I had fun watching ESPN’s NBA 2K tournament earlier this month. There hasn’t been a live sporting event in nearly a month. As much as I love a good highlight, I missed the thrill of watching a game whose outcome I couldn’t Google. Sitting on the couch with my dad, we watched as our third or fourth favorite players (on their respective teams) went on crazy hot-streaks, like we do, or got walloped by much superior opponents, like we do, all while checking in on their colleagues and friends during a trying time (like we should).

The most interesting match-up was between Los Angeles Clippers guard Patrick Beverley and Cleveland Cavaliers center Andre Drummond. Beverley, known on the court for his excellent defense and high energy, displayed his trademark intensity as he mounted a comeback against Drummond. When Beverley fell behind early, he wore his disappointment on his sleeve, holding his head back and complaining about how unrealistic the game is. I’m sure I’ve said some of the exact phrases he uttered myself. But as he clawed back in the game, his energy rose from lethargic to a fever pitch. He played some stellar virtual basketball while talking tough, real-life smack. He was both Chuck D and Flavor Flav and Drummond, unfortunately, was the Public.

At some point during the game, Drummond asked Beverley how he was spending his days. Beverley, ever the gym rat, responded that he spent much of his days working out. Drummond nodded along, indicating that he, too, was still putting in work. I suppose it should have been inspiring to hear that these athletes, even in quarantine, were still staying in shape. After all, I was watching these men play NBA 2K while trapped in their homes. In some sense, they’re just like you or me, right?

I’ve gained 12 pounds since I started quarantining. Every other day, I force myself to go on a walk or do push-ups. But that is not enough to replace the thousands of steps I took moving between my home and campus and campus and my job and my job and my home every day for the previous three months. I’ve been trying to eat healthier, but I took for granted how easy it was at Wash. U. to get a warm, well-balanced plate of food. I was rotund before Corona hit. I fear I’ll leave the pandemic like the humans returning to Earth in “Wall-E.”

I’m in this boat, in part, because I lack discipline. Maybe the more diplomatic way to put this is that I’m a completionist. If there is food left, you best believe I’m finishing it. It used to make my dad proud that I always cleaned my plate. Now, he only half jokes that I’m eating him out of house and home. I find myself thinking as I eat “You’re not even hungry. You don’t even like turkey!” But at best, that leads to a nervous chuckle as I mutter, “You’re a monster” and finish what I started. I know that this is the kind of person I am. As a result, I try to create barriers between myself and whatever I would binge upon. At college, I don’t keep sweets in my dorm. But at home, where my dad buys groceries, I don’t have the luxury of living in an environment free of temptation.

It might be that I was destined to be a tub of lard during this quarantine. But maybe, if I, like the NBA players trying so hard to relate to me, had in-home access to weight racks and a full-sized gym and a treadmill or elliptical, I might be able to stay active. Perhaps, if my personal trainer and coach was on speed dial, I would have eaten eggs for breakfast instead of two cookies. It could be the case that I was always going to be JaMarcus Russell. But can we dismiss the possibility that, with resources and support, I could have been Cam Newton?

No, these professional athletes are NOT just like us. It’s a slap in the face to watch these modern Adonises cosplay as everymen while I can’t even dare to aspire to be like them.

I’m sick and tired of the rich and famous telling me they understand how hard things are from their lavish mansions. Whether it’s Gal Godot singing the emptiest protest song ever written (out of key, mind you) or my beloved Patrick Beverley moaning about how difficult it is to be stuck indoors all day, I can’t help but think how much quieter the world would be if they simply shut up.

I’m sure that it’s not all roses for the celebs. It is hard to be cooped up all day. It’s even harder being scared that your decision not to be cooped all day will kill you or the people you love. I’m sure that they mean well when they tell us they understand our suffering. But if they truly understood, they would know that it’s patronizing—not insightful—to hear them complaining while shielded with opulence when less fortunate people are struggling to minimize the damage this pandemic is doing.

Imagine that.