Bruno Caboclo walked the halls of the FedEx Forum with intent and purpose. A kind maintenance person had given him the directions he needed, so he made lefts and rights with confidence that he never would have shown otherwise. Occasionally, he passed an arena employee who would congratulate him on the good game; he received their thanks warmly, but was glad not to have to walk in the public hallways that were thronged with jubilant Grizzlies fans.
After a few more turns down hallways that all looked the same, he was at the place he wanted to be: the visitors’ locker room. Undoubtedly, the mood in the room would be subdued bordering on morose, but he was banking on the fact that the Thunder players would be too despondent to deny a bright-faced young player who wanted to have a one-on-one chat with one of his idols. He hesitated slightly to shake the nagging feeling that he was an intruder, then grasped the handle and opened the door.
The locker room was laid out in a mirror image of the locker room he was familiar with, although it was considerably less well-appointed. He turned towards the left to where the players’ individual lockers would be located. Steven Adams, wearing a towel over his head and looking miserable, barely even glanced at Bruno as he walked towards the showers. Being ignored in this way emboldened Bruno, and when he entered the circle of players, he felt less like an intruder and more like an excited young boy in a toy store.
Russell Westbrook’s locker was immediately to the left of where Bruno had entered, not that Bruno would have minded if he had been required to stride confidently across the entire area to reach his target. “Russ?” he started.
Russell, who had been staring at the floor, looked up with a cold expression. However, when he saw the hopeful, innocent smile adorning the Brazilian’s chubby cheeks, his demeanor softened slightly. But only slightly. “What’s up, kid?”
Bruno couldn’t even be upset at being called “kid”. There was no denying that the amount of NBA experience he had effectively made him a rookie. “Sorry for bothering, and I hope is not bad sportsmanship, but you are my idol since high school and we didn’t talk during game.”
There was a slight upturn at the edges of Russell’s mouth. “That’s not the kind of thing you usually say to a player whose team you just destroyed.”
“I could not miss chance to speak to you,” Bruno replied, trying not to sound too reverent. “I might not be as good at shooting or passing, but you inspire me to reach great heights.”
“You’re on your way, man,” Russell responded.
Bruno was ecstatic that he was being acknowledged in this way. He reached into his pocket and started rummaging around. “I brought a gift for you, to show how much appreciate I have for your game.” In reality, he didn’t need to do much rummaging, because the gift took up his entire pocket and weighed his sweatpants down significantly.
“Really? Like, a gold watch or something?” Russell asked, eyebrows raised.
Bruno withdrew a red brick from his pocket and handed it to a stunned Russell, who could do nothing but hold his hands out to accept it. “Great game…Westbrick.”
When Russell finally comprehended the insulting “gift” that he had been given, his expression hardened dangerously. Bruno saw this, and, knowing that it was unwise to stick around when the hot-tempered Russell was angry, ran back towards the entrance of the locker room. As he ran, however, he felt a large object whiz by the side of his head and hit the wall next to him, shattering into pieces.
Looking down, Bruno saw the remains of his gift strewn across the floor. When he looked back towards the players, he could see Russell’s body heaving with barely-suppressed rage. “How unexpected!” Bruno shouted back at Russell. “Another miss!” With those final words, he escaped out into the hallway, laughing and whooping joyously.