Montrezl Harrell got out of his car and walked up the long walkway to the front door of the mansion. He had been invited to this house before, but it never ceased to impress him with its size and grandeur. It was the kind of place that would have pet tigers roaming the lawn. He rang the doorbell and waited for the home’s eccentric resident to let him in.
There wasn’t a long delay; Montrezl’s arrival was clearly expected. The door flung open and Steve Ballmer came rushing out, eagerly giving the much larger man a hug. “So glad you could come, Montrezl!” gushed the Clippers owner. “Come in, the party’s just starting!”
Montrezl could clearly see into the foyer of the home. It was empty and quiet. There was no party going on as far as he could tell. The fact that his car was the only one parked in the driveway, again, pointed to the partyless nature of the situation. Still, he followed Steve into his living room. Steve was the kind of person who would have a small gathering of close friends without music or strippers and call it a “party”.
The living room was empty too. Empty except for a big banner hanging from the ceiling that read in big letters “MONTREZL HARRELL + CLIPPERS = MAX CONTRACT”, and, below it, a selection of extremely fancy-looking food spread out over two buffet tables.
“Help yourself to some food!” Steve half-yelled. Everything that ever came out of his mouth was at a volume somewhere between normal talking and full-on screaming. “It is your free agency party after all!” Seeing that Montrezl wasn’t immediately going for the shrimp cocktails and pineapple-cranberry punch, Steve bustled over and started working on the appetizers himself.
“Uh, Steve?”
“Yeah?” Steve replied, a handful of mini smoked wienies almost to his mouth.
“I think the plan is to resume the season. I’m not a free agent yet.”
The fistful of small sausages went flying through the air as Steve threw up his hands in excitement. One sausage hit Montrezl in the eyeball. “That doesn’t mean I can’t start courting you and convincing you to re-sign!”
“That kind of sounds like tampering” Montrezl said.
Steve shook his head. “It’s not, but this is,” he replied, withdrawing a rubber-banded stack of hundred dollar bills from his pocket and handing it to his player. Before Montrezl could say anything, Steve took out two more stacks and handed them over as well.
Montrezl stared at the money in his hands. There were tens of thousands of dollars there, at least. Not that tens of thousands of dollars were such a big deal when his contract was paying him millions. “I bet the league would make you forfeit draft picks if they found out about this.”
“They’re not going to find out because you’re not going to tell them,” Steve said with a joviality that was undercut by some kind of implied threat. “Besides, it’s just a ‘signing bonus’. Teams give them out all the time.”
“I think I would need to sign before it was a signing bonus,” Montrezl replied.
Seeming to ignore Montrezl’s perfectly valid point, Steve went on, “And if tax-free cash bonuses weren’t enough to convince you, the song I wrote for you certainly will!”
“Please. No.”
Steve hit a button on a remote control, causing a Sousa-style march to start playing through his home entertainment system. He started marching in place, eventually matching his steps to the rhythm of the music. Montrezl wondered if he would get suspended if he just walked out the door right at the moment. Against his better judgment, he stayed as Steve began to sing at high volume.
“Who’s the best player on the Clippers today?
Montrezl! Montrezl!
To him a max contract we’ll pay,
Montrezl! Montrezl!
Kawhi will leave, Paul George is a bum,
Montrezl! Montrezl!
I don’t even know where Zubac is from,
Montrezl! Montrezl
Dunking and yelling and jumping real high,
Montrezl! Montrezl!
A real franchise cornerstone, he’s our guy,
Montrezl! Montrezl!
I promise to never make you play defense,
Montrezl! Montrezl!
You’re always welcome hang out at my place with your friends,
Montrezl! Montrezl!
No other player we would rather sign,
Montrezl! Montrezl!
He lives forever in this heart of mine,
Montrezl! Montrezl!”
The music continued playing, and there may have been more to the song, but Montrezl never found out because Steve had broken down in sobs. “I love you so much, man!” he wailed, rushing in to hug Montrezl again. “I love your energy, your dunks, your muscles, your hair…YOU CAN’T LEAVE!!!”
Montrezl tried to come up with something diplomatic to say. He finally settled on. “The Clippers are high on my list, for sure.” However, this ambiguous response only caused Steve’s tears to intensify. Awkwardly, he patted the man on the back. “It was a good song, though. I bet nobody else will sing me a song.”
Steve looked up at Montrezl with teary eyes. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”