Michael Porter Jr. strode into the locker room with an aura of earned confidence to find a gathering of jubilant teammates. After graciously accepting their whooping applause and numerous slaps on the back, things quieted down. The assembled Nuggets players seemed to be waiting for their rookie to make some sort of acknowledgement.
“You guys are the greatest,” Michael said humbly. “None of this would be possible without your guidance and support.” He turned around and began to sift through the old clothes and miscellaneous items that were in his gym bag. Finally, he brought out an armful of small, wrapped Christmas presents. “Now’s a perfect time to give these out!”
“Aw, the rook got us all watches!” Gary Harris joked, prompting laughs at the absurd suggestion.
Michael laughed with them. “Even better! Open them up to see!” To each teammate he handed a present, and soon the air was filled with the sounds of wrapping paper getting ripped up.
“What did you get, Nikola?” Michael asked in a sweet voice to Nicola Jokic, who was staring at the figurine in his hands in confusion.
“Um…a Rajon Rondo bobblehead?”
“That’s right,” Michael confirmed. “It’s to remind you that you should never ever try to score the ball and instead pass the ball to me so I can score it instead.”
While Nikola continued to stare at the novelty Celtics-branded merchandise that must have been a remnant from a long-ago promotion, Michael moved on to another teammate. “And Paul, what was in your box?”
“A plane ticket to Atlanta,” Paul Millsap replied.
“I got that for you so you could get traded to the Hawks in exchange for Chandler Parsons. That way you’re not taking my minutes anymore. The flight leaves tomorrow.”
Paul forced a laugh out of his mouth. “Ha, that’s a funny joke. You’re funny, man.”
“It’s not a joke,” Michael said with a serious expression on his face. “I’ve been buying you a new plane ticket every day just in case the chance came up to give it to you.” Before Paul could protest any more at this disrespectful treatment, or even express confusion that a rookie would spend that much money on some kind of mean practical joke, Michael had already switched his attention to another teammate. “Enjoying your present, Jamal?”
Jamal scowled at the Windows XP lapel pin in his hand. “No.”
“Soon your scoring talents will be obsolete just like Windows XP is,” Michael explained. “And just like Windows XP no longer gets updates from Microsoft, so too will your mediocre scoring ability never get updated.”
“You should watch who you’re saying that stuff to,” Jamal warned with any icy edge to his gaze.
Michael laughed. “Why should I care? I’m the future of the franchise and you’re all just a bunch of bums. Except Nikola. He can pass me the ball.”
The other Nuggets players were all investigating their gifts with displeasure, trying to imagine what insidious meaning they could hold. When Jarred Vanderbilt realized that his empty bottle of Gatorade meant that he wasn’t even worthy of the G-League, he threw it at Michael’s head, but Michael just laughed some more in response. “If you guys are gonna get all pissy about it, I’m sure that the front office would be happy to put more of you than just Paul on the trading block.”
Michael ignored the murmurs of rebellion coming from his teammates while he looked at his phone. “I would love to chat more about these selfless, thoughtful presents that I bought everybody, but my phone’s going crazy right now. All these hot women want to have sex with me.” He flashed the phone screen at the rest of the locker room as proof of his imminent sexual conquests before throwing all his stuff into his bag without even taking off his game jersey.
“See ya losers,” he said as he walked out, but he paused just as he was going through the door. “Oh, and don’t forget, Paul, your flight leaves at six in the morning from Indianapolis. The trade will already be done by then. You should skip the team plane and just sleep in the terminal.” Then, he left for good, leaving a stunned and angry group of teammates in his wake.