Richaun Holmes arrived at his locker before the game and prepared to put on his jersey. Taking it off its hanger, he noticed a post-it note stuck to the back of his locker. He plucked the note off the wooden surface and read it.
“Remember, we’re tanking. -S”
Who would leave a note for him like that? The “S” signature was not much help. He could think of Stauskas and Sampson as candidates for such a signature, or maybe Sam, one of their trainers. Shrugging, he balled up the note and threw it in the trash. Whatever the organization was doing or not doing in terms of trying to win games, Richaun knew that he would play hard every second he was on the court.
—
Sitting on the bench after being subbed out, Richaun was sweaty and tired. He had done some good things out there; where was his Gatorade? He stuck his hand out behind him and felt a bottle placed into his hand. After muttering a quick “thanks” to whichever ballboy had handed him the drink, he went to take a sip, only to find a note placed on the lid.
“Remember, we’re tanking. -S”
The same note as before the game. Richaun peeled it off, balled it up, and dropped it on the floor.
—
“Hey, Richaun! Great game tonight!” Richaun turned around to find that 76ers GM Sam Hinkie was speaking to him.
“Oh, thanks,” replied Richaun sheepishly. “Too bad we couldn’t get the win, though.”
“Yeah, that’s too bad,” Sam agreed, his voice taking on an almost mocking fake-sadness tone. “But the future is looking up. We’re looking at another good spot in the lottery this year.”
“We’re also trying to win games right now,” Richaun pointed out.
“Of course, of course,” Sam replied dismissively. “And you’re doing great out there. Love the hustle. Anyway, I gotta get going.” Sam held out his hand to shake, and Richaun accepted the invitation. When he pulled his hand away, he saw that Sam had passed him a note.
“Remember, we’re tanking. -S”
Richaun looked back up at his GM, startled. Sam winked and walked away.