Practice was over. As the Timberwolves milled around the gym, drinking their Gatorade and chatting idly amongst one another, Karl-Anthony Towns started off running towards the exit, an excited look on his face and his hastily-applied bright red scarf trailing behind him. The still assembled players could hear a faint voice emanating from the corridors of the facility. “It’s here! I know it’s here! Finally!” Ricky Rubio shook his head in a way that indicated that this had happened before, and sped off after him.
“Karl? Karl?” Ricky had ran outside to the parking lot, where he quickly spotted the large man sitting on some concrete steps, staring at the sky. He walked over.
Karl-Anthony turned his head at the sound of his name. “You said there would be snow, Ricky!” He whined, pointing at the sky, which was a clear blue. “You said there would be snow, and that we could build a snowman, Ricky! There’s no snow here!” Ricky looked on, nonplussed, as tears started to leak from the rookie’s eyes. “All I wanted was a snowman with a top-hat and a carrot nose and sticks for arms!”
The thought of such an ideal representation of winter pushed Karl-Anthony into full-on sobbing. Ricky sat down next to the larger man and put his arm around him.
“Now Karl, you know full well I never told you that it would snow today.” He began consolingly. “Yes, I did say that snow happens in Minnesota, and, yes, I did say that when it did snow, that we could build a snowman together. But it’s not even Halloween yet! Don’t you think you should be a little more patient?”
“NO!” Karl-Anthony wailed as he wrenched himself from Ricky’s arm. “I was promised snow and winter fun and hot chocolate! Halloween is stupid! I hate it.” He now lay on his back on the grass, having rolled off the stairs in misery. He flailed his scarf-entangled arms, middle-fingers extended at the sky. “No, I hate it!”
“Are you sure you hate Halloween?” Ricky smiled as he crouched aside the tormented figure. “What if I told you we could go trick-or-treating as Batman and Robin?”
Ricky had expected the prospect of unearned candy to calm his friend down, as it had the five previous occurrences of this outburst. This time, however, the idea of costume-clad merriment had no such effect, and Karl-Anthony continued his writhing on the brown grass. Despite his continued attempts, Ricky could get no more coherent words out of the rookie.
“Have it your way, Karl.” Ricky said as he stood up. “Don’t come crying to me for my extra Almond Joys and Candy Corns.”