Michael Beasley holds an anonymous estate sale to dump his very strange stuff
The idea of an estate sale is creepy enough as it is. Usually they're put together in an attempt to sell off the last remaining vestiges and assets of someone who has recently passed on, or a person run afoul of either the law or their own checking account. Phoenix Suns forward Michael Beasley appears to be in no such trouble, and even though he didn't exactly break the bank with his second pro contract, its average-sized makeup falls right in line with the rookie deal he started working under in 2008 that paid him just over $20 million over four years.
This doesn't explain why the former Minnesota Timberwolves forward, as he moves on to his third NBA city in five seasons, needs to set up an estate sale for his abandoned Minnesota home, rather than just hiring a crew to toss everything into a truck and move his clutter down to Phoenix. This also doesn't explain why Beasley, even while we're aware of his goofball reputation, has so much goofball stuff in his house. Fox Sports' Joan Niesen, who has quickly become one of our favorite NBA beat writers, attempted to find out as much during a public sale that made no mention of whose estate was up for grabs:
So there was no yelling about Beasley, but there were whispers. Neighbors gossiped to workers about the time a sports car ended up wrapped around a tree last winter outside the house, and anyone who did know the identity of who had previously lived there couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in nearly every room they entered. The entire thing posed so many questions: Why does Michael Beasley need a copy of the Physicians' Desk Reference? Or a book of Ingmar Bergman screenplays? Or giant glass grapes? What use does Beasley have for a floral headboard? Why does he love tasseled pillows so much? Whose handbags are those?
Though it is well-penned, to read her recap is to be left confused; all because Beasley is such a confusing dude.
Tchotchkes and oddities seemed to dot the house; and it wasn't just that hoops-related memorabilia wasn't available for sale, apparently there wasn't any in the house to begin with. What was available were the sort of dusty book-filled shelves and animal-themed salt and pepper shakers that you'd tend to pick up at an estate sale set up for someone four times Beasley's age that had shuffled off this Minneapolis coil.
Look at Niesen's photo gallery (or Jake Nyberg's Twitter-based run). It's not so much that Beasley took his modern-as-tomorrow entertainment systems and "Scarface" posters down to Phoenix and left the estate sale to deal with his flotsam and jetsam, it's that he had all this Your Aunt-styled clutter to begin with. And, again, instead of dumping it all in a truck or piling it in the back of a U-Haul dragged by his PT Cruiser (we're guessing, after looking at the remnants of this sale), Beasley decided to add to his bank account 15 bucks at a time by selling off every last throw pillow.
It's all so wonderfully Super Cool Beas, even if it's the furthest thing from "Super Cool" that we could imagine. Toasters and stuffed animals and more coffee table books and all sorts of stuff that even you or I would leave behind, regardless of whether or not we were just given a three-year, $18 million contract to go play in a state with lax income tax laws.
Heads-up, Phoenix. You're getting a goofball for the ages. Hopefully one that, after three-straight seasons of declining production, is using his "Everything Must Go"-sale as a way to completely leave his past behind, and start over from scratch.
Or maybe Michael just wanted an excuse to shop for some new pillows with tassels hanging from them.
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