Dear PU

In an act of unprecedented charity, PU has gone all Marjorie Proops. That’s right, we’ve extended a maternal hand of wisdom to planet NBA because we know that beneath all its glitz and glamour lies a daunting place, littered with confused minds and lost souls.

So, if you’re an NBA player or coach, manager or owner, cheerleader or ball boy, and you have a problem that you can't cope with alone, we’re here to help, support and encourage. We’ve already seen a terrific response, but please keep writing!

Dear PU,

My job is very important to me. It’s why I make every effort to get to work on time, treat my colleagues with respect, and give it my all throughout the professional day. As for my performance, I'm the reigning Sixth Man of the Year, I shake and bake with the best of them and I've got clutchness coming out of me ears. But, despite all of this, I’m not getting the respect I deserve. Can a man get paid, already?

Dear JC,

Sometimes it seems as if our entire lives are just one long quest for approval, and nowhere is this more apparent than in the workplace. Validation at work can come in many forms; a congratulatory memo, an M&S voucher, even an encouraging pat on the bottom. But nothing says "Good job!" quite like a lucrative contract extension. Unfortunately for you, there’s no money to be had thanks to that preposterous Joe Johnson deal.

Dear PU,

It's been a tough few years. I've been hobbled by injury, humbled by better players and ridiculed by Jimmy Kimmel. I've been thinking more and more about packing up my bindle, pulling on a pair of floppy tube socks and some beat-up hi tops, and padding the hoof across this great land. Good idea?

The Moustachioed One, DC　

Dear The Moustachioed One,

No. Opting out of society is never a good idea. Aimlessly wandering the American landscape may seem like a romantic notion now, but in reality you'll probably end up hogtied in Leatherface's basement. Go get a buzz cut, shave that creepy thing off your face and play yourself back into relevance.

Dear PU,

I’m infinitely rich, famous and talented. I live in an incredibly fun city with a fantastic climate. Women seem to go nuts for me. I exercise regularly, my diet is balanced and I’ve got really broad shoulders. It’s quite the existence, I can tell you. However, during the last couple of months or so, I’ve been having the most horrific nightmares. Every night I'm tormented by harrowing images of burning jerseys, boo-filled arenas, Q scores, Mo Williams’ tears and Delonte West. Can you help?

The Chosen One, Miami

Dear The Chosen One,

Psychologically speaking, nightmares are an encounter with the uglier aspects of one's unconscious, and are usually induced by some kind of stress, trauma or guilt. For example, PU is often visited by the nettlesome night demons after doing something particularly horrid, like farting in a crowded room, or plagiarising Milton. Think hard; is there any reason why you should feel shamefaced? Something or someone you have wronged? If nothing comes to mind, it could simply be a case of too much brie before bedtime.

CUT UP IN CLEVELAND

Dear PU,

My man just up and left. He didn't even say goodbye. Didn't even give me a chance to tell him how I felt. I know I've got to put on a brave face for the Cavs' family but it's hard when you're hurting. So very hard. Tell me, how can I mend this broken heart?

Dear Feeling Low Mo,

We all know how bad you took it (because you told us on Twitter) and we're sorry you're upset, we really are. You’ll be tempted to blame yourself, which is only fair seeing you‘re allergic to playoff basketball, but it's important that you try to move on. PU understands that no one can ever fill the LeBron shaped void in your heart but I'm sure Jawad Williams, Jamario Moon and Joey Graham will try their damndest.

MISERABLE IN MINNESOTA

Dear PU, 

I may appear upbeat, say the right things and kid myself that the triangle offence is the answer to all of life’s problems but, actually, when I think about the upcoming season, dread fills every fibre of my being. No matter how many times I tell myself that trading away our best player was a good idea or that Darko Milicic is a starting center in this league, the fact remains that Michael Beasley is my go-to-guy. Is it me or am I fucked?

Falling Down, Minneapolis

Dear Falling Down,

In terms of wins and losses, you’re fucked. But, really, what were you expecting? Your GM took out a full-page ad in the local paper announcing you were fucked. However, if you can look past the trifling matter of standings, you’ll soon realise that this is a beautiful situation for you. There’s zero expectation and nothing in the way of pressure. Just sit back, cash your checks and watch every other team dismantle you 48 minutes at a time. Toronto and Cleveland, included.