Clint Capela and Dwight Howard, in the midst of a rather vehement disagreement, approached their interim head coach, J.B. Bickerstaff.
“Coach, Clint’s being a dummy. Tell him to stop being so dumb!” Dwight whined.
J.B. sighed. This was not the first time in his short coaching stint that he had dealt with his team’s childish behavior. “Don’t call him dumb, Dwight. That’s not very respectful of you.”
“He keeps saying that he’s way better at catching lobs than I am!” Dwight exclaimed, his tone of voice suggesting that this argument was not in question.
“Because it’s true,” Clint added smugly.
“No it’s not!”
J.B. had to separate his two players, as they had begun to slap each other in the face. “That’s what you’re arguing about? Who catches lobs better?”
“He started it!” Clint accused, pointing at his teammate. “I was just sitting in the locker room playing with my phone when big old mean Dwight just walks up and starts telling me about how much Harden hates me because I can’t catch his lobs.” At the memory of this insult, Clint’s eyes began to tear up.
“I talk to James all the time and mostly he just says how much he hates you and your stone hands,” Dwight confirmed. “Only superstars like me get to hang out with him.”
J.B. was not interested in the conflict anymore. “What if I told you that Terrence was James’ preferred target for alley oops? That’s what he told me yesterday, anyway.”
“No way!” yelled Dwight.
“He sucks!” yelled Clint.
“It’s true,” J.B. said. “Maybe you guys should bring it up with Terrence. He’s probably around somewhere.”
Now united under a singleness of purpose, Clint and Dwight scampered from J.B.’s office, eager to harass their new target. J.B. closed the door after them and then rested his forehead against it.
“I hate my life.”