggy clothes and the baggier hair for a time. But when one part of him holds it together another part will slip. His face, for example, and all of the hair that started to spring wild from it nearing the end of last season. His screaming, too.

Looking back you could say there were clear signs all along and that when you caught his face in heated moments, he knew.

Because for Kevin slobdom is an empire, a kingdom he was born to inherit. You’re doubtful? Watch him on the court in this current iteration of the ‘yoffs. Watch how his shorts hang, so low; and his spirits, even lower. He fumbles around the paint like a brute without force, hoping to stick to his guys like so much crunchy peanut butter. His face is puffy, he’s breathless, he seems to be sweating a lot? More than usual?

Yes, that’s because the transformation is nearly complete. He’s got two, three more years in the league tops before he’ll be relegated to the bench of a team with the salary room to support him, a man festooned in funky patterns and appropriated talismans from eastern cultures worn as ornaments. He’ll be asked to go on reunion tours but alas he won’t be able to tell them that he’s Kevin! Not Mike! Look at my face, can’t you see? And my Championship ring surely will show you I had a successful NBA career, I was never a Beach Boy!

But it’s no good. His Cavs Championship ring will transform into a honker of a mood ring and it will say he’s always chill. His favorite color will be Hawaiian print and his skin tone will be orange, but also wet.

Exhibit C: Future Kevin

Unfortunately he stands to gain nothing from the transformation, as Mike Love will have more than likely squandered what’s left of his royalty money on timeshares and fertility statues by the time Kevin transforms into him, but like a shitty Highlander, there can only be one.

No, Kevin Love will be a lone slob. He’ll do the buffet endorsement and speedboat promotional circuit, he’ll try to make an appearance at All-Star games to come, but NBA staff will turn to each other and go, “Uh, why is former Beach Boy Mike Love here?”

Resigned to the magnetization of the retiree poles, he’ll eventually settle in Key West or Arizona somewhere. His clothes will get progressively bigger and baggier until it seems a Halloween ghost is hurrying down the street to get to the double feature matinee on time. His slobitude, in essence, will swallow him whole. But at least he’ll have a 5 Grammy Awards.