The subplot involving the Poet and Brendan Haywood is expected to receive a pouting check today, assuming Eddie Jordan entrusts the center position to the one who pens sonnets.
Haywood rarely holds up well if his derriere is planted against a seat cushion at tip-off.
The challenge before Haywood is to show he can absorb the blow to his psyche and move past the bouts of pouting and sulking, if not the bursts of giggling on the far end of the bench.
The latter could be helped by the departure of his partner in giggling, Jared Jeffries.
Their urge to giggle sometimes lacked a proper sense of timing, such as in the waning minutes of a lost cause.
The most committed players rarely find a setback to be amusing, which is why the NBA employs a cooling-off period following a game.
Haywood and Jordan have advanced the notion that their previously fractured relationship is on the mend, fueled no doubt by the coach’s contract extension in the summer.
The uneasy nature of the relationship emanated from Haywood, of course, because coaches can be exceedingly simple creatures at times.
They show favoritism to players who produce, who care and who increase a team’s quality of life.
It is not really complex, except to a player who cannot grasp why a coach would be upset with a 7-footer who barely ends up with more rebounds than the munchkin known as Earl Boykins in a game.
Or a 7-footer who collects one rebound in the first half.
Or a 7-footer who refuses to make eye contact with a coach after being removed from a game.
Or a 7-footer who works himself into a high-energy lather at the sight of Tyson Chandler, only to disappear in subsequent games.
Haywood has adopted an all-or-nothing bent in his five seasons with the Wizards.
He can lift your spirits one night and then break your heart the next.