Could you clarify which quote from De’Aaron Fox you’re referring to? Are you looking for a specific statement he made recently?
It’s understandable to appreciate the honesty in Fox’s words. If his statement stood alone, the sentiment makes sense—no one should be stuck in a miserable situation, and if there’s a chance to take control of one’s own happiness, who could blame him for trying? Some people might deserve to be miserable, but De’Aaron Fox isn’t one of them.
Sacramento Kings fans shouldn’t be doomed to misery either, though it often feels like they’ve been assigned that fate for the past 15 years. Fans of historically struggling teams, like those who’ve endured years with the Detroit Lions, know the emotional toll it takes. Constant disappointment shapes the way you view sports and even your emotional resilience.
In an ESPN article referenced in a tweet, Fox made his stance clear: “I was like, ‘Yo, I’ve been here for going on my eighth year. If Mike gets fired, I’ll be going on my fifth coach, and I told them, ‘I’m not going to play for another coach. I’m going to play for another team.’”
It’s a straightforward declaration. And yet, 31 games into the season, head coach Mike Brown was fired—right after publicly pointing out a mistake by Fox that contributed to the Kings’ latest loss. Was Fox upset about that? It sure seems possible.
Stability is a mf. And it is crucial. I know this. Let’s go straight to Fox’s quote:
Okay. I take one thing back. Some people deserve to be miserable, and many of them already are. But De’Aaron Fox shouldn’t be one of them.
Sacramento Kings fans shouldn’t qualify for Official Conscripted Misery Bearers either. For the last 15 years or so, that feels like the expectation. But I’ve been around the Lions for a long time. Repeated exposure to getting punched in the gut will have an effect on your emotional digestive system. Being a fan of a bad team, like a really big fan of a really bad team, does not do good things to one’s psyche.
A quote from the ESPN article linked in the tweet has Fox saying the following: “I was like, ‘Yo, I’ve been here for going on my eighth year. If Mike gets fired, I’ll be going on my fifth coach, and I told them, ‘I’m not going to play for another coach. I’m going to play for another team.'”
Seems straightforward. Oh well. 31 games into the season, then coach Mike Brown was fired. Critically, this came almost directly after Brown called attention to a De’Aaron Fox mistake, which led to the latest Kings loss. Fox must have been upset, right?
De’Aaron Fox was not upset then. He’s upset now
The article presents a different perspective: “Fox, who says he still speaks with Brown weekly, even had to address rumors of tension with his former coach among Spurs staff upon arriving in San Antonio.” The perception of him as a “coach killer” wasn’t just an external narrative—it followed him to the team that had already traded for him.
The Kings’ decision not to refute claims about Fox’s alleged role in Brown’s firing was, let’s say, a puzzling one—perhaps even intentional or negligent. They simply chose to remain silent.
As Fox himself put it, “Did it weigh on me? No. I don’t give a f—.” It’s an incredibly human response, precisely because it feels so untrue. It’s the kind of statement that eventually takes on a life of its own, forming an identity and a defense mechanism.
The ones who genuinely don’t care aren’t the ones who say they don’t care. They’re the ones who stay quiet, untouchable. That kind of silence carries a different kind of weight—one that’s far more dangerous. Those who loudly insist they’re indifferent are often the ones most in need of stability, reassurance, and guidance.
The people who declare, “I don’t care,” are usually deeply aware that they’ve done everything they believed was right, yet it hasn’t yielded the results they expected. To protect themselves, they act as if they were never invested in the first place—avoiding the vulnerability of admitting they tried but still fell short.
Most people don’t naturally stop trying; they have to be conditioned into it. And those who push the idea that nothing you do matters, that your emotions are misplaced, can be very persuasive. If you’re not careful, the world itself will do half the convincing for them. But believing that narrative doesn’t benefit you—it only serves them.
Cynicism is a trap. Once you surrender to it, you’ve already lost.
Yet here, Fox openly embraces that cynicism. And it’s understandable why. Stability, support, and direction are not words commonly associated with the Sacramento Kings. As the article notes, “Since the Kings drafted Fox in 2017, he played under Dave Joerger, Luke Walton, Alvin Gentry, and Brown. Joerger’s three seasons were the longest tenure of any Kings coach Fox played under in his 7½ years.” Fox, Brown, and Domantas Sabonis led Sacramento to the playoffs for the first time in a generation. Now, two of them are gone.
If De’Aaron Fox wanted to play for the Spurs, it’s hard to argue that he didn’t earn the opportunity to do so.
Thanks. I’m sad now.
I hate that this has taken such a somber turn, but the only way I can make sense of it is by fully exploring its emotional weight. The reality is, this entire situation has been shaped by prolonged periods of disappointment and frustration. I feel for Kings fans just as much as I do for any other fanbase. De’Aaron Fox was the brightest light in Sacramento since the Chris Webber era.
Honestly, the franchise was probably fortunate to have him stay as long as he did. When Fox essentially said, “Please don’t do this one thing,” and the Kings went ahead and did exactly that… I don’t see how the relationship could have been repaired. This is more of an indictment of the organization than the fans, but the fact that he stuck around as long as he did speaks volumes. Without him, there wouldn’t have been a beam to light up in the first place.
This chapter of Kings basketball—if it even qualifies as an era—may end up as a mere footnote in broader NBA history. But in the moment, in the specific time and place it happened, it meant so much more. That 2023 Kings team brought pure, undeniable joy, not just to Sacramento but to basketball fans everywhere. Anyone with even a basic understanding of the team’s history or an appreciation for an underdog story had a reason to celebrate. The Kings weren’t just a solid team—they were the best at something. That offense was a work of art. I genuinely believed, and truly hoped, that it would last longer than just one season.
Pandora really had no chill.
Nothing you just said made me any less sad in any way. Thanks, Mat
“The organization still holds Fox in high regard for everything he did for the team and the city.” Wow. Fantastic. Appreciate it.
This is how it ends—not with a dramatic flourish, but with a handful of assets and an almost irrational belief that somehow, this next version of Kings basketball will beat the odds and build upon the foundation that was barely given a chance to solidify.
Honestly, if the Kings winning a championship is what triggers the Rapture, that’d be incredible. I wouldn’t just accept being wrong—I’d frame the L and hang it up like a trophy.
Maybe now Fox will finally have the support he needs. The ESPN article is packed with subtle digs and attempts to set the record straight, but one quote from Chris Paul stands out—mostly because it’s so easy to believe: “I’ve played against him. I’ve guarded Fox. I know what it’s like. I’ll live and die with whatever shot he shoots.”
If there’s one franchise that embodies stability in the NBA, it’s the San Antonio Spurs. When they struggle, they don’t panic and overhaul everything—they recalibrate, strategize, and capitalize on players who excel in ways that don’t align with their long-term vision, all in service of a larger plan (presumably).
When they’re thriving, it’s not because they’re overpowering everyone. They just execute at a consistent 95% efficiency, methodically wearing teams down with fundamentally sound basketball (presumably). That’s their DNA. In today’s NBA, very few teams maintain any real continuity—at least in a way that works. The opposite is much easier to accomplish.
On that note, the Sacramento Kings essentially buy day-old bread from Jimmy John’s and try to sell it to ducks at the park. The problem? Ducks don’t have money, and bread isn’t good for them. Stop doing this.