[Izulde]

They say life begins at 40.

In a way, that's true. When you're 40, you've ideally burnt out the immaturity of your youth and are at the full height of your mental and professional abilities. Typically, it's when writers have their most accomplished periods (though there are, of course, exceptions to the rule - especially for poets, many of whom peak much earlier). Your life experiences have forged you into the person you are, and you've acquired a certain kind of wisdom.

The life that began me for at 40 was becoming GM of the great dumpster fire known as the Charlotte Hornets. Owned by the legendary Michael Jordan, whom my mom was a superfan of, but never got to meet. I have two words for cancer and they aren't Happy Birthday.

So what do you do when you have a roster who has literally no one you'd like to keep around, other than maybe Caleb Martin (even though he went to that horrible school UNR) as a defensive specialist project?

Try to trade - and try to find someone, anyone stupid enough to think Terry Rozier is worth a minsal, let alone a multi-year deal paying him almost $20 million a season on average. There has to be someone really, really dumb, right?

Unfortunately, every single other GM is smart enough to at least not be my moronic predecessor. Literally no one will take Rozier's contract. We're stuck with him for at least two years, until we can use his expiring to hopefully move him out.

Despondent, I put literally everyone on the trade block.

No offers come in for this roster of sad sacks before the start of the regular season.

I'll profile everyone when I'm not ready to walk into a wasp's nest to end the suffering swiftly, rather than endure the pain of this first year.