“It was nice of you to invite me on your little fishing trip,” Boban Marjanovic said as he cast out his line. A floppy hat was perched on his head and his legs dangled off the side of the boat as he reclined in his chair.
Bogdan Bogdanovic, the organizer of the expedition which saw their motorboat make its way among the various small lakes and lagoons that dotted the resort grounds, looked up from his laptop. “Oh, no problem.” He looked back down and resumed typing.
“Are you even gonna try to catch a fish, man?” Nemanja Bjelica asked while he waited for fish to bite on the line that he had put out. “That’s the whole point of going fishing. To catch fish.”
“I’m busy,” Bogdan replied. “Besides, they don’t let us keep the fish. I saw how many you’ve had to throw back.” Really, the whole point of organizing this trip with his two fellow Serbians was to form strategic alliances. It was not to catch fish that couldn’t even be scaled, gutted and eaten. While the two other men returned their attentions to the water, Bogdan finished his email exchange with Kings GM Vlade Divac. Soon their scheduled Zoom meeting would start. Bogdan hoped the WiFi out in the middle of the lake was strong enough to support a video call.
With a holler, Nemanja pulled out another large fish from the water. It flopped around helplessly when it was placed on the floor of the boat. “Check it out guys! That’s a personal record for sure!”
Boban came over to admire the vanquished sea life, but Bogdan didn’t even look up. There were more important things on his mind.
Nemanja looked exasperated. “Dude, can you stop thinking about the Serbian Superteam in Sacramento for just one second and come look at this gigantic fish I caught?”
“The Serbian what?” Boban asked.
Bogdan looked up with exasperation. He hated having to be the one who knew everything. “The Serbian Superteam in Sacramento. A theoretical superteam comprised of at least three, but possibly more, players of Serbian origin, all playing for the Sacramento Kings.” The glare of the sun was making it hard to see his laptop screen, but if he squinted, it looked like Vlade had just logged on to their meeting. “Boban, by the time you get off this boat, you’re going to be on the Kings and the SSS will be a reality.”
“I don’t think that’s allowed under the CBA,” Boban said in confusion. Meanwhile, Vlade said something inaudible on the video call.
Bogan turned up the volume on the laptop speakers. “Can you say that again, Vlade? Your connection isn’t very good.”
“We can’t just acquire players from other teams after the trade deadline,” Vlade said. “We’ve been over this.”
Bogdan felt anger course through him. “It’s as if you do not even desire to form a Serbian Superteam in Sacramento! I’m disappointed that you are forsaking your Serbian roots in submission to the rules that the nasty Americans have put in place to prevent our success. You can rejoin this conversation when you’re ready to be flexible.” Before Vlade could retort, Bogdan lifted the laptop over his head and threw it into the lake.
“Now you’re not going to be able to watch porn in your room,” Nemanja pointed out.
Bogdan ignored this snide remark. “So, Boban. What do you say? Do you want to join forces with me and Nemanja to dominate the NBA for years to come?”
Still looking very confused, Boban replied, “I’m not sure that’s a championship-contending core by itself.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This denial of Serb supremacy is disgusting.” Bogdan said, turning to take control of the boat’s steering wheel. “Screw this. We’re going back to land. This fishing trip is over.”
The rest of the boat ride was spent in silence. Bogdan wondered if it would be possible to make another attempt at abducting Nikola Jokic. The Serbian Superteam in Sacramento would happen one way or another. He was sure of it.