Dear Assassin-NBA Player Michael Paul Beasley,
I'm sorry I feared what you could be, Beas. I judged you prematurely. I might be judging you prematurely again. But at least I can see you out there, being motivated and also an assassin (your words, not mine). You're doing things you've never done before, Michael - learning, growing, like a young NBA player/assassin should. You're supposed to be The Man for your mostly-awful team, it seems, and you're doing the best that you can. That best isn't a bad-best, unexpectedly. You're out there attacking, drawing two more fouls per game than you ever have. You're shooting a better 3P% in this young season than I ever expected. No, you don't make the right call every time, but no one does. You're just out there doing the right thing as often as possible. You're trying to say and do the right things and lead your generally pathetic patchwork of a team with as much conviction as you know how (God knows Rambis won't). That one extra turnover per game isn't a thing to worry about. At least, not when you're being asked to do so much. And Beas, you're doing it in ways I didn't believe you could grasp, much less execute. And for that, I commend you. Keep it up and don't let me down.
Note - Ignore that watermark. Clearly I tried very hard to sign my name with a pen directly on my screen, but it's hard to do.