Jusuf Nurkic moved quickly to the door leading to the 76ers’ locker room. It wouldn’t do to be seen by an arena staff member and have his carefully-plotted plan interrupted before it had even begun. No, it would not do at all.
Opening the door, Jusuf slipped inside the locker room, half-expecting it to still be full of Sixers players in varying states of undress. He was ready to use violent means to dispatch any teammates of his target who attempted to intervene in the charted course of events, but that readiness was not necessary; the locker room was empty save one player. And it was exactly the player that Jusuf most hoped to see.
“Hey Ben,” Jusuf said in a tone of false friendship.
Ben Simmons looked up, saw who was addressing him, and immediately shrank away from the Bosnian’s physically-imposing form. “Hey man, I didn’t mean it. It was just trash talk. You know, heat of the moment.”
“No, I don’t know,” Jusuf said. “When you telling me that I am ass, I failing to detect humor in words from your mouth. Explain it to me before I becoming angry.”
“You were talking trash so I gave it back to you,” Ben answered, looking like he was about to run away from the scene. “But it doesn’t matter now. You beat us. You win.”
Jusuf tapped his chin for a moment. “Hmm. Nope, your explaining is more like excuses,” he replied. “In game you were sincere in words telling me that my basketball play is not so good.” Ben shook his head fervently and seemed like he was about to rebut Jusuf’s assessment of their in-game verbal exchange, but he didn’t even get a word out before he was grabbed by the shoulders and tossed to the floor.
“I will show you what ass really is,” Jusuf growled, taking advantage of Ben’s surprise to sit on Ben’s chest, immobilizing the smaller player. “Hope you liking it.”
While Ben begged and pleaded for Jusuf to get off him, Jusuf scooted his rear end further up towards Ben’s head. This action caused a renewed frenzy of struggle from Ben, but he was unable to extricate himself from underneath the man who outweighed him by at least fifty pounds.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Ben wailed, but his voice was abruptly cut off by Jusuf’s butt cheeks covering his face, and he could only make muffled noises. “Mmmph! Mmmph! MMMMMMMMRRRRR!!!!!!”
“You say I talk much shit,” Jusuf said with increasing glee as he pressed his sweaty, unshowered, but still clothed rear end harder into Ben’s face. “Now you will be the one who talking shit! Literally! HAHAHAHAHA!”
After thirty seconds of this, the noises from Ben’s mouth stopped, and his limbs went limp. Jusuf got up and looked down at his victim, who had resumed breathing once the obstruction had been removed but had been knocked unconscious in the process.
“Maybe now you not accusing me of being ass when you are the ass one,” Jusuf told the unmoving 76ers player. Then, he left the locker room, wondering if Ben would tell anybody of the crushing embarrassment he had just suffered.