Japurri Purker wiggles under the affectionate scritches of my hand as I ponder which player should be featured in my next video. I scroll through the list of candidates, making a quick mental ranking that incorporates expected view counts, surprising nature of the performance, and my own feelings on a player. I settle on Shelvin Mack’s eighteen points.
My phone rings. Since I am expecting a call from Adam Silver regarding my yearly bonus, I answer the call without so much as a glance at the name of the caller.
“DTB speaking.”
“You can’t ignore me forever,” says the voice on the other end, a voice thick with malice. “You will make my highlights today.” The way he says “you will” makes it sound like he’s being serious.
“DeMar, is that you? I already explained to you, I just don’t think you’re the right fit for my channel.”
“Try again, joker. It’s not DeMar. It’s Ty.”
Oh boy. This will be fun. I put on my stunner shades and stick a fine, newly-legal Cuban cigar into my mouth. “Why are you calling?” I ask, deciding to play dumb. “I’ve featured you prominently on my channel in the past.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Buckeroo,” Ty responds coldly. “I’ve searched your channel myself. Only one Ty Lawson video is there, and it’s over two years old.”
I put on my best “exasperated” voice. “Is that not enough for you divas these days?” Go beg Piotr Zarychta or somebody. I hate doing videos with a ton of assists, and that’s all you do.”
“How does twenty-five grand sound to you?”
Huh? After all his talk, he’s just going to pay me for the video? That amount of money sounds good, but he might not be aware of my pricing structure. I’m sure I can bump him up. So I laugh at his suggestion. “That might fly if you’re Jabari Brown, but last time I checked, you were a big-name player on a big-money contract. And let’s not forget, you only scored one more point than Shelvin Mack. If you don’t have a better offer in the next three seconds, I’m hanging up and blocking your number.”
“Okay, okay! A hundred grand,” Ty replies quickly.
“That’s better,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “It’ll be up in the hour. Nice chatting with you.”
I end the call and begin the clip-gathering process. Japurri, who was displeased with being ignored for the entire duration of the call, hops into my lap. I stroke his soft fur. “Fancy Feast three times a day for a year. How does that sound, Mr. Kitty?” As he purrs, I chuckle in kind. Then, my chuckling grows into full-blown laughter as I realize that my one dream in life has to come to fruition: I own the NBA now.