“Man, what the hell is that ugly-ass thing you’re holding?” Malcolm Delaney asked his fellow point guard, Dennis Schröder, pointing at the unknown brown garment which Dennis was about to put on.
Malcolm’s incredulity stung a little bit, but Dennis knew the secret of the Magic Lederhosen, and his resolve did not sway. “It is the Magic Lederhosen, Malcolm. I wear them when I need an extra boost, such as tonight against Stephen Curry.”
“So it’s like your good-luck underwear?” Malcolm asked, still smirking at the traditional German clasps and suspenders. “Yeah, that’ll totally stop him from massacring us.”
“It’s not underwear,” Dennis answered. “It’s lederhosen. And this pair right here is magic, and it was given to me in a dream by Detlef Schrempf, the original German baller.” He pulled the pants over his legs and placed the suspenders over his shoulders; immediately, a tingling sensation overcame his body, and he closed his eyes in response to the near-ecstatic feeling. “A basketball player’s friend, makes you better ’til the end,” he whispered, reciting the line from the classic German fairytale.
Malcolm was unimpressed, apparently not having noticed Dennis’ reaction to the donning of the garment. “Man, can you even run or shoot while wearing that thing? It looks all lumpy and stiff.”
“Whatever impediments it places upon my movement, Malcolm, it makes up for tenfold with its enhancement of my basketball skill. That is the magic of the Magic Lederhosen, to take the talents already within me and accentuate them. Stephen Curry has no such advantage this game.”
“I don’t know, I’ve heard rumors about some kind of amulet that the guys on the Warriors share between each other,” Malcom said uncertainly. “If those things really work, maybe I can try them on for the next game.”
Dennis immediately became defensive. “No! The penalties for a non-German wearing the Magic Lederhosen are swift and severe. Herr Nowitzki told me of a time when Michael Finley, overcome by jealousy at its mystical might, laid a mere finger on the Lederhosen. The finger instantly turned black with infection and nearly had to be amputated.”
Now Malcolm looked a little frightened. “Well, I don’t believe that. Magic doesn’t exist and if you are getting any benefit from that dorky-looking thing, it’s just some placebo effect. That’s all.”
Dennis smiled at his teammate’s doubt. “We’ll see.”