A Day in the Life of Derek Fisher

What's happenin' y'all? This is your guy, D-Fish. Jared asked me to take you guys through one of my typical days. I figured it's the least I could do for my Main Man since he once performed the Heimlich maneuver on my son when he was choking on a Wheat Thin. 

So, I hope you all enjoy it! 

I start my day off waking up precisely five minutes before dawn. To make sure that happens, I keep a book on my nightstand called "Sunrises with Morgan Freeman." On page 256, there is a calendar that reveals the exact time for the sunrise of each day in Oklahoma City.

Once I'm up, I immediately de-clothe myself and walk out on my backyard deck that overlooks Draper Lake. It's true paradise, I must say. Once the first ray of sunlight beams over the horizon, I start my yoga regiment. I pride myself on my bubble butt. It symbolizes all of the work I put in during my yoga sessions. My high, protruding rear end is the result of me performing over 500 squat thrusts each day.

After yoga, I make breakfast: 16 ounces of Fiji water, a 20-ounce protein shake, four scrambled eggs, five NightCrawler gummy worms and a shot of Tequila.

After nourishing my body with all of the nutrients I need, I get in my Prius and head to the Chesapeake Area to get on my daily grind. I'm well aware that I am a gnome compared to most players in the NBA. That's why 90 percent of my workout consists of high arching shots from the three-point line.

There are basically two things I do in basketball games. I either swish deep threes and make the crowd go wild, or I air ball. But don't make the assumption that this is merely coincidental. I'm so in tune with my own body that I know if I'm going to miss a shot attempt by the time my feet leave the floor on a jump shot. I figure that if I'm going to miss, I might as well air ball so that my teammates might make it look like it was a planned alley-oop attempt. Some people don't understand my thought process, but as Oprah once told me in an Alcoholics Anonymous seminar, "Haters are gonna hate."

As soon as I'm done with my workout, I spend precisely 25 minutes flexing in front of a mirror in the locker room. My chiseled body is considered to be the eighth wonder of the world. It's truly the work of God, and I believe I owe it to myself and my faith that I should habitually visualize God's work by studying my own body.

By this point, I've spent about four hours at the arena, and it's time for me to leave. I head over to my favorite restaurant in town, the Olive Garden.

Once I start my feast of bottomless salad and breadsticks, I call up my homie, Kobe. I like to remind him every day of that game winner I hit against the Spurs with just 0.4 seconds on the clock. He tells me to stop living in the past. I think he's jealous of greatness. Everyone knows who the true superstar was on that Lakers team. It certainly wasn't no Black Mamba, or whatever that fool calls himself—LOL.

After finishing my Olive Garden feast, I head home. I spend about an hour polishing my championship rings. That's rings, plural.

Once it's 9:55 at night, I put on my onesie with the clutch butt flap and head to the master bedroom. I watch a highlight film that I made of myself draining threes. I watch the balls fly through the air in slow motion, and try to digest the pure perfection that encompasses the flight pattern of my shots. It's truly extraordinary, the things I can do with a basketball in my hands.

Life is great. I'm truly fortunate to have the opportunity to live my life to the fullest. I will ultimately go down in history as the greatest shooter with a rear end that is more than one foot in diameter.

After all, my life is directly related to my jump shot. I'm either going to swish, or I'm going to air ball. Either way, I'm going to give it my all. When you get down to it, that's all that really matters in this life.

Yours Truly,

Derek "D-Fish" Fisher