“Yo Dennis, what are those ugly things you’re putting on?” Russell Westbrook ribbed in the locker room before the game. “Suspenders made out of paper bags?”
Dennis Schröder looked down at his outfit, then looked back up at his teammate, affixing him with a cold stare. Silently, he beseeched the spirits of German basketball players past to grant him an even temper. “Do not say unkind words about the Magic Lederhosen.”
“Oooh, magic,” Russell replied, the word “magic” being uttered with the most sarcasm possible. “What happens, you put them on and a tupperware of sauerkraut appears in your locker?” He leaned around Dennis, pretending to inspect the locker behind him. “It didn’t work, bro.”
“It is not wise to make mockery of the Magic Lederhosen,” Dennis warned. “Their power is great, but unpredictable.”
Russell chuckled. “Now I’m really scared. But seriously man, take those off, don’t joke around with some stupid superstitions. Here in OKC we take games seriously. Maybe it was different in Atlanta.”
“It is not the place of a non-German to dictate when the Magic Lederhosen are worn or not worn,” Dennis said, making no effort to remove the garment. “That is the decision of the honorable Detlef Schrempf, he who bestowed the Lederhosen upon me. In fact, if a non-German such as yourself were to even touch the fabric of the Lederhosen, the consequences would be grave indeed.”
Moving with catlike quickness, Russell placed a finger on the leg of the Lederhosen before Dennis could react, then laughed. “Hmm. Nothing bad happened. So much for ‘grave consequences’. More like ‘fairytale for gullible manchildren’.”
“It is not a fairytale. The power of the Magic Lederhosen is real,” Dennis said. “You’ll see.”
“Yeah right,” Russell said dismissively, turning to walk away. But as he left the locker room, Dennis could feel a malevolent power building within the brown fabric of the Lederhosen. The spirits were displeased, and they would soon make their displeasure known.