“Wait up, Nikola!” Gorgui yelled, running after the lumbering, hulking Montenegrin. He tried to remember the advice that Corey Brewer had given him. What was it he had said? Something about not talking enough smack, being too kind.
“Hey, Gorgui, what up?” Nikola asked, turning around to face his teammate. “You want go slam some beers down at O’Mickey’s?”
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about some other stuff,” Gorgui said, with no trace of his usual effervescence.
Nikola smiled in the face of Gorgui’s stony demeanor. “Okay. Cool.”
“I thought I should let you know that the starter’s job is mine now. Not yours. Mine.”
Nodding, Nikola responded, “Yeah, and you kill it out there. But when I come back from injury, I start again, and hopefully you get more minute off bench.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m the starter now. And I will be forever. The team has no use for you. You have been made redundant by a cheaper and better player, a player named Gorgui Dieng.” Gorgui pounded his chest. “But don’t worry. There’s probably some teams in the Balkans that would want you as a towel boy,” he finished with a smirk. Corey’s advice was always the best.
Nikola laughed. “Yeah, whatever you say, Gorgui. We’ll see what happen when I’m fully heal. I gotta get going now.” Nikola turned back around and headed to the arena’s parking lot.
“Okay, maybe I won’t be the starter this year, but I’ll win in the end! Soon, Nikola! Soon! I’m coming for your ass!” Gorgui called out. After receiving no response, Gorgui looked sadly at the floor.
“I suck at trash talking.”