Mike Scott 18 Points Full Highlights (12/28/2013)

“Adam, you know I respect you, but could you possibly walk any louder? We’re supposed to be sneaking.”

Adam Silver turned red at the admonishment of his boss, but the pitch blackness afforded him cover. “Sorry, sir,” he whispered demurely, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you know which room is his?”

David Stern nodded. “Yes. Surveillance has been upon Mike’s residence for the past 48 hours. But stop talking, we don’t want to make more noise than we need to.” Soon, the two high-ranking NBA executives were in Mike Scott’s bedroom, gazing at the big man’s peacefully slumbering form.

“Just like a baby…” David murmured. “Get out the serum.” A sudden snort from Mike made them both jump. “And hurry.”

Adam, with only the dim light of the moon to guide him, rummaged in his bag until he found a vial containing a bright orange gel. As he picked it up, he felt a surge of power go through him. He knew that repeated exposure to the serum was having effects on his body, but he considered it a sacrifice in the name of NBA basketball. “Here, boss,” Adam whispered, handing over the vial, which David received.

“It’s a good thing his mouth is so wide open. The nasal application is quite a bit more risky.” He took an eyedropper of his own and put a minute amount of the serum in it. Then, carefully, he positioned the eyedropper right over the agape abyss of Mike’s mouth.

Before squeezing the bulb, David whispered, “Say goodbye to your midrange game, Mikey boy. But don’t fret, and greet with open arms your newfound desire to shoot threes!” Saying those words always made it seem like they were engaged in some kind of super-secret government mission, which, in a sense, they were. Now he clamped down on the end of the dropper, sending a bead of orange goo right into Mike’s mouth.

As soon as the three-point serum hit his tongue, Mike’s eyes shot open. He began to cough at the rancid taste. “What? Huh?” he mumbled, lips smacking the foul sensation. Then he noticed the shadowy forms of two men next to his bed. “Intruders! Burglars! You think you can mess with the Mike Show?”

“Run, Adam!” David yelled, bolting for the door.

“Got it, boss!” Adam yelled back, running after his superior.

The two men ran for what seemed like forever, until they were finally concealed in a back alley. Breathing hard, hands on knees, David gasped, “All…for the good…of the league…people like…watching…threes.”

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