Dwyane Wade went into his meeting with the New York Knicks today and told reporters he's in a "New York state of mind." Shut up, Dwyane Wade. Don't you even play with our hearts like that. For months, you've been telling us you're probably staying in Miami. You know what happened to the last guy who told us he was staying in Miami and then snuck out of town? Well, he won a national championship, but we hate him so, so much, that dirty Saban. Don't make us hate you, Wade; don't do it.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, New York, "concrete jungle where dreams are made of" (made of what exactly, Alicia Keys? What are these dreams made of? You never tell us!). But it's also where dreams go to die. Just ask the thousands of young kids from the Midwest who move there every year in hopes of making it big in fashion or journalism or something stupid and end up living in a 100-square-foot room in Bushwick until the city eats them alive and spits them back out toward the flyover state from whence they came. Ask Isiah Thomas!
Besides, you're the undisputed king of Miami right now. Even if, and the chances look small, we sign "King James," he'll still be a servant in your court.
New York has more sports stars than they know what to do with. They've got Jeter, Sanchez, a Manning, and Dury. They've got A-Rod. Our A-Rod who was raised and lives here. They've got Jason Taylor too. Our Jason Taylor. They do not need you. They do not need our Dwyane Wade.
You know who you're competing with in Miami? Hanley Ramirez (have you even heard of him?) and a skinny 20-year-old quarterback named Jacory. Don't leave us. We all know Jacory doesn't throw well under pressure, and he doesn't need the hopes of an entire city adding to it.
Plus it's cold in New York. They have income taxes, and a horrible expensive real estate market. They've got a nasty press. Just wait until you screw up at a pivotal moment and the Post or the Daily News plasters its front page with "Dwyane Lame" or "Durrrrrrrrrrr-Wade." They'll do it to. Believe us.
And James Dolan, the owner of the Knicks, is a Grade A douchebag. Just ask our sister paper, the Village Voice.
So don't tell us you're in a "New York State of Mind," don't even joke about it.
Don't let their streets make you feel brand new. Don't let their big lights inspire you. It's all a lie, Wade. Ok. Put your hands up. Get your ass up. Put your hands up. You're in Miami, bitch.
(Clearly, NYC has us beat in the pop song category, but that's really beside the point.)
And if that doesn't do it for you, think of Burnie, the beloved Heat mascot. He's up there atop AAA waiting for you. If it takes forever, he will wait for you. For a thousand summers, he will wait for you. Pretend he is this dog from Futurama, and you are Fry. How can you even joke about being in a New York state of mind, Wade? How?
