Harry Giles sat at the head of the long table, around which were seated the rest of the Kings players. The wait staff at the Olive Garden had gone througgh considerable lengths to ensure that the entire team could sit at one table, but this had resulted in one very boisterous and noisy group of diners.
“I’ll give you five minutes to eat one breadstick for each point you scored tonight!” De’Aaron Fox yelled, tipping over five baskets of breadsticks into a pile and shoving them towards Harry. “A thousand bucks on the line!”
“DEAL!” Harry bellowed, dumping a glass of raspberry lemonade on his head to get himself psyched up for the task. “Man, I love all these free breadsticks!” Once somebody had started a timer on their phone, Harry began recklessly cramming the freshly-baked sticks of bread into his mouth as his teammates pounded their fists on the table and chanted his name.
Five minutes later, the timer elapsed, and Harry still had eight breadsticks uneaten in front of him. “Aw man, a thousand bucks is like half my contract,” he complained after spitting out a gigantic wad of semi-chewed bread onto the floor and wiping the saliva off his mouth with the tablecloth. “And now my stomach’s full too. Do you think they’ll let me get my never-ending pasta bowl in a to-go box?”
“They should let you do whatever you want, you’re the hero in Sacramento tonight!” Iman Shumpert said. “HEY LADY, WE GOTTA GET SOME FREE FOOD OVER HERE, THIS DUDE JUST SCORED TWENTY IN TWENTY MINUTES!” he continued in a louder voice, directing his words at a waitress who was serving a nearby table. When he didn’t get a response from her, he stole the parmesan cheese grater from her tray and ran over to Harry with it. “Open up, my man! The cheese train just pulled into the station!”
Harry had received one whole mouthful of grated cheese and was about to receive another one when their food arrived. As the plate of fettuccine alfredo was placed in front of him, Harry grabbed the uneaten breadsticks and made a stonehenge-like pattern with them in the dish of pasta. When this proved too cumbersome to eat, he knocked them all over while making “monster” noises, then slammed his face into the pasta and chewed noisily.
“Just wanted to see if it really was never-ending,” he said as his alfredo-covered face emerged from the food. Noodles were stuck in his hair and hanging off his chin. Everybody laughed wildly at Harry’s antics, except for one player.
“Yo Willie, why you just sitting there scowling? Harry asked.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Willie replied surlily.
“He’s butthurt because you play with energy all the time and he’d rather just loaf around and not try,” De’Aaron said. “Isn’t that right, Willie?”
Willie angrily got up from the table. “No, that’s not right, and you know what else isn’t right? A rookie coming in and taking my minutes! The minutes that I earned!” Leaving behind an uneaten plate of spaghetti, Willie stormed away from the table.
There was silence for a moment in reaction to Willie’s sudden departure. Then, a smile broke out on Harry’s face. “Who wants to take a video of me farting into his pasta?” he asked. Multiple players got out their phones as he walked over to Willie’s vacated seat, undid his pants and positioned his rear over Willie’s spaghetti. It was going to be a fun night.