Amir Coffey walked into the locker room after the Clippers’ victory in their final regular-season game. The mood was jubilant, even though many of the players on the roster hadn’t even played in the game; there was much clapping of backs and exchanging of fist-bumps all around. Many jokes were told about how the Clippers’ bench unit was going to outperform the starting unit and take all their jobs.
After sharing some cursory congratulations with his teammates, Amir walked into the bathroom that was attached to the locker room and went to the far stall. There, he had placed something before the game that he had thought would be likely to come in handy after the game. Given his exceptional performance in their win, it was going to come in very handy indeed.
He knelt down and grabbed the two carafes of hot, freshly-brewed coffee that were in the industrial-style coffee maker. One was regular and one was decaf, not that it mattered too much. The difference wouldn’t be noticed.
Emerging from the bathroom with two jugs of coffee held proudly in his hands, his teammates whooped and hollered with renewed glee. They readily recognized the reference between the beverage that Amir was holding and the pronunciation of his last name. “What’s better than champagne? Coffee!” Patrick Beverley yelled as the Clippers team laughed and jumped up and down.
A wry grin spread across Amir’s face, although the reason for his joy was not the same as that of his teammates’. As the other players gradually turned back to their own conversations, not actually intending to drink any of the coffee that Amir was holding, Amir approached Kawhi Leonard, who was seated in front of his locker, appreciating the festive atmosphere but not participating in it too vigorously.
“Good game, rook,” Kawhi said in his low voice, his characteristic smile making a rare appearance. “You gonna pour me a cup of that?”
“I’ll pour you more than a cup,” Amir growled.
“Huh?”
“IT’S TIME FOR A COFFEE BREAK!!!” Amir roared, and before Kawhi could realize what was happening, he had been shoved backwards and the steaming hot coffee was being poured all over him. What none of his teammates knew was that the coffee maker had been modified to have no temperature regulation at all; the result was coffee that was literally boiling.
Kawhi screamed in agony as the exposed flesh of his face was seared, then melted, by the assault of deadly-hot liquid. “COFFEE BREAK! COFFEE BREAK! COFFEE BREAK!” Amir yelled maniacally, and by the time his teammates realized what had transpired, the two carafes were empty. Kawhi was groaning in pain, his large hands clutching his severely burned face.
Amir knew that he couldn’t stay in the locker room after what he had done. He sprinted out the way he had come, and when Marcus Morris tried to stop him, the small forward was bashed cleanly in the head with one of the empty jugs, knocking him out. Within minutes, Amir was standing in the steamy Florida night, breathing hard. The image of Kawhi, the team’s leader, reduced to whimpering worthlessness was immensely pleasing to him.
“Coffee break,” Amir whispered to himself, chuckling.