Make It Make Sense

The Bullets won an NBA championship in 1978.

At least that’s what Google keeps telling me.

I’ve heard about Wes Unseld, Elvin Hayes, and that era like somebody describing a mythical civilization that disappeared underwater.

Me?

I inherited the aftermath. The “maybe next year” years. The name change years.

The Bullets became the Wizards in ‘97 because the name was “too violent.” The franchise immediately started committing basketball crimes instead.

We gave up Chris Webber for Mitch Richmond just to watch Webber go glow up with the Kings. Saw Rip Hamilton get traded for an aging Jerry Stackhouse just for Rip to go win championships in Detroit. We got number one picks before too. Kwame Brown happened. Then Gilbert Arenas hijacked the franchise for a few chaotic years and somehow became bigger than the actual team.

Then came John Wall, moving 100 miles per hour just to crash into LeBron James every spring like a seasonal allergy.

And Jordan pulling up to DC felt like your uncle trying to prove he still got one more run left in him at the cookout.

Nothing. I couldn’t even give my season tickets away at one point. 

So yes, I care about this number one pick more than I probably should.

The fans want AJ Dybantsa.

I want Darryn Peterson.

And honestly, I don’t think it’s close.

AJ gonna be really good. Maybe even great.

I just think DP got superstar written all over him.

Some players look talented.

Some players look inevitable.

DP got that second type of energy.

To me, he’s like a weird mix of Kobe, Shai, and Devin Booker. Smooth pace. Killer scorer. Never looks rushed. Looks like he already knows where everybody on the court is about to move before they move.

And DC fans deserve irrational hope at this point. We suffered long enough.

Meanwhile, the internet turned 17-year-olds into publicly traded companies.

Everybody got rankings now. Breakdowns. Podcasts. “Sources.” Draft boards changing every six hours because somebody uploaded a workout clip with dramatic music and three contested jumpers.

Nobody even watches sports normally anymore.

Everything became content.

Debates became content.
Anger became content.
Predictions became content.
Even disappointment became content.

People don’t enjoy basketball now.

They monitor it.

And honestly, that same pressure leaked into everything else too.

The internet turned every hobby into a performance review.

People don’t just go to the gym anymore. Now it’s tripods, affiliate links, motivational speeches, matching outfits, and “5 AM discipline” videos filmed by somebody who clearly went back to sleep afterward.

Reading books became productivity branding.

Travel became proof of happiness.

Cooking became cinematography.

Running became drone footage narrated over piano music like somebody surviving war.

Nothing stays casual anymore because everybody quietly asking the same question now:

“How can I turn this into something?”

And honestly, that mindset slowly ruins the joy of things.

Not everything needs to become a brand.

Some things were actually meant to stay personal.

Then AI showed up and completely broke the internet’s brain.

Now everybody suddenly:
writer. designer. filmmaker. strategist. creative director. marketing expert.

The craziest part isn’t even the technology.

The craziest part is that people skipped the embarrassment stage completely.

People used to suck first.

That was part of becoming good at something.

You wrote terrible blogs.
Made ugly graphics.
Recorded awful podcasts.
Embarrassed yourself publicly.
Developed timing.
Built instincts.
Found your voice slowly.

Now people type three prompts and suddenly start introducing themselves like Marvel origin stories.

“Visionary.”
“Founder.”
“AI Expert.”
“Storyteller.”

Meanwhile, the people who actually spent ten years learning the craft quietly sitting there like:
“…what just happened?”

And the scary part is the internet rewards speed more than mastery now.

Nobody asks:
“Who’s actually good?”

They ask:
“Who posted first?”

That’s why everything feels loud now.

Everybody creating.

Nobody developing.

Even ownership feels fake now.

When I had my Tesla back in 2020, I paid for self-driving upfront and got unlimited charging for free.

Now everything became monthly access.

Streaming.
Software.
Storage.
Features already built into the car.

We’re probably two years away from subscription-based heated seats and “premium steering wheel access.”

At some point companies realized:
why sell ownership once when you can charge forever?

That’s basically the whole economy now.

And Wednesday is the finale of The Boys.

Honestly, it might be one of the most accurate shows ever made.

Not because of superheroes.

Because of people.

The show basically said corporations run everything, outrage is performance art, politics became entertainment, celebrity worship replaced morality, and most people will tolerate almost anything as long as they stay distracted enough.

And somehow every season feels LESS unrealistic.

That’s the craziest part.

At this point, Homelander feels like he could run for President in 2028.

And honestly, I think all of this connects to the same thing:

The death of being impressed.

Nothing feels rare anymore because the internet exposed everybody to everything all at once. Million-dollar homes, celebrity drama, luxury vacations, AI-generated lifestyles, perfectly branded confusion, and people pretending they’re happier than they actually are.

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

Your brain was never designed to absorb this much comparison.

So naturally, people stopped reacting.

Even celebrities feel regular now. Athletes livestream from their kitchens. Rich people vlog their morning routines. Everybody’s got access to everybody now.

Mystique died.

And once mystery disappears, awe disappears with it.

That’s why people seem emotionally numb now.

Nothing breathes long enough to actually feel special.

Which brings me back to Darryn Peterson and AJ Dybantsa.

I know sports are distractions sometimes.

I know arguing over prospects won’t change my life.

But maybe that’s exactly why people still hold onto moments like this anyway.

Because in a world where:

  • everything became content
  • everybody became a creator
  • hobbies became pressure
  • ownership disappeared
  • and nothing feels impressive for long

…hope still does.

Even if it’s just a jump shot in a Wizards jersey.