STEPHEN RODNEY: "The Greatest Smoker to Ever Play the Game"
Posted: Sun Mar 17, 2019 10:09 am
As he rubs the belly of his beloved golden retriever in his lap, Stephen Rodney takes one last, long drag from his Winston cigarette before promptly flicking it across the room, where it lands alongside a giant pile of fetish films. "Jonesy", Rodney's prized pet, instantly races to inspect the object, but is almost immediately turned away by the rancid smell of feces emanating from the pile of filth. With a sigh, Rodney sits up and walks across the room to pick up the pup and prepares to take him for a walk. As he lights yet another cigarette, Stephen Rodney comes to a dire realization: He's almost run out of smokes—once again.
"Frye," he thinks to himself as he juggles the cigarette between his fingers. "Looks like we'll be having to make a stop at 711 again, Jonesy."
With a trashbag full of baby diapers in hand, Rodney leads Jonesy out of the apartment complex. The cold, New York weather has left Rodney's nipples rock solid—he could almost feel the icy water dripping from the tips of his titties. When he was first drafted by the New York Knicks, this wasn't what he expected. He expected a beautiful, robust city swarming with loose women and cheap alcohol—not a cold, desolate city whose most impressive features included urine-soaked newspapers that were littered in the city streets. As he walks down the block, a fan suddenly stops him in his tracks.
"Hey, you're Stewart Radney! Weren't you just drafted by the Nets?" the curious fan inquires.
"Yep, that would be me," Rodney responds. "How about an autograph?"
"Surely!" the fan replies, his face full of delight.
Rodney reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a magic marker and receipt from the local smoke shop. He motions for the fan to turn around so that he could use his back to sign his name; but rather than signing the autograph, Rodney wraps his arms around the fan's neck, choking the oxygen from his lungs. The fan struggles to call out for help, but Rodney won't let up. Ever since he was a small child, his parents told him to "never let up, never back down"—and he sure as hell wasn't going to do that this time, that's for sure.
"That's Stephen Godney to you, bitch," Rodney says as he releases his hold.
"You—you're crazy!" the fan hollers before turning around and sprinting down the street with Jonesy's barks trailing right behind him.
"Good boy, good boy," Rodney says ever so sweetly as he pats the dog on the head before reaching into his pocket once more to give the dog a treat. But unfortunately for little Jonesy, all Rodney finds is nothing more than burnt cigarette butts—probably from yesterday or the day before.
"Damn," Rodney utters under his breath. The dog stares up at him with a quizzical, blank look on his face.
"If only he loved me as much as he loved his cigarettes," the dog silently contemplates...
At the tender age of 10, Stephen Rodney had the world at his feet. Having little to no responsibilities and with both parents leading lives of crime, Rodney was left alone to his own devices. Before his parents would leave the apartment to hustle the streets for the night, Rodney would sneak into their bedroom and steal a few Newports from his mother's purse. Once left alone, he would smoke one cigarette after another until he became lightheaded.
"Wow, this must be how David Carradine felt right before he died from autoerotic asphyxiation," he would think to himself.
As plumes of smoke filled his lungs, little Stephen Rodney felt liberated; he felt as if he finally found his "happy place." Unlike his parents, at least these cigarettes could fill the massive void in his tiny beating heart. If there was anything he was destined to become, it was a cigarette smoker—that's for sure. The best there ever was.
At school, Stephen Rodney was a model student: He cheated on all his tests, frequently snuck into the girls' restrooms, and sold candy on the playground so he had money to buy cigarettes from the local homeless folk who frequented his neighborhood. They'd often look at him with suspicious eyes; but, needing the money, they'd easily exchange a few cigarettes for some cash to buy another pint of vodka. It only made sense.
By the time he reached his teenage years, Stephen Rodney had upgraded from cheap, menthol cigarettes to Camel, perhaps the most badass brand on the face of the earth. He always had a cigarette tucked behind his ear so girls knew just how cool he really was. He practically had them dripping with excitement—or excrement, whichever came first. While his parents were out wasting their time trying to earn money to pay bills, Rodney was hard at work, smoking away as many cigarettes as humanly possible. He was simply made for this, and if anybody were to get in the way of his beloved hobby, they'd soon find themselves on the ground, staring up at the ceiling—unconscious. Stephen Rodney wasn't messing around.
It wasn't until the age of 15, however, that his dirty little hobby caught up with him. Interested in playing for his school's junior-varsity basketball team, Rodney tried out and subsequently made the team as a starter. However, he had one major problem: He struggled to keep up with the other players. As they ran from end to end on the court, Rodney lagged behind, often clenching his chest.
"What the hell is wrong with you, Rodney?!" coach would yell from the sidelines.
"Cigs, boss, it's those goddamn cigarettes I've been smoking on a regular basis," he'd respond as he struggled to breathe, his heart nearly beating out of his chest.
And that's when he knew that he needed to change. If he ever wanted to excel in this sport, he'd have to quit smoking—or at least cut back substantially. Unfortunately for him, this was going to be no easy task. As days turned to weeks, Rodney found himself in dire straits, as his hopes of cutting back were quickly fading. But then, one night, it came to him in a dream: "never let up, never back down," echoed the words of his parents. As he awoke in a cold sweat, he immediately reached for his pack of Camel cigarettes and sparked one up, inhaling as deep as he could. He knew now what he needed to do: "Never let up, never back down." If he was going to excel in this sport, he was going to do it with a pack of smokes in hand—and much like the opposing team, he was going to smoke 'em all.
Once school let out, Stephen Rodney would race home, cigarette in mouth, eager to work on his free throws. It wasn't long before this became tradition: He would race home every single day, spark up some cigs, and hit the basketball court. If anything, the lack of oxygen occupying his lungs aided him in his athletic development; he quickly discovered how to play on little to no oxygen, which gave him an advantage over other players who may otherwise be gassed by the end of a game. As far as he was concerned, the more cigarettes he smoked, the better he performed. It was only when he wasn't smoking cigarettes that he struggled with his shooting and concentration. But as soon as he lit one up, he was golden again.
The more and more he smoked, the more and more he became addicted. But on the flipside, at least he was performing better on the basketball court, and that was all that mattered to him. During his senior season, you could easily find him seated on the bench with a carton of cigarettes by his side. While other players took this opportunity to cool off and refuel with Gatorade, Stephen Rodney set out to smoke as many cigarettes as humanly possible—this was the fuel that drove him, after all. Upon being subbed into a game, he would light one last cigarette and hit the floor. Once he started puffing, he started dominating. And that's when scouts began to take notice.
"Stephen Rodney, forward. Great inside-scorer, excellent rebounder, loves cigarettes more than he loves his very own mother," wrote David Albrecht, a scout for the Golden State Warriors.
The fact of the matter was that many teams were interested in this young prospect. Not only could he score and defend in the post, but he could suck down 2 packs of cigarettes per game—a statistic that none of his counterparts could lay claim to.
In the midst of his senior season, however, tragedy struck. Sick with pneumonia, Stephen Rodney couldn't play basketball and, to make matters worse, he couldn't smoke either. During that time, Rodney was bedridden, forced to watch the world from afar. His appetite increased, and within the span of a few weeks, he had gained a substantial amount of weight. It almost looked as if his future as a professional basketball player was coming to an end when suddenly, his health magically improved. Once his illness finally passed, Stephen Rodney remembered what his parents had told him so many years ago: "Never let up, never back down." He sparked up his first cigarette in what seemed like months, and almost instantly, a wave of calm overwhelmed him. He had finally returned to his "happy place", his Promised Land.
As he slowly fought his way back into shape, Stephen Rodney sought other ways he could improve his game. He concocted numerous plans: First, he could always blow smoke in his opponent's eyes whenever they were going to shoot or contend his shot; he could "drop" an empty pack of cigarettes on the court for his opponents to slip on; and lastly, he could always let out a hoarse, wicked cough to distract the opposing player at the free throw line. It was a perfect plan.
In his very first appearance back since his departure, Stephen Rodney dominated in every facet of the game. He was smoking cig after cig, pack after pack, and in the meantime he was scoring some points and grabbing some rebounds as well. Everything was going swimmingly for the young stud who had his eyes on the prize: The PBSL Draft. And as the weeks went on, his game only continued to improve, leaving many scouts in awe at his natural abilities. But first, he had to prove himself once more—this time, in college.
He opted to attend Ohio State.
Once his freshman season at Ohio State reached its inevitable conclusion, Stephen Rodney felt the time was ripe; he had a wonderful season and had nothing left to prove to all the critics who had previously doubted his God-given abilities. He subsequently declared himself eligible for the upcoming PBSL draft—a decision that would change his life forever. He had every reason in the world to be excited; he was in the best shape of his life, his skills had massively improved, but perhaps most importantly, scouts from all around the league were enthralled with his elite skillset. He had every reason to believe that he would be a top pick in the upcoming draft, and this sentiment was echoed by the media. ESPN and FOX Sports both provided him with extensive coverage, highlighting his top plays and breaking down his offensive and defensive tendencies. With all the focus being on him, he felt empowered like never before.
And then his time finally came.
"With the fifth pick of the 2026 PBSL Draft... the New York Knicks select Stephen Rodney, forward, out of Ohio State."
Stephen Rodney immediately leaped out of his seat, his contagious smile being on display for all to see. He promptly pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and quickly lit one up. With one deep, relaxing inhale, he could feel all the stress and nervousness dissipate into a blissful feeling of relief. He could now proudly say that he was a member of the New York Knicks.
