The Best

Locrates is in a near panic. He searches relentlessly for the one thing all people seek, from time to time: truth. His search has brought him to the heart of the big city.

"Excuse me, dear madam," he says to a woman on the street. "May I ask you a question?"
"Dude, what's wrong with you?" she replies.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"Why are you wearing a bedsheet?"
"This? It is a toga."
"Why is it dirty?"
"Cleanliness is reserved for those who have found truth."
"Truth?"
"Yes, truth!"
"Truth about what?"
"TRUTH! The most essential truth. The truth of the highest order… the truth about who is the best basketball player alive."
"Oh. I don't watch basketball. I guess Lebron James or Steph Curry maybe?"
"Imbecile! They’ve not been at that level for years. You are of no use to me, philistine!"

Locrates walks on.

"But I can feed you and give you some better clothing!" yells the woman after him.
"I require the truth, not a wife! Enough from you!"

Locrates stumbles upon a large building. Outside, a man in a very expensive suit eats a hot dog.

"Dear sir, may I ask you a question?"
"Sure man, shoot."
"I have nothing to shoot, but on that note, who is the best basketball player alive?"
"That's easy, man. Nikola Jokic."
"Jokic!?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Why do you think so?"
"He's the reigning three-time MVP, it's obvious."
"Oh, is it now?"
"It is."
"But dear sir, I must ask you, mustn’t the best player on the planet be elite at both offense and defense?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, basketball is a game of offense and defense. To be the best, you must be elite at both offense and defense. Look at all the players that were the best in the world before now: LeBron, elite at defense. Kobe, elite at defense. Jordan, elite at defense. Duncan, Olajuwon, all elite at defense. I will ask you again, is Jokic elite at defense?"
"Listen, Jokic just won a title and a Finals MVP. Everyone thinks he's the best."
"But is he elite at defense?!"
"He's tall."
"Yes, and that's all he is, philistine! You are of no use to me or anyone else!"

Locrates turns to the hot dog vendor, likely the very one Mr. Fancy Suit got his from.

“You, sir! Surely you must know, and I must find the truth. Who is the best basketball player alive?"
"Giannis."
"Giannis?!"
"Giannis."
"Why do you think so?"
"He's elite on both sides of the ball, and the only reason he doesn't have more championships is because of some bad injury luck."
"That may be so. But let me ask you this: In a late-game situation, can I go to Giannis and have him deliver me a win, like the greats of the past?"
"He scored 50 points in a championship-winning game."
"But can I go to him down the stretch to get me buckets?"
"No, I guess not. He's not a great shooter."
"Then why are you wasting my time, philistine! The best player in the world must be able to close games, everyone knows that."
"Hey, man, you asked us," the sharp-dressed man butts back into the conversation.
"You two wouldn't know the truth if it slapped you, jerked you off, and spit on your face."

Locrates walks on. He approaches a woman working on her laptop in a park.

"Madam, may I ask you a question? All I seek is the truth."
"Sure, man, what's up?"
"The best basketball player alive, who is he?
“He? Why just he? Why can’t it be A’Ja Wilson or Caitlin Clark?”

Locrates freezes, stunned in silence. Has the code been cracked? Could a woman—relative to her peers—be the best player on the planet?

The woman chuckles. “Nah, I’m just kidding. I think it’s Luka.”
“Doncic?!?!?!”
“Sure, why not? He’s a great scorer and an elite passer. He’s even starting to figure out defense. And I mean, who else would you want with the ball in his hands in the last few minutes of a game? He’s a killer!”
“Perhaps he is a killer, as you say. But it’s a 48-minute game. And for the first 46, all Luka does is whine, complain, and lose his composure. Mustn’t the best player in the world be able to stay focused for the entirety of a game?”
“IDK. I think he makes up for it.”
“No, I won’t be fooled by you, you acronym-spewing philistine!”

Locrates walks on.

"Hey, who the fuck do you think is the best?"
"If I knew that I wouldn't be walking around asking everyone else!"

Locrates comes upon a basketball court where men of all ages are playing a friendly game of pickup basketball. He spots a young man waiting to play next.

"Dear child, can I ask you a question? I only seek the truth?"
"No, man, you can't play next with me. You need shoes."
"Oh, child, I have no need for play, I only need the truth."
"The truth about what?"
"Who is the best basketball player in the world?"
"It's me, bro. I'm the best."

Locrates walks on. "Fucking philistine child," he mumbles to himself. 

"Anthony Edwards!" yells the child. 

Locrates returns.

"Anthony Edwards?"
"Anthony Edwards."
"Why do you think so?"
"He's a bucket. He plays defense, he does chase-down blocks, he has a great smile, he jumps out of the gym, he can shoot, he's clutch, he is everything the best player needs to be."
"But child, what does Anthony Edwards do that Shai Gilgeous-Alexander doesn’t?"
"Huh?"
"Shai has more points, more assists, and also leads the league in steals, he's an elite defender. He is also the most clutch player in the league."
"Shai has never done anything!"
"Neither has Anthony Edwards!"
"Do you even watch basketball?"
"Do you, child?!"
"You're a smelly old man!"
"And you are an imbecile who will never know truth!"

Locrates walk on.

"Fuck you, old man!"
"It is you that has been fucked by the gods, for you are a stupid, stupid child!"

Locrates is now famished from his long day of searching for truth. The sun is starting to set, and he is growing weaker and weaker. Without realizing he walks into a person. He looks up. This person looks 8 feet tall.

"I am so sorry good sir, I have grown weak and weary from searching for the truth."
"The truth about what?" The giant has a French accent. 
"Who is the best basketball player in the land?"
"Ah, what a great question? But perhaps not the right one."
“Not the right one?”
“Yes. Why worry about who the best player is right now when you can determine who the best player will be for the next ten years?”

The large man takes his gigantic finger and puts it squarely in the middle of Locrates' head. Suddenly, Locrates sees the light.

"Do you see the truth, my friend?"
"I do! I have finally seen the truth, Victor. Merci beaucoup! Merci beaucoup!"