Walking the back halls of Oracle Arena, Dennis Schröder cleared his head before the game. It was always beneficial for his state of mind if he took some time away from his teammates and coaches.
Underneath his jersey, he could feel the rough brown fabric of the Magic Lederhosen against his skin, and he took the time to remember the sacrifices of all the German players who had come before him. He hoped that, in the upcoming nationally-televised game, he would be able to honor their legacy.
A sudden voice from behind him stopped him in his tracks. “Hey Dennis!” He turned around and saw a group of four Warriors players standing in the hallway. Stephen Curry, Kevin Durant, Klay Thompson, and Draymond Green were all in a line, arms crossed and looking very tough. “We heard you got some panties on underneath your jersey,” Kevin said tauntingly.
Dennis knew it wasn’t a good idea to antagonize his opponents when there four of them and only one of him, but he couldn’t help himself; the accusation of the Lederhosen being women’s underwear was too much of an attack on his German heritage. “It would be wise to discontinue speaking ill of the Magic Lederhosen,” he said in a calm, collected voice.
“Magic, huh?” Stephen said as the rest of his comrades guffawed stupidly. “Like Harry Potter? You got a wand too?”
“The Lederhosen were crafted deep in the forests of Bavaria and are enchanted by an ancient pagan power. Within every stitch rests unknowable sorcery made more potent by the passing of time. Media representations of magic are quaint compared to the true power of the magical garment which I now wear.”
While the other three Warriors players continued to snicker at Dennis’ earnest description of the power of the Magic Lederhosen, Klay Thompson looked worried. “Hey guys, maybe we shouldn’t be messing with him. What if it’s real?”
“Don’t be a dumbass, Klay,” Stephen snapped back. “It’s just some stupid superstition. Magic isn’t real.” He then turned his attention back to Dennis. “We don’t think it’s fair that you get to wear extra gear for its psychosomatic effects. Hand it over and we’ll leave you alone.”
“Never,” Dennis answered defiantly.
“Hear that, boys?” Stephen said. “He says he doesn’t want to give up his magical underwear. You know what that means?”
“We take it from him,” Draymond said, cracking his knuckles.
Seeing that situation was about to get dangerous, Dennis darted back down the hallway. As soon as they realized what was happening, the four Warriors players began to pursue. However, in his haste, Dennis didn’t pay enough attention to where he was running, and he soon ended up cornered in a dead-end corridor.
As his enemies approached him, Dennis closed his eyes and said a quick, silent prayer, beseeching the spirit of Detlef Schrempf to come to him in his time of need. Just as he did this, he felt a hand reach under his jersey and grab one of the suspenders that held up the Lederhosen.
This was all it took. The fluorescent lights above them started to flicker and an inexplicable gust of wind blew down the hallway. Soon, it appeared that snow was being carried on the wind.
“Wha…?” Stephen said in disbelief. His cronies looked around with concern as trees sprouted from the floor and rapidly grew through the ceiling, destroying it. At the far end of the hallway, a solid stone mountain emerged, capped with snow; there was a screeching sound of destroyed building materials as it rapidly ascended towards the sky. While these things happened, a semi-transparent, ten-foot-tall human figure approached the group after materializing out of thin air.
“Behold the power of the Lederhosen,” the spirit of Detlef Schrempf announced.
“Let’s get out of here!” Kevin yelped, and the four Warriors players, made frantic by fear, attempted to run away. But the wind in the hallway gusted suddenly, knocking them from their feet.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Klay wailed, tears rolling down his face and freezing there from the sudden chill.
“For insulting the heritage of Germania, and doubting the awesome power of the Magic Lederhosen, there can be only one punishment,” Detlef said in a booming voice as he withdrew a very solid-looking sword from the hilt at his side. “DEATH!”
The Warriors players were trying to crawl, but couldn’t make any progress in the face of the snow-filled windstorm. Detlef walked up to them with sword drawn. Without further words, he took one large swing and, in that one motion, neatly cleaved off the heads of Dennis’ tormenters.
“Danke schön, Herr Schrempf,” Dennis said as the wind died down and the Bavarian scenery withdrew back into the floor, leaving no trace of its destructive presence.
“Auf Wiedersehen, Dennis!” Detlef replied happily, his form becoming more vaporous. “You will do well tonight!” Then, he was gone.
Dennis touched the Lederhosen with a fingertip. When he felt that familiar power surge through him, he knew that Detlef was right.