“I ain’t goin’ back there. Nope. No way,” Tyreke Evans told his agent over the phone. “Tell ’em I refuse to report.”
His agent sighed. “I’m afraid you don’t have that kind of clout, Tyreke.”
Tyreke would not be shaken from his position. “I don’t care. I’m not playin’ in Sacramento again. You know how they ruined my career, man.”
“Would it help if I told you that DeMarcus is going to the Pelicans as part of the deal?” his agent asked.
Tyreke paused for a moment. That did make the trade slightly more palatable, but he still didn’t want to play for the Kings again. “Kinda,” he finally replied. “But, yeah, tell ’em there’s no deal.”
“You don’t understand,” his agent began, his frustration clearly communicated over the airwaves. “There’s something called a no-trade clause that would let you refuse trades, but you don’t have one, so you’re getting traded whether you like it or not.”
“Well, just put one of them clauses in my contract and then we good,” Tyreke responded, as if this was the most obvious course of action. “You know your way ’round all that contract stuff.”
“I think this phone call is over,” his agent said. “The Kings expect you to report after the All-Star break regardless of whether or not you think they ruined your career.”
Tyreke scowled at his phone. “They did ruin my ca-” he started, but the call had ended. Angrily stuffing the device back in his pocket, he wondered if there was any way he could get the Kings to buy out his contract.