Most rational human beings can easily recognize the difference between typical fandom and dangerous obsession. But if the comments we've gotten on our Gatorade post are any indication, many of you are "stark raving BLOOOAARGH!!" Technically speaking. To determine the extent of your mental health (or lack thereof), please take the following test.

It is a lovely summer's day. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and you just had a wonderfully fulfilling bowel movement. You know, the kind where you get everything out. You see your favorite professional athlete walking along a busy street. Do you:

A. Say and do nothing. Simply seeing him/her is enough.

Scream out his/her name and wave frantically until acknowledged.

Run over to him/her, give a vigorous handshake and/or hug, then request an autograph.

Follow him/her home, as silent and invisible as the Ninja, and watch him/her lovingly through the bedroom window.

All of the above. Also, break into his/her home so that you can sleep in their bed. Steal a few "mementos" (jerseys, trophies, championship rings, dead skin shavings for your cloning experiments, underwear, etc.). Set up a sophisticated surveillance system so you can watch them at all times, like in that Jim Carey movie The Truman Show. Build a small shrine -- hell, a big shrine -- to him/her in your home, so that you an administer regular benedictions.

If you answered A: You're calm and cool. Maybe a little too calm and cool. This is your favorite athlete, man!

If you answered B: You're a typical fan. Kind of a jackass, but not bad enough to warrant a restraining order.

If you answered C: You're starting to tread some very thin ice. If the athlete in question has a posse, you'll probably get pistol-whipped.

If you answerd D: Remember what I said about that restraining order? Forget it. Jesus break dancing Christ. You're one creepy dude.

If you answered E: Have you ever felt the jarring sting of a stun gun? If not, you should feel it right...about...NOW!

I would guess most of you fall somewhere between A and C. We do have one crazed Kobe fan who keeps trying to leave rude comments, and he falls smack dab in the middle of E. But hey, even we'll admit that Kobe's an okay player. He can score, has a knack for giving himself sinister nicknames, and was once a wanted criminal. He's sort of like the Darth Vadar of the NBA. Which is kind of cool. I guess.

But why in the name of Lincoln's Eyebrow would someone
be completely obsessed with Stephon Marbury? If Kobe is Darth Vadar, then Stephon is that little rat thing that lived in Jabba the Hut's fat folds. And this guy...he isn't just fanatical. He's a hysterical psychopath. Do you think I'm kidding? Overreacting, maybe? Let me put it this way. Have you ever watched a movie about a seriel killer, and when the cops finally find the killer's secret lair, there's a giant picture collage of the killer's next vicitm (usually the lead detective's wife or girlfriend)? Well, check this out:

Stephon collage
Wow. I mean,

And it's not just the collage. This dude has every Marbury product you could possibly imagine. And not just the jerseys, posters, and action figures. He's got paintings, newspaper clippings, magazine articles, signed basketballs, cards, and pictures. He's got every Marbury game on tape, and special TV to watch them with. The room where he keeps his this stuff has orange and blue carpeting, to match the Knicks' colors. And, the cherry on this apeshit sundea is a hand-quilted blanket with Stephon's image...on his bed.

Stephon bed
To be able to sleep with Stephon draped over me. A dream come true.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy this guy found something he can believe in. Being a fan is fun. But turning your home into The Temple of Stephon is frightening. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish sewing this Larry Bird mask I'm making out of real human skin.
Blogger S-Love said...
That rat guy in Jabba the Hut's lair is named Salacious Crumb, I believe.

Stephon draped over me. How exciting.