In the dimly-lit back room of a Denver nightclub, loud swears in a language that was not English filled the air. “You rat, that was my trick!” Nikola Jokic yelled, throwing down his hand of cards in a fit of good-natured anger. “Don’t you know the damn rules?”
Nemanja Bjelica took downed his cocktail in one large swig and beckoned the nearby waitress for another. “Shut up tubby, I might not be a good card-player, but, last time I checked, I had five different women waiting for me back home, while the only woman waiting for you is your own mother.”
“Irrelevant to the matter at hand,” Nikola replied dismissively. He slapped the table with his hand, causing chips to scatter. “Vlade, deal up another hand.”
Vlade Divac nimbly slid cards face-down to the three other players: Nikola, Nemanja, and Bogdan Bogdanovic. “When are we gonna talk business, Nikola?”
“We can play cards and talk business at the same time,” Nikola replied, frowning at his cards as he picked them up one-by-one. “It’s not like Nemanja gets any worse if you distract him. Myself? Just like on the basketball court, I am multi-talented. I can negotiate trades, chug beers, and count cards at the same damn time.” To illustrate his point, he began play by laying down the ten of diamonds while simultaneously chugging from the bottle of Jelen that was next to him.
“We’ll give up Buddy and Bagley for you. Final offer,” Vlade said. “I want the Serbian Superteam in Sacramento to happen, but I’m not gutting the team to do it.
“I bet our front office would go for that,” Nikola mused. “What say you, Bogey? You’ve been awfully quiet over there.”
Bogdan looked around uneasily as he played a card from his hand. “I’m pretty sure this is hardcore tampering. If anything leaked, the trade would get trashed and the Kings would forfeit a bunch of draft picks for sure.”
Vlade pounded his fist and glared at the three players. “That’s why there’ll be no leaks,” he said roughly. “Got it?” When the three players nodded quietly, knowing that a drunk Vlade was very quick to become an angry, violent Vlade, he continued, “So, Nikola, when are you demanding the trade?”
“Give it time,” Nikola answered non-committally. “I’ll ease them into it. I’ll grumble amount touches to the media, then play with less effort, and by the deadline they’re going to begging for somebody to take me off their hands. Then, the Serbian Superteam in Sacramento can form, maybe without giving up anything of value from the Kings’ end.”
Vlade was rubbing his hands happily at the thought. Nemanja was nodding in agreement, but Bogdan was still looking uncertain. “And risk your reputation?” he asked.
Nikola snorted. “When the Serbian Superteam in Sacramento is winning multiple championships, nobody’s going to remember how I quit on the Nuggets and forced a trade!”