Hardwood Paroxysm presents: When the NBA and video games collide

Dion Waiters is Claptrap

by Hal Brown (@HalBrownNBA)

There are very few NBA players who are both as bad and as convinced of their own brilliance as Dion Waiters. In Nylon Calculus’ Daily RAPM estimate, Dion is estimated to have the 3rd worst impact on their team of any player in the league, short of Michael Carter-Williams and Lance Stephenson. But Dion isn’t bothered by this. Dion demands that you defer to Dion, always, because there is, theoretically, never a better option than Dion.

I mean, Jesus, look at Waiters call for the ball from LEBRON JAMES. With a full shot clock! While nothing is happening! He thinks he’s a better option to set up the offense than LEBRON JAMES.

There was never another option. Dion is Borderlands’ Claptrap, the only video game character as universally frustrating, annoying, and as convinced of his own brilliance as Dion Waiters. The only character as frequently derided, insulted, and straight up maimed without it bothering or changing him. The two even give off the same sense of pseudo-honor in their refusal to become less offensive amid the constant, nonstop criticism.

Claptrap, a robot-turned-rogue built for the service of the primary antagonist Handsome Jack, has an origin story, even, is built upon the fact that he’s so abhorrently annoying that even though his relative ability to think for himself is his best skill and the only reason he was built, it’s everybody’s deep, abiding wish that he be shut down and reprogrammed immediately because he’s unbearable. His first appearance in the second Borderlands game involves him having his eye ripped out by a Yeti, and yet — and this is crucial — it doesn’t stop him from feeling like the unquestioned leader, the brains, the hero of the Pandoran wasteland.

Really, that attitude is the fundamental essence of Dion Waiters. It doesn’t matter that Claptrap had his eye ripped out, the vault hunter is still his mion. It doesn’t matter that Waiters was traded, that he comes off the bench, that his stats are beyond abysmal, he’ll still carry the Thunder. When he got traded to Oklahoma City, you know he turned to MVP-candidate Russell Westbrook and reigning MVP Kevin Durant and said:

“This way to [the championship], minion — let’s go! Maybe! …Or, not! We’ll go at your pace! I’m obviously the head of this operation, of course, but you’re the Vault Hunter with the brawn. And the guns. And the power of sight. Which is exactly what you want out of a minion, really. That’s, like, three of the top four things one generally wants out of a minion. You’ll figure out the fourth when the time is right…The fourth is pizzazz.” 

I mean, there’s just no way to tell the difference between Waiters and Claptrap there, right? There’s the same confidence, the same fake attempt at being complementary. What about this next quote, too, is this Claptrap talking to a vault hunter, or Dion talking to LeBron? 

“Come on. High Five. Right here. Up top. Don’t leave me hangin’, bro. Don’t make this awkward. Well, mission failed. It’s awkward now, huh. I made it weird. Still — you know what’d make you feel better? A high-five from your buddy. Just imagine it — the sharp smack of hand against hand, the feeling of accomplishment, of brotherhood — okay, I’m making it weird again. Sorry. Okay, how about this: I’ll count to three. If you haven’t high-fived me by the time I get to three I’ll assume you don’t want a high-five. Ready? One. Two. Three. Okay, the three count was a dumb idea. You clearly want to high-five me, you’re just not sure how. I understand. Fear not, though — you need only smack my hand, and bam — high-five complete. Okay. Ready? …Go!”

There’s no way to know. Maybe it’s both. I mean, that’s probably why they’re the same person, because they both said the same thing, or something. Dion is Claptrap. ClapDion. DionTrap. Interplanetary ninja assassin. Mistake. Hero.