Bobby Portis 30 Points Wizards Debut Full Highlights (2/8/2019)

Bobby Portis walked towards the locker room after the Wizards’ win over the Cavs. He had been delayed by almost half an hour by joyous fans begging him to sign their stuff, and, wanting to make a good impression on his new fanbase, Bobby had obliged. Now he was arriving to the presumably celebratory locker room long after the celebration had died down.

Just as he was about to open the door, Jabari Parker walked out, looking shellshocked. “You’d think those guys wouldn’t fight after a win,” he said. Before Bobby could ask what Jabari meant by those words, Jabari had walked quickly away.

Curious what was going on behind the door, Bobby opened it. The scene inside was chaotic: his new teammates Bradley Beal and John Wall were inexplicably naked, and, similarly inexplicably, fighting. Bradley was gnawing on John’s ankle while John had somehow gotten hold of an electric drill and was drilling Bradley’s back with it. Both of them were yelling insults at each other. Meanwhile, Tomas Satoransky was standing above them, trying to separate them while staying well out of range of the drill. Other teammates were standing around, either looking uncomfortable, or clapping and cheering.

“I MADE MORE THREES THIS MORNING TAKING A DUMP THAN YOU’VE MADE IN YOUR ENTIRE CAREER!” Bradley yelled, taking a break from chewing on John’s ruptured Achilles to slap John hard in the testicles, which made John yowl in agony and turn up the speed on his drill.

Bobby walked over to the fray, feeling his frustration at the clearly dysfunctional locker room turning to rage. How could his teammates not put aside their differences after a win? A win after their new acquisition had just scored thirty points.

“Hey guys,” Bobby said coldly, and, despite the normal volume of his voice, the argument immediately stopped. “Is there a problem here?”

“No, no problem,” Bradley said quickly, disengaging himself from the pile of naked flesh and standing up while shaking his head urgently. “Right John?”

“Right,” John concurred, scrambling away on the floor while being careful not to put any pressure on his destroyed, tooth-marked Achilles tendon. “Please don’t punch us.”

“You sure about that?” Bobby asked, taking a step closer. “Because it looked like you guys had a problem.”

“I told you man, there was no problem,” Bradley replied in a scared voice. “Me and John are best friends. Media depictions of our hatred are grossly exaggerated.”

“Grossly,” John said with a nod. He realized he still had the drill in his hands and tossed it to the side. “I was just, uh, fixing my locker. The shelf came off.”

Bobby stared at them both, alternating between looking at one and the other. He could feel his eyes protruding dangerously from his face. “There won’t be any more problems. Got it?”

Both Bradley and John nodded silently, but this wasn’t assurance enough for Bobby. “I don’t think you get it. But you will. I’ll make sure of it.”

“We do get it!” Bradley wailed. “Please don’t hit me!”

Bobby ignored this plea. As Tomas said some meaningless, conciliatory words that went unheard, Bobby’s vision tunneled. His rage had reached its breaking point. With snake-like quickness, he lashed out a fist right at Bradley’s face, where it connected with a crack: Bradley’s jaw had clearly been caved in.

Now John was trying to crawl away, but he was too slow for Bobby’s fury. Bobby grabbed him, turned him around, and delivered a similar blow. The punch had the same devastating effect as the one aimed at Beal: John’s nose was obviously broken and began to spray blood.

“Now we won’t have any problems,” Bobby said. “Hey, who wants to go out to eat? Scoring thirty points made me damn hungry.”

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