The Los Angeles Lakers decided to waive/"amnesty" Metta World Peace on Thursday, according to Dave McMenamin of ESPN Los Angeles, but the outspoken and still slightly off-kilter forward seems to be taking the whole thing well. In fact, he's already considering new hobbies.
Hey, it always helps to have enforcers on the ice. It's hardly a stretch to imagine World Peace dropping the gloves and wailing away on some unsuspecting opponent.
Does anyone know if he can skate?
MWP may not need to start thinking about switching sports just yet, though. Although his salary was a bit too rich for the Lakers' luxury-taxed payroll, the bruising forward still has value as a rotation player. On the right team and in the right role, World Peace could still be serviceable on an NBA team.
And if he can't find a good fit with a team he likes—his hometown New York Knicks, for example—there's always the option of taking his talents overseas for a quick and easy payday.
It's almost never a good idea to pattern one's life after Stephon Marbury, but in this case, heading to China to dominate lesser competition and cash checks doesn't sound so bad.
Of course, with his children's book on shelves all over the country and his budding TV career showing promise, maybe a complete departure from sports is in the cards for World Peace.
Those decisions will come later, and based on what MWP was tweeting in the hours leading up to the Lakers' decision, it seems like he was ready for the prospect of a career change and search.
And then there was this one:
Clearly, World Peace saw the writing on the wall in Los Angeles. To his credit, he handled the situation with class.
It sounds condescending to congratulate a man in his 30s on acting like a grownup, but we're talking about the artist formerly known as Ron Artest. A quick scan down his NBA rap sheet, or his often bizarre Twitter feed, shows that signs of maturity shouldn't be taken for granted.
Finally, MWP won't be leaving the Lakers without a little love from an unlikely source.
Farewell and godspeed, Metta. May your elbows forever find their targets and your jumpers forever be ill-advised.