Adam Silver paced behind his desk, running his hands over his head, as if wanting to pull at hair that wasn’t there. An assortment of high-ranking NBA executives sat nervously before him, waiting for the silence to be broken.
“Thirteen games. Thirteen games last night,” Silver said in an emotionless, monotone voice. He had stopped his pacing. “It was supposed to be a bonanza. An outburst of the league’s top superstars putting on monster performances. A perfect storm of highlight creation. Instead, we get nothing.” He paused, breathing a little heavier than usual. Suddenly, he banged his fist on the hard wooden surface. “NOTHING!”
The executives flinched. One of them had the audacity to challenge his boss’ assertion. “Sir, John Wall scored 34. And Damian Lillard had twelve assists.”
“Oh, twelve assists, oh, thirty-four points, wow!” Silver said in a mocking tone. “How are we supposed to exploit internet highlight makers for monetary gain if stars and role-players alike all had marginal performances? Can somebody enlighten me, hmmm?”
“The people will watch LeBron scoring twenty, sir. They are starved for highlights and will view any video as long as it is presented as a spectacle, sir.”
Silver sat at his computer, tapped a few keys on his keyboard, and brought up on the projector an image of the YouTube channel “DownToBuck”.
“Tell me, does this look like the people get excited over players scoring twenty points? Look at these view counts. We’re not making any ad revenue off of these pathetic numbers. NONE!” Silver’s fist slammed down on the keyboard. “Role players performing well in their role is fine for winning championships. But for the NBA piggybacking off the hard work of highlight compilers, it’s a steaming load of horsecrap!”
Without warning, Silver lept off the ground like a cat and latched onto the projector which hung from the ceiling. After some forceful pulling motions, he managed to break it off its supports. Taking the newly-freed device, he threw it at the window of the 50th-story office and watched it fall into the street below.
The unsettling calm in Silver’s voice had returned. “If we don’t have Westbrook getting a quadruple-double and Harden scoring sixty in their next games, you’re all fired.”