DATELINE – April 27, 2006, 8:30 AM MST
U.S. Airways Center – Phoenix, Arizona
Jake and Zack were in the locker room, gleefully folding up the towels and cleaning up the lockers after last night’s Lakers-Suns playoff contest. All night and up to this morning, it was hard for the two brothers and college interns to contain their enthusiasm after their favorite player, Kobe Bryant, took off like a bullet train and left likely MVP Steve Nash hanging onto his jockstrap for the ride. They stopped what they were doing everytime the slam re-played on Sportscenter, which was often. As Kobe swung from the rim, as if to ask the capacity crowd “any questions??” the brothers instinctively winced, with a “ooooooh!” hushed just enough to keep anyone from catching their excitement. Zack whispered, “Nash knows he should’ve stepped out the way! He looked stupid enough acting like he was trying to box out Kwame Brown.” “He thought he was out of the circle, and could flop for the charge,” responded his brother. “Dumb move. I guess he thought all MVPs get that call. But you don’t mouth off at Kobe and then minutes later expect him to just lay it up off the glass over you.” A remote control abruptly shuts off the laundry room TVs.
“Jake! Zack!” Startled, they looked up quickly to see Kip, the game operations director. “The Boss wants you. Upstairs.” THE Boss wants to see the towel boys? “What for?” inquired Jake. “Go ask him… You might wanna hurry.”
As the scene shifted from concrete pillars to oak walls and marble the boys grew anxious. They’d never been up into Robert Sarver’s office before. Perhaps a promotion is in the works, they thought. In his conference room were the Directors of Basketball Operations (head coach Mike D’Antoni) and Human Resources, and in the center chair Bob was clearly not in a good mood, as he berated the Broadcasting Director on the conference phone.
“…and that’s the LAST time we use Ricky Davis for color commentary, do you understand me! Jumping up and down and screaming ‘Oh Sh*t! Oh Sh*t!’ after that Bryant dunk is NOT what I call good radio!”
U.S. Airways Center – Phoenix, Arizona
Jake and Zack were in the locker room, gleefully folding up the towels and cleaning up the lockers after last night’s Lakers-Suns playoff contest. All night and up to this morning, it was hard for the two brothers and college interns to contain their enthusiasm after their favorite player, Kobe Bryant, took off like a bullet train and left likely MVP Steve Nash hanging onto his jockstrap for the ride. They stopped what they were doing everytime the slam re-played on Sportscenter, which was often. As Kobe swung from the rim, as if to ask the capacity crowd “any questions??” the brothers instinctively winced, with a “ooooooh!” hushed just enough to keep anyone from catching their excitement. Zack whispered, “Nash knows he should’ve stepped out the way! He looked stupid enough acting like he was trying to box out Kwame Brown.” “He thought he was out of the circle, and could flop for the charge,” responded his brother. “Dumb move. I guess he thought all MVPs get that call. But you don’t mouth off at Kobe and then minutes later expect him to just lay it up off the glass over you.” A remote control abruptly shuts off the laundry room TVs.
“Jake! Zack!” Startled, they looked up quickly to see Kip, the game operations director. “The Boss wants you. Upstairs.” THE Boss wants to see the towel boys? “What for?” inquired Jake. “Go ask him… You might wanna hurry.”
As the scene shifted from concrete pillars to oak walls and marble the boys grew anxious. They’d never been up into Robert Sarver’s office before. Perhaps a promotion is in the works, they thought. In his conference room were the Directors of Basketball Operations (head coach Mike D’Antoni) and Human Resources, and in the center chair Bob was clearly not in a good mood, as he berated the Broadcasting Director on the conference phone.
“…and that’s the LAST time we use Ricky Davis for color commentary, do you understand me! Jumping up and down and screaming ‘Oh Sh*t! Oh Sh*t!’ after that Bryant dunk is NOT what I call good radio!”
“Yes sir, Mr. Sarver, it was an error in judgement. I’m deeply sorry.”
“The next FCC fine is coming out of your pocket, Al,” warned Sarver as he pressed the hangup button.
Jake extended a hand to introduce himself to the directors when Sarver cut him off. “They know who you are, ‘towel boys,’ close the door and sit down.”
“Now, I trust that you along with the rest of this proud Phoenix Suns organization are completely disgusted with our team’s performance last night.” The boys glanced at each other, then nodded in a mutual display of false agreement.
Ruth, the administrative assistant, interrupted the closed-door meeting. “Mr. Sarver, the Gorilla mascot is on line three. He said he saw some highlight last night and was so disgusted he wants to quit.”
“Tell Gorilla he’s already fired, Ruth, we have Robert Traylor all lined up to replace him in that outfit… Now, ‘towel boys,’ I witnessed something during the game last night that left an awful taste in my mouth, almost as bad as the taste Steve had last night when that offensive foul wasn’t called.” Zack began to chuckle when Sarver hollered, “Did I tell you to snicker, boy?” and quickly returned the room to glum silence. Sarver presses a button to bring down a screen showing the Kobe smash-on-Nash movie on auto-play, courtesy of Don’t Blink Mixtape (dot com).
“I was personally disappointed to witness some of our so-called ‘fans’ up there cheering in the stands as our poor little Steve was unkindly knocked to the hardwood. I’ve already rescinded the remaining playoff tickets for those turncoats. I also have the referee under review in the commissioner’s office for that lousy non-call.”
“But here’s why you’re here… freeze the play right there, Mike.”
“But here’s why you’re here… freeze the play right there, Mike.”
As Kobe does his 270-degree swing on the rim, “I want you to tell me who are these two knuckleheads right here, sitting cross-legged right in front of our Suns’ home bench?”
“That’s us… sir,” admitted a red-faced Jake.
“Hit play… stop… And what are you two doing as the referee blows that whistle?”
“Pumping our fists, sir.” said the towel-boy tandem, now sinking into their chairs.
“And you, what are the exact words you’re mouthing as Kobe dunks the ball all over our poor star player?”
“I think it was, ‘And one, muthaf&*#!’” Zack received a sharp elbow from big brother. “Or something like that. Excuse my language, sir.”
“Now you know that kind of response is totally inexcusable. Gentlemen… you leave me no choice…”
Sarver pulled out a form and began signing it, in several places. The brothers tensed up, awaiting their punishment and fate.
“You’ve… been… traded.”
“What?” blurted a stunned Jake.
“Don’t question me, boy, you heard me. That’s right, traded… for one cute, dedicated Laker Girl cheerleader and future cash considerations. Now you can go cheer on your man Kobe all you want, and dry his punk ass off, too.”
“But you can’t send us to L.A., we’re still enrolled in spring semester!”
“Don’t give me that college crap, it’s the University of Phoenix. It’s not like they don’t have a campus in every stinking city! Go to L.A. and see if a real college will take you punks in. See if Jerry Buss will pay your room and board too! Now get out of my office and get to packing!”
As the whimpering towel boys exited with the Personnel Director to finalize the paperwork and ponder their futures, D’Antoni offered a final plea for some compassion. “Now Bob, c’mon, trading the towel boys? Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on these kids? After all… they are your children.”
“Don’t tell me how to raise my sons, Mike. But hey, thanks for the tip about that Don’t Blink thing, I’ve been looking for that Matrix dunk over Al Harrington for years! Whooo that was so nasty!” The men had a chuckle as Sarver led D’Antoni to the door. “Get outta here or you’ll be late for your flight. Let’s get ‘em back in Game 3.” Ruth peeked her head in again as D’Antoni leaves.
“Mr. Sarver, I’m sorry. Stephon Marbury is on line two from New York. He sounds like he’s crying ‘Whyyyyyy?’ over and over and I don’t understand…”
“That’s us… sir,” admitted a red-faced Jake.
“Hit play… stop… And what are you two doing as the referee blows that whistle?”
“Pumping our fists, sir.” said the towel-boy tandem, now sinking into their chairs.
“And you, what are the exact words you’re mouthing as Kobe dunks the ball all over our poor star player?”
“I think it was, ‘And one, muthaf&*#!’” Zack received a sharp elbow from big brother. “Or something like that. Excuse my language, sir.”
“Now you know that kind of response is totally inexcusable. Gentlemen… you leave me no choice…”
Sarver pulled out a form and began signing it, in several places. The brothers tensed up, awaiting their punishment and fate.
“You’ve… been… traded.”
“What?” blurted a stunned Jake.
“Don’t question me, boy, you heard me. That’s right, traded… for one cute, dedicated Laker Girl cheerleader and future cash considerations. Now you can go cheer on your man Kobe all you want, and dry his punk ass off, too.”
“But you can’t send us to L.A., we’re still enrolled in spring semester!”
“Don’t give me that college crap, it’s the University of Phoenix. It’s not like they don’t have a campus in every stinking city! Go to L.A. and see if a real college will take you punks in. See if Jerry Buss will pay your room and board too! Now get out of my office and get to packing!”
As the whimpering towel boys exited with the Personnel Director to finalize the paperwork and ponder their futures, D’Antoni offered a final plea for some compassion. “Now Bob, c’mon, trading the towel boys? Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on these kids? After all… they are your children.”
“Don’t tell me how to raise my sons, Mike. But hey, thanks for the tip about that Don’t Blink thing, I’ve been looking for that Matrix dunk over Al Harrington for years! Whooo that was so nasty!” The men had a chuckle as Sarver led D’Antoni to the door. “Get outta here or you’ll be late for your flight. Let’s get ‘em back in Game 3.” Ruth peeked her head in again as D’Antoni leaves.
“Mr. Sarver, I’m sorry. Stephon Marbury is on line two from New York. He sounds like he’s crying ‘Whyyyyyy?’ over and over and I don’t understand…”
“Tell Steph to get some counseling and mind his own damn business, he wishes he could take playoff facials like that. Oh, and, Ruth… get the private videoconference ready and put all my calls on hold while I, uh, ‘interview’ the Laker Girl!”
~iyf
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