Scott Sargent
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Like many of his hardwood brethren, Dion Waiters has his fair share of on-skin art. Scrawled across his shoulders — rendering this portion of his of his body more billboard than upper back — in a font larger than the name plate of any jersey he will ever wear, exists the word “Blessed,” drawn entirely in capital letters. This word, an adjective defined as meaning “blissfully happy,” ironically remains unfilled as if penned on the cover of a textbook by a teen rife with boredom in the middle of a late-day class.
When glancing at Waiters from behind, one notices that this lot of ink is accompanied by many others, no two the same; his initials grace each respective triceps, each one wearing a comic book-like design as a crown, blending into other words of memoriam and motivation. Mom. Monique. Sacrifice. Dedication. These idioms, however, are entirely solid — various designs, ink throughout without any whitespace. “Blessed” remains unfilled, encumbered only by the jersey which he is afforded due to the abilities being referenced.
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