You gotta be kiddin me!

For all the shit talk that surrounds that 3 point chuckin Italian guy, lets not forget about the Toronto Raptors bust of the most epic proportions.

He brought “toughness” to the 5 spot. He had tiny little T-Rex arms. You know what I’m sayin.

But most importantly, after a one year exile in a Siberian prison camp, Rob Babcock has brought back his favourite son to the NBA.

Andre Iguodala’s superior draft-mate has resurfaced in Minneapolis to thrill the T-Wolves faithful and fill the void left in the wake of some Garnett, cough, World Champion, cough, guy.

Lemme say, welcome back Hoffa, I missed you in an entirely homo-erratic way.

Lets just psychoanalyze the Babcock decision for a few seconds….

You know those decisions you have made in your life, that when you think of them you immediately feel ill? The ones where you’d do pretty much anything to get that moment in time back and take exactly the opposite decision of whatever you did? Well, if you were Rob Babcock, then wouldn’t drafting Hoffa be one of those moments?

How has he re-hitched his wagon to the worst Raptors international player ever? A guy who makes Ramon van de Hare, Vincenzo Esposito and Zan Tabak look full of tantalizing potential.

What could be going through his mind? What could he still see in Hoffa?

They say truth is stranger than fiction, but this blows my mind more than that story I read 2 weeks ago about politicians in Uganda banning women from wearing mini-skirts as it “causes too many traffic accidents.” That actually seems sane at this point.

Raptors faithful, I suggest a standing ovation upon Hoffa’s return to T-Dot. A chant of Hof-fa, Hof-fa, that slowly builds to a deafening crescendo of BYU rim-rockin glory.