Goodwin opened his eyes groggily. A few seconds later, he realized it was already pretty late.
Shit, what time is it?
He hurriedly looked at the alarm clock on his bedside table. It read 9:45.
"NO! Damn alcohol!" Goodwin cursed, then quickly climbed out of bed to wash up, brush his teeth, and get dressed.
The night before, after they'd narrowly beaten the Eastern Conference's top team, the Indiana Pacers, the whole team had gathered in Paul Pierce's hotel room to celebrate.
There had been singing and dancing, food and drinks, and all kinds of fun.
As a Boston Celtic, Goodwin couldn't refuse, so he'd joined in.
He'd had quite a bit to drink, then stumbled back to his room and gone to sleep.
As a result, he'd slept right through his morning training session.
Goodwin silently swore he wouldn't drink again during the season.
Thankfully, his head didn't hurt, and even the multitude of injuries he'd suffered at Artest's hands had healed.
Sure enough, sleep was the best medicine. Thumbs up o(￣▽￣)d
After getting dressed, Goodwin headed to the hotel gym for his morning run.
By then, the gym was already packed. The moment the hulking Goodwin walked in, everyone turned to stare.
A closer look revealed it was Goodwin!
In an instant, their expressions changed, as if they wanted to take him out.
Goodwin felt the hostility, and couldn't help touching his face as he wondered to himself, Have I gotten even better-looking?
A while back, the internet had hosted a bunch of polls: "Who would you most like to go three hundred rounds with?" "Whose girlfriend would you most like to be?" "Who would you most like to..."
The polls covered men from all across the United States, including the entertainment and sports worlds.
To everyone's surprise,