Bogdan Bogdanovic stormed through the halls of the Golden One Center, a printed piece of paper in his hands. Arena workers tried to congratulate him on his good game as he stomped down the bland corridors, but he didn’t even break stride to receive their goodwill, so vital was his mission. Even when Katarina, the Serbian concession stand worker saw him and waved, he barely acknowledged her.
Finally, Bogdan made it to his goal: the office of Kings GM Vlade Divac. Vlade’s secretary tried to address him as he hustled through the reception area, but she, too, was ignored. Instead, Bogdan boldly walked up to the door and yanked it open, knowing that, due to their shared country of origin, his brashness would never be punished.
Vlade’s look of surprise at the sudden entry of a visitor softened when he saw who was standing at his desk. “Nice to see you, Bogdan,” he said in Serbian. “What have you brought with you?”
Bogdan slapped the piece of paper on Vlade’s desk and turned it so that the text faced the GM. “We must strike now before it is too late. You see how Serbs have elevated this team. Soon, no team will want to give up the Serbs on their rosters to us.”
Vlade’s eyes scanned the printout, which was a list of all Serbs presently in the NBA or still on rosters overseas. “Ah, yes, the SSS. The Serbian Superteam in Sacramento. Sadly, it is unlikely that we will ever pry Jokic from the Nuggets, given how strong his MVP candidacy was last season.”
“Jokic has purposely regressed his game at my instruction!” Bogdan replied excitedly. “His value in the league will never be lower. We must trade for him at once.”
Vlade shook his head. “Believe me, I have tried, but they will not budge an inch, even with the inclusion of Fox and Giles to the talks.”
“It was unwise of him to hit those game-winners. I must chat with him again to ensure that he does not play so well. However, there are many other Serbs we could acquire,” Bogdan continued, running his finger down the list. “Marko Guduric, for example. The Grizzlies have no use for him. Boban Marjanovic, unappreciated in Dallas, is another option. He has told me personally that he wishes to escape from under the shadow of Luka. Or Miroslav Raduljica, who toils away forgotten in China. An entire starting lineup of Serbs could easily be ours.”
“I will consider it,” Vlade said. “But my position could be in jeopardy if I show blatant favoritism towards players in whom the blood of Srbija flows proudly.”
Bogdan could see from the Vlade’s demeanor that the GM’s stout position would not be swayed further. “I will leave this list with you as a reference. Every day you should be making calls enquiring about these players. Think of the championship rings that will adorn your fingers when the SSS finally comes to fruition!”
“I will do so. Thank you, Bogdan.”
Bogdan left the office feeling like he could have done more. “Next time, I will bring Nemanja with me,” he said to himself. “When the lifeblood of the team stands before him in full Serbian glory, Vlade will cave in easily.”