You can't fuck with this guy. I don't mean to write so much about him, but if I was a homosexual I'd definitely be jacking off to his games repeatedly. He's like superhuman. He has this thing in him, this drive, this thirst. His mental will is something to be picked apart and studied. His determination to win and his insatiable appetite to compete is visible in his unblinking glare. On this night, the twenty-eighth of April 2008, his team just won four straight victories against an opponent in the first round of the NBA's Western Conference Playoffs. His team struggled, but he carried them in the closing minutes hitting one clutch shot after another. His defender pushed, slapped, smacked, and physically abused him for four straight games. He even tried to antagonize this guy into altercations. Time and time again this guy walked away. He didn't even turn and humor it. It wasn't that he was afraid, it was that he was focused. Like a martial arts fighter meditating before a fight, he was in a perfect zen-like state of trance. In this last game, during the last minutes, his defender fouled out. His defender's replacement fouled out, seconds after replacing him, and seconds after that their third replacement fouled out while guarding this guy. You can't fuck with this guy. He's unfuckwithable. Earlier, when his first defender was pushing, shoving, grabbing, and talking shit, he just turned and faced him with a smirk. Like, you can't get in my head. And that's why I'm in yours. Unfuckwithable.