While the rest of the species slides gracefully into the dumpster of history, distracted by the rising cost of bread and the sinking quality of everything else, we are once again invited to marvel at the choreographed gymnastics of the NBA. The latest dispatch from the digital coliseum informs us that Luka Dončić—who, in this particular fever dream of a news cycle, is apparently the catalyst for a Los Angeles Lakers victory—recorded a triple-double to propel his side past the Denver Nuggets. It is a narrative so predictable it feels like it was written by a lobotomized AI, which, given the state of modern journalism, it probably was. Whether Dončić is wearing Lakers purple or his usual Dallas threads is irrelevant to the broader point: we are watching millionaires play a child’s game while the world burns, and we are expected to find it 'impactful.'

Let us deconstruct the 'triple-double,' the holy trinity of meaningless arithmetic that sports commentators treat with the reverence usually reserved for peace treaties or the discovery of fire. To achieve this feat, a player must reach double digits in three statistical categories. It is a celebration of the number ten—a base-ten obsession for a base-IQ audience. We are told this is a display of 'versatility,' but in reality, it is just proof that if you stay on the court long enough and the ball is passed to you frequently enough, you will eventually stumble into a set of arbitrary milestones. The fans, of course, lap it up. They sit in the stands, clutching overpriced cups of fermented grain, screaming at the rafters as if the outcome of this contest will somehow alleviate their mortgage debt or fix their crumbling interpersonal relationships. It won't. The Lakers rallied, the Nuggets collapsed, and tomorrow the sun will rise on an equally stupid world.

The Lakers themselves are the perfect metaphor for the American coastal elite: loud, overfunded, obsessed with optics, and perpetually convinced that their storied history justifies their current state of bloated entitlement. They are the 'performative' wing of the sport, a franchise that exists more as a lifestyle brand than a basketball team. Their 'rally' against Denver is framed as a triumph of will, a gritty comeback that proves their heart. In truth, it is simply the result of one group of genetic outliers having a slightly better shooting percentage than another group of genetic outliers for a period of twelve minutes. On the other side, the Nuggets represent the supposed 'hardworking' interior of the country—the rugged, high-altitude underdogs who are, in reality, just another collection of overpaid mercenaries engaged in a different flavor of the same grift.

What is truly exhausting is the language used to describe these events. 'Impactful.' The summary claims this game was 'one of the most impactful' of the season. Impactful to whom? Did the triple-double lower the price of eggs? Did the Lakers' comeback provide a solution to the burgeoning loneliness epidemic or the structural rot of our democratic institutions? No. The only 'impact' was the transfer of wealth from the pockets of the working class into the accounts of the league’s owners and the advertisers of sports-betting apps. The 'impact' is a temporary spike in dopamine for people who have nothing else to look forward to except the next season of a reality show or the next performative outrage on social media.

The political landscape mirrors this absurdity perfectly. The Left will find a way to make this about equity or representation, while the Right will decry the 'wokeness' of the league while simultaneously checking their fantasy scores with trembling fingers. Both sides are united in their profound, marrow-deep idiocy. They treat these games as proxy wars, investing their identities into the success of men who wouldn't stop to help them change a tire on a rainy night. It is a symbiotic relationship of stupidity: the athletes provide the distraction, and the public provides the relevance.

We are a civilization that has traded philosophy for box scores. We no longer ask 'Why are we here?' but rather 'What’s the spread on the fourth quarter?' The Lakers’ victory over the Nuggets is not a story; it is a symptom. It is the sound of a society whistling as it walks past its own graveyard. Dončić, or whoever the designated hero of the week happens to be, is simply the latest priest in the church of the Perpetual Distraction. Go ahead, celebrate the triple-double. Cheer for the comeback. Pretend that the 'impact' of a basketball game matters in a world that is rapidly losing its mind. I’ll be over here, waiting for the inevitable moment when the buzzer finally sounds on this entire pathetic species.