Jerami Grant sat in a chair outside the office of 76ers GM Bryan Colangelo. The old GM, Sam Hinkie, had always allowed players to walk in if the door was open. Colangelo’s door was never open. Not only that, but he had a secretary. And the secretary had told Jerami that he had to wait in the “reception area” (really just two chairs next to her desk) while he finished up whatever business he had to finish up.
It was already seven minutes past their scheduled meeting time, Jerami noted. Why had he bothered showing up on time, again? It was just an exit interview.
Finally, Bryan emerged from his office and jovially beckoned Jerami inside. Jerami pretended to be friendly in return, but his loyalties still lay with Hinkie, who had been the one willing to take a chance on a gangly, athletic forward project. He sat down
“So, Jerami,” Bryan began. “The season’s over now. What are your thoughts?”
That was such an open-ended inquiry that Jerami hardly knew how to begin. Every thought he had about the season seemed to be piling to the front of his mind at once. “Uh. Well, we didn’t win many games. I guess that could be a problem depending on your perspective.” He chuckled a little bit to try to lighten the mood.
Bryan immediately became stern. “That’s the problem with all the Hinkie guys. You have a lax attitude about losing. But don’t worry, that’s all going to change next year.”
Jerami felt more than slightly annoyed at Bryan’s insinuations. “You kidding? I hate losing. But when you’re all growing together as a team and learning the ropes, that’s a valuable experience whether you win or lose. I’d love to win some more, but if that means bringing in some middling talent to max us out at thirty-eight wins, I want no part of that.”
Now the annoyance was clearly mutual. “Trust us, we’re aiming for a championship just like Hinkie was. The only difference is our approach,” Bryan explained. “That idiot thought you could lose for years and then magically win out of nowhere once all your draft picks magically mature at once.”
“It worked for Oklahoma City,” Jerami replied, shrugging.
“Look around, Jerami. Is there a Durant here? Is there a Westbrook? No. OKC’s model is irrelevant. There’s some pieces here to work with, you included, but we plan to add NBA-proven talent to the roster and reverse this endless cycle of losing and tanki—what was that noise?”
Jerami had heard it too. There was a rumbling mechanical sound that was getting louder. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the wall. Before he could express his confusion, bits of plaster began to spray out from the wall. The two men jumped up from their chairs and retreated to the far end of the room, with Bryan dumbly wondering aloud if it was an earthquake.
The camouflage-green turret that emerged from the wall disproved that theory. Soon, the rest of the tank had burst through the vastly inadequate wall and rolled to a stop. For a second, all was silent, and the only movement was of plaster dust gently dancing in the newly-created breeze. Jerami realized that the presence of a military tank in Bryan Colangelo’s office could only mean one thing…
The hatch on the top of the tank unscrewed itself from within, and a familiar faced popped out of the opening.
It was Sam Hinkie. Wearing a WWI-era military helmet. “I heard that this joker wants to stop us from tanking,” he commented idly, as if he hadn’t just destroyed part of the 76ers’ front office with a huge combat vehicle.
“Yeah, that’s what I heard too,” Jerami replied. “I don’t like it.”
Bryan finally seemed to gather himself. “Get that thing out of here right this instant!” he spluttered, turning red in the face. “I’ll have you arrested! This is team property!”
Sam laughed defiantly. “I’d like to see them try to arrest me.” He reached below him and rummaged around for a second before pulling out an M32 grenade launcher. “Jerami, you take this. I’ll keep driving this thing.” He tossed the grenade launcher down to Jerami, who deftly caught it and, in one motion, brought it up in firing position. Bryan, seeing that he couldn’t put up any kind of substantial resistance, fled his office.
The tank began rolling again, splintering furniture underneath its treads and demolishing the wall opposite the way it had entered. Jerami followed behind, indiscriminately firing grenades down hallways and into offices, grinning madly at the lively, destructive explosions that resulted. There were screams as team employees attempted to escape the carnage, but Jerami hardly heard them.
Eventually, the tank came to a stop, and Hinkie again released the hatch to let himself out. He clambered down the side of the tank and put his arm around Jerami’s soot-covered shoulder. “I think it’s our team again, Jerami.”
Jerami nodded. “It sure is, Sam. Now, let’s build it the way WE want.”