I sit at my desk, quivering with rage, fear, or anticipation, I cannot tell. I am preparing to take an unprecedented action, unheard of in all my years in the highlight business.
My phone sits in front of me. I pick it up, and, resisting the urge to throw it out the window, I dial the fateful number. It rings. I sweat.
“Hey. This is JaMychal.”
I have to force myself to answer. “JaMychal. This is DownToBuck.”
“Man, some of the guys told me about you,” JaMychal responds hostilely. “But you can give it up now, because I ain’t paying squat just to get some stupid YouTube videos.”
“It’s not that,” I say. “I have been making videos for you free of charge.”
“Then why are you calling? And, while we’re on the subject, how did you get my number?”
To disclose my methods would expose me to possible lawsuits, so I wave the question off. “That’s not important. I’m calling to tell you that you need to stop having good games.”
JaMychal reacts to my request as I expected he would. He laughs. “I thought you loved making videos for scrubs like me. But why should I listen to you? I’m helping my team win over here.”
“I’m so tired of making JaMychal Green highlight videos!” I wail piteously. “I can’t take it, man, every game, night after night, there you are scoring seventeen or twenty-one, it’s too much!” My anguish is real, and JaMychal’s tone of voice has audibly softened when he replies.
“I can’t just stop playing well. Even if it hurts you.”
Now my angst turns to steely resolve, because I know I have the upper hand. “But you will, JaMychal.”
“No I won’t.”
“Yes you will.” I have timed my uttering of that phrase perfectly, and as I say it, my armed operative bursts through the front door of JaMychal’s home.
“What was that?” JaMychal yelps. I don’t respond. Instead, I sit silently as I hear what must be the sound of his phone dropping to the floor. Then, sounds of a struggle. Finally, the sound of a single gunshot.
“Yes you will,” I repeat coldly.