For the cover of GQ this month, I wrote about Chicago Bulls superstar point guard Derrick Rose. I found him smart and self-aware and intelligent and more than a little sad; he has essentially lived in the public eye, but under private protection from anything scary in the world, since he was five years old. I think he’s still adjusting to that, and what kind of person he is as an adult. All superstar athletes deal with this in one way or another, this extended adolescence. Some turn into dicks, some cower under the glare, some grasp at any sort of control over their life they can. Rose, it seems to me, is still trying to figure it out.
(This intense psychological profile brought to you by a guy with no advanced degrees and no professional expertise in any sort of analytical field, in addition to no life experience that could possibly give him any sort of perspective on the world inhabited by his subject … but hey, I did talk to the guy for a few hours while holding a tape recorder. SO DO NOT QUESTION MY THEORIES I KNOW HIM DAMMIT.)
LMFAO to D-Rose in skinny jeans! Fresh though!
