Cathal Kelly
This is an NBA road story.
It takes place in Maine. So it will not be exciting.
The Raptors got into town on Tuesday, ahead of a Wednesday night preseason game with the Celtics.
They went to dinner. They went back to the Westin. And they went to bed.
Honest.
Is that the same in every city?
"Pretty much," says Kyle Lowry. "Pretty" offering some level of wiggle room.
If he's bored by the preseason (and they all are), Lowry's withering looks have already reached playoff levels.
One unfortunate reporter began a query thusly: "You've been compared to [touted Boston rookie] Marcus Smart …"
Before the question can get any further, Lowry widens his eyes. It isn't a threat. It's an openhearted invitation to a rephrasing. Or maybe it's a threat.
"Er, sorry. He's been compared to you …"
"Exactly," Lowry says.
We shuffle away quickly.
What does someone do in Maine?
"You're asking the wrong person for that," says Patrick Patterson.
Er. What did you do?
"Went to dinner. Went back to the room. Watched TV. That's it."
(Parenthetical: Last night, Patterson started Season 2 of Hannibal. He's going to be very disappointed.)
Does every city feel the same?
"Pretty much," Patterson says, with even more hint of wiggle room.
"If you go to bigger cities – you know, New York, L.A., Chicago, Houston – you have more opportunities in terms of nightlife."
Any "opportunities" in Maine?
"No."
The coaches had a big night planned – a highly recommended seafood joint in a city the size of Guelph that has about a million of them. You can't get bad seafood in Portland. It's a point of pride.
How'd that end up?
"There was a mix-up on reservations and, like, a 45-minute wait, so we ended up going to Five Guys Burgers instead."
The next time you're mooning about the glamorous NBA life, picture the Toronto Raptors brain trust eating burgers in New England.
So you take your superlatives where you can.
Patterson was pleased to cross another state off his list. By his count, he's now missing only New Hampshire, Vermont, Rhode Island, Hawaii, Idaho and Montana.
Lowry is slightly ahead. He's got only five left to visit: Alaska, North and South Dakota, Wyoming and New Mexico.
To Patterson: You've been to both Dakotas?
"I have," he says, with shameful pride.
"I've been to Alaska!" Greivis Vasquez crows. He likes to be good at things.
The Venezuelan guard has no idea how many states he's been to.
(And here he'll be forgiven for guessing "60?" If you're feeling superior right now, I invite you to name three cities in Venezuela, and then punch yourself in the face.)
It's a blur for these guys. Planes. Buses. Practice courts. Hotel rooms that all look the same. Blackout curtains and forcing yourself to get eight hours every night. Well, maybe not every night.
"Once the season starts, you have no idea what day of the week it is," says Vasquez. His favourite thing used to be watching college basketball. He hasn't watched any in the five years he's been in the league.
"This is an intense life," he says. "You have to get back to the hotel, rest. You need a routine. You have to eat right. You're playing against the best. There's no room for error."
Was there ever?
Vasquez shrugs.
"In college, you might be able to take a night off and still score 40, if you're really talented. Here, there are no nights off."
They practised around noon, like every other day. They got back on the bus, like every other day. Some of them napped. Some watched TV. Some walked around. They got back on the bus. They played a game. They drove to the airport. They'll be thinking the same things tomorrow about another small town – Wichita, Kan.
They play the Thunder there on Friday night.
"Basketball has taken me to some nice places," Vasquez says.
Some day, he'll get a chance to appreciate them.
Cathal Kelly