Kenny Atkinson pulled aside Sean Kilpatrick during the pregame shootaround. “What’s up, coach?” Sean asked, worriedly wondering if he had somehow broken some team code of conduct.
Kenny took his player by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. “You know how you scored 39 points that other night? Do that again.”
Sean broke the eye contact and looked at where the rest of his teammates were lazily shooting jumpshots. “But coach, you were just telling us about how we need to play as a team and how we don’t need anybody trying to be the hero.”
“Forget about that. I was saying that stuff to make those losers over there feel better. What we really need to win games is for you to take over. Channel your inner Seanswag.”
“Seanswag?” Sean repeated, confused by the term.
“It’s a nickname for you that I read online. It’s spelled with dollar signs in place of the esses to signify how money your jumpshot is and how much swag you have.”
“I don’t have that much swag,” Sean answered. “I just go out there and play hard, try to get my teammates involved.”
“Forget about your teammates,” Kenny re-iterated. “They don’t matter. The only thing that matters is you scoring forty points.” Kenny jabbed a finger in Sean’s chest to emphasize that Sean was the only player on the Nets that mattered. “You’re Seanswag. You HAVE Seanswag. And the Nuggets are going to get a hot, sticky load of it right in their collective mouths.”
“Um…” Sean began uneasily, undone by the sexual imagery that his coach’s words were bringing to mind. “Sure thing, coach. I’ll do my best.”
Kenny patted his player on the shoulder. “That’s a good boy. Remember. Seanswag. With dollar signs.”
“Seanswag,” Sean confirmed. “Got it.” But he didn’t really get it, and when his coach walked away, he wondered if he would score enough points to make his coach happy.