Jared Dudley should walk to center court with his arms out-stretched tonight, close his eyes, and soak up every boo and filthy insult hurled his way by the Philadelphia faithful.

Soak it in, Jared. Every jab, every horrible remark, every middle finger hoisted your way. Remember it. Take every detail into your memory and cherish the attention, because the second the Nets lose that final game of the series to send them packing (and they most assuredly will, barring a horrific collapse by the Sixers) you will be most certainly be left behind.

A too-late-to-the-party blogger will write one last post about you, a final joke will be made on Twitter, and the 76ers and their fans will be on to bigger and better things.

It is inevitable. Your name will be whispered into the ether one final time by social media and, as is tradition, you will be utterly forgotten.

No more microphones in your face asking you to comment on Simmons. No more interviews. No more segments on NBA on TNT. Just the inevitability of you at your locker, by yourself, wondering where it all went wrong.

It is the way of things. Your name, or most likely a vague, insulting description of you, will go into the big book of hated but forgettable athletes that have shared a moment in the Philadelphia shadow of hatred. You will join such luminaries as the guy on the Miami Heat from last year’s playoffs who looked like Mose Schrute from The Office and the goon with the awful man bun from the Celtics who drained 99% of his three-point attempts. God I hated both of them. But now? If you offered me $10 million I wouldn’t be able to tell you either of their names.

You will join their ranks the SECOND the Nets crap out of the first round. Your two games in the spotlight will disappear faster than the crisp, brand new D’Angelo Russell jerseys purchased by Nets fans over the past three weeks the moment the final buzzer sounds.

You will forever be remembered as the melted milk dud that tried to talk shit to Ben Simmons after a Game 1 miracle, lit the fire under Ben Simmons ass for the rest of the series, and backed up your trash talk with the worst Game 3 imaginable and an ejection in Game 4.

The greatest value you provided your own team was getting Jimmy Butler ejected alongside you. Again, it didn’t end up mattering in the least, but hey, you tried.

So take a mental snapshot tonight, Dudley. That 15-year-old hurling obscenities your way? Just another memory for the scrap book. The raucous mob booing every moment you dare step out onto the court? Just think of it as a satisfying epilogue to the one week you had even a semblance of meaning in the NBA.

Every thunderous Simmons dunk and primal scream as he stands over your stunned, dazed body? Well… well I can’t spin those at all. That’s just humiliating and you deserve to be humiliated to the fullest extent.

Philadelphia looks forward to completely forgetting you when we focus our hatred on Toronto. We’ll move on and focus our ire to someone more deserving.

But we’ll always remember your airball in Game 3. That was amazing.