Kevin Garnett Trade Sends Prince, Minneapolis Native and T-Wolves Fan, into Deep Funk
The artist currently known as Prince goes into deep funk as he tries forgetting about the team formerly known as the Timberwolves.
MINNEAPOLIS, MN (Sportsman’s Daily Wire Service) – News that Timberwolves completed a blockbuster trade that sent 10-time All-Star Kevin Garnett to the Celtics, sent shockwaves through the state of Minnesota – though one Minneapolis native took the news harder than most. Since learning of the trade, enigmatic rock star and self-professed Timberwolves fanatic Prince has been in seclusion at Paisley Park, his sprawling recording compound, reportedly in a deep, unrelieved funk.
“We haven’t been able to pull him out of it since word came down,” said an anonymous band member. “At first he was just sitting there, stunned, like the rest of us. I mean, he likes Al Jefferson -- he’s got great upside. But Theo Ratliff? Draft picks? Sebastian Telfair? In two years the cat’s playing in Israel – if he can find a jump shot. We were all just lounging around, depressed, when suddenly Prince springs up and shouts: “Fellas, give me a groove!”
Prince disappeared into another room for a costume change as the house band – complete with four piece horn section -- laid down a greasy funk groove. Five minutes later, Prince re-appeared, wearing a signature form-fitting purple spandex jumpsuit. He strapped on a white, custom-made Stratocaster, and broke out several bars of vintage Johnny “Guitar” Watson, thus kicking off a non-stop funk-a-thon that, as of this writing, is heading into its 27th straight hour.
“Despite the serious height difference – I mean, Prince is barely five feet on stilts -- he loved KG, had him over to the studio many times,” said a friend of the diminutive rock star. “He’s busted up about this. And it’s not just about losing KG, it’s about losing KG to the Celtics. If there’s anything Prince hates more than a run in his ruffles, it's the Boston Celtics.”
As viewers of the Chappelle Show know, Prince is not only a serious T-Wolves fan, he is also a serious baller who compensates for his pixie-like stature with a 52 inch vertical, Jordan-esque body control, a devastating, ankle-breaking cross-over and a Gilbert Arenas-like ability to drain jumpers from anywhere on the court.
“But ever since he torn his patella tendon attempting a 360 during an encore performance of ‘When the Doves Cry,’ he’s retired his retro Chucks with the custom-fitted lifts, and feeds his hoops jones watching his boy KG and the T-Wolves. With KG gone, it’s gonna be a sad thing thinking of Prince all alone with three hot naked bitches and no team to call his own.”
Attempting to avert an escalating public relations crisis, Timberwolves GM Kevin McHale showed up at Paisley Park unannounced, bearing a tambourine and an assortment of percussion instruments. While McHale last played third trumpet in sixth grade band class, there is no indication he’s played a musical instrument of any kind since.
“McHale shows up with a shopping cart full of percussion instruments and asks where Prince is at, he wants to jam,” said Fred Williamson, one of the bodyguards who summarily turned McHale away. “I go, yo, unless you Bootsy Collins, I don’t think so. So I step in front to block his path to the door, and what you know, he gives me that cute little up and under – to this day that shit’s unguardable. But we had backup and hustled him out the door and sent him on his way.”
According to one eye-witness, Prince lead his crack band through the Parliament, Funkadelic and Meters song-books, and “plain funked the place up.” But as the hours wore on, Prince sank deeper and deeper into a bottomless, self-pitying funk, jettisoning band members one at a time until it was just Prince laying down tasty wah-wah-laden riffs over computer-generated funk grooves.
Calls to his representatives went unanswered. A statement issued by Prince’s publicist asked his fans to respect his wish for privacy as he mourns the loss of “the team formerly known as the Timberwolves.”
The Authors of The Sportsman’s Daily