I Would Run You Over With My Car for Russell Westbrook’s Jacket

Let’s talk about March 3rd of 2019. Largely an unremarkable day, March 3rd was the first Sunday of the month. Not a clue what I did that day except I remember one thing in particular, and haven’t forgotten it since: Russell Westbrook got a fit off.

The Oklahoma City Thunder edged out the Memphis Grizzlies 99-95 that day, but that’s not important. Beyond that game, which was held between a team destined for the playoffs and one destined for a decent draft pick, not much happened on the court. What is important and actually worth mentioning is the collection of unreal drippage Russell Westbrook flexed on all of us in the pregame tunnel of the Chesapeake Arena.

Russell Westbrook is widely known as one of the NBA’s pillars of fashion (not to mention an MVP and someone who clearly has no respect for gravity), giving cameras and social media plenty of fodder, whether he’s taunting a former lanky teammate’s status as a “photographer” or contributing to the denim revival.

Style on the court in the NBA is largely influenced by this one man who destroys basketball hoops and defenders’ self-respect for a living. He runs so fast he’s like when you have dreams about driving a car and your foot gets stuck on the gas. Russell Westbrook is someone who dunks so violently and with so little disregard for his own knees that he makes Tom Cruise stunts look boring.

Westbrook’s unrelenting desire to destroy opponents (among other things) is why he signed a 5-year, $205M deal two years ago – you pay that Sonic/Hulk/Kermit the Frog hybrid as much as the market deems necessary.

He doesn’t do anything that anyone else does. No one ever has averaged a triple-double three years running. No other MVP would stay in a small market like Oklahoma City. Besides being a sentient stick of dynamite, Russell can bring the drip like no one else.

Drip is fashion that makes you do a double-take; it keeps you staring at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen in a style-induced stupor before eventually double-tapping out of respect. Drip is this outfit that Russell wore on March 3rd, courtesy of @leaguefits.

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A power-fit in pink, Russ is cozy enough to fall asleep during a bad movie and fresh enough to grab 25k likes, considerably more than most outfits get on the account, even his other pregame tunnel outfits.

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“DRIP GOD” is right, @plutodashh_. But look at that jacket, all quilted and colorful, something you’d see in Pendleton’s catalog. It might be from Pendleton, but I don’t think so; I browse their inventory every week and never saw it in March, much to my chagrin.

Just look at this warm little wonder. The colors are perfect, the cut is perfect, and the rest of the fit is perfect, sweatsuit with Jordans to match, capped off by this jacket that will (and should) elude me.

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Russell Westbrook’s jacket probably has some handy little pockets on the inside where you can stash your keys or where you’d put your phone so it doesn’t slip out of your sweatpants pocket, which we all know is one of the least-efficient pockets known to man – can barely keep your hands warm, if you can even fit them in there. Your fingers are usually all close together looking like a giant squid swimming aerodynamically, your knuckles barely making inside the pocket lining. Sweats with big pockets do exist, but they’re always really loose-fitting and not as comfortable as slim-legged sweats that always seem to have deep pockets. Anyway.

I’d run you over with my car for this jacket.

I’d call the IRS and tell them your grandma hasn’t paid her taxes in 28 years if it meant I could have a link to buy this jacket online somewhere.

I’d steal your PS4 controller, break off the left stick and return it with a dead battery if it meant I could touch this jacket sent from heaven.

I love each and every color on this jacket; the reds, the blues, the yellows…and is that a bit of green? Kinda hard to tell, but I don’t think that’s green. I want that sweatshirt too. And the sweatpants. And the J’s (actually, despite loving everything he does and says, I really dislike every Jordan shoe Russell Westbrook has had so far; they’re all terrible).

Judging by the sleeves poking out from this much-revered (by me) article of extreme drippage, Russ’ shirt underneath is pink as well, which is not surprising; if you’re gonna have this kind of fit, you’re gonna go full-throttle on the pink.

I’d go full throttle running your ass over if it meant this fashion statement was mine.

Windbreakers Are a Lie, But They’re Perfect Anyway

We’ve all worn them, whether it’s as a slight protection against the wind, mostly serving as a focal point of one’s outfit, or worn by FBI agents standing around crime scenes seven hours after the fact.

Windbreakers are a requirement of any wardrobe, doesn’t matter if you’re a third base coach on a cold October night or a stern father at a high school basketball game, coaching from the bleachers and furiously chewing gum that lost its flavor three minutes into the second quarter. He’ll stay warm on the bench, but the jacket won’t help your son shoot any better.

Nylon swishing with every movement, no matter how much the wearer tries to prevent it from happening. If you’re feeling like you want to get into The North Face but don’t know where to buy a carabiner, then a polyester joint with a quarter length zipper will do you nicely. You can show up to your Subaru owner’s club meeting at the abandoned KFC parking lot in that, and someone named Brad will think it’s sick.

The drawstrings in the hood seal the deal; if they are a color that’s complementary to the jacket, then you can call it a day. Zip it all the way up and the hood rests perfectly on your neck, drawstrings hanging nonchalantly like they’re at a quiet bar in Paris. The little handle on the zipper dangles, wavering silently with each movement, but it only adds to the jacket.

Mess around with the strings too much and one end will get stuck inside the hood (unless they’re the ones that have little things on the ends to prevent that), forcing you to perform an odd ritual: a worm-like movement that’s as frustrating as the wait for money to appear in your PayPal account. After this happens for the third time, it won’t take so long to fix.

Scrunchy wrists, or at least a tight wrist are required for a full windbreaker experience. Can’t have some wide opening that lets a remorseless winter gust slide up an arm, freezing the extremity you use most often to hold your phone. Don’t drop that precious, predominantly glass device only because you failed to find a decent jacket that can withstand a biting winter wing.

Nylon, polyester or its cool cousin micro-polyester don’t protect you from the wind in the same way that the great indoors does, but it’s fine. Should you ever need to venture outdoors to tip the pizza delivery guy, pop on your nearest nylon wonder and rush over to his dented coupe, crumpled bills in hand.

Windbreakers don’t always do as advertised, but they almost always look good; sometimes just enough to earn a friendly nod of acknowledgment, only rarely worth a “gotta find that online” murmured under one’s breath, full of contempt for the owner of a superior article of clothing. One color and you can’t go wrong like Kobe during his last game; two colors and you’re flexing like Hulk Hogan off a painkiller. Three colors and you’re at an 80’s-themed party, going full D.J. Conner.

“My TV mom is almost as loud as my windbreaker!”