“And this will be your locker,” Neil Olshey said. “It was actually the one LaMarcus used last season, but we don’t talk about that.”
“Sure,” said Al-Farouq. It looked a lot like any other locker in any other locker room. In fact, it was exactly the same. He looked back over at Neil to see the Trailblazers GM holding back tears.
“It’s just…we did everything for him, you know?” Neil choked. “And what did our loyalty earn us?”
Al-Farouq stood there awkwardly. He didn’t know if he was supposed to answer that question. Finally, he responded with a plain “I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you. It earned us the privilege of tearing down the whole operation and starting over with scrubs like you. And what’s stopping Damian from doing the same? What exactly?”
Bristling, Al-Farouq wanted to tell his GM that he wasn’t a scrub. But getting on somebody’s bad side now could have implications for his minutes later. So, instead, he replied, “Yeah, well, that’s how the NBA is I guess.”
Neil was now full-on sobbing. “I have to go. The memories here are too recent. If anybody comes looking for me, I’m taking my granddaughter to ballet lessons.”
“Sure thing,” Al-Farouq said as Neil fled from the locker room. Al-Farouq hoped that the organization wasn’t expecting him to be the next Aldridge. That would be unreasonable. But grief-stricken people did weird things sometimes.
As he contemplated these things, a small piece of paper on the floor of his locker caught his eye. Picking it up, he read:
“Hello new Blazer,
Don’t let them get too attached to you. They’re a little clingy.
-LMA
P.S. Portland girls are clingy too. Especially the hipster ones. Go for it if that’s your thing. Otherwise wait until you’re on the road.”
That sounded like good advice to Al-Farouq. He pocketed the note and went to see if there was anybody else who could show him around.