Marcus saw his brother, Markieff, grab a heavily-contested rebound. Rather than dump it off to Dragic or Bledsoe, Markieff took the ball himself, and Marcus began to sprint alongside him.
Not making eye contact, Marcus instead began to think the phrase “throw me the lob” over and over. He was sure it would work this time. In his certainty, he jumped up to the rim at exactly the moment that Markieff threw it over his shoulder for an easy Bledsoe layup, a layup that was suddenly made more difficult by Marcus’ alley-oop-primed body.
The ball caromed wildly off the backboard as both Marcus and Bledsoe hit the ground hard. Markieff was able to yell a quick “what are you doing, man?” before running back up the court on defense.
Five seconds later, the other team had scored, and an angry timeout was taken. Marcus walked over to where his brother was fuming. “Yo, man, I was thinking at you real hard to throw me the lob. It’s not my fault that you weren’t listening.”
“You know that twin telepathy stuff is total bull, right?” Markieff responded in a huff. “I’ve told you a thousand times. If you want the lob, you have to point up with your finger like a normal person.”
Marcus could only shake his head. His brother was always the stubborn one. “Man, you just have to open up your mind. There’s no way my thought waves can reach your brain if you’ve walled it all up.” Markieff, without another word, walked to the other side of the huddle, indicating the conclusion of their conversation.
“Just you wait, man!” Marcus hollered. “When we finally are able to execute the ‘telepathy lob’, it’s going to be championships up the wazoo!”