A hissing voice cuts the man off, "Nicest GM in the league? He messed with the wrong team! Offering my players ridiculous contracts... why couldn't he have made the offer to Jeff RULAND?!? That guy fits his drafting profile, too!"
The middle-aged man looks up just in time to see the cameraman and narrowly avoids bowling him over, though the sounds of crashing off-camera suggest he was not also able to take the corner of the hallway the camera just passed without also avoiding the wall. The camera sits outside the now nearly-shut door, recording audio but no video. The hissing voice is muttering to itself...
"And Kurt, geez, no loyalty at all after I insured him in Training Camp, taught him how to foul and get away with it... and he wants to go to Utah... UTAH!"
There is a pause and wry chuckle. "I'll just have to get myself a new giant."
Suddenly the door opens maybe six inches. The camera zooms in on the door, with the doorknob and the bottom of the frame, but no figure is visible. Suddenly, there is a loud hiss, a yowl, and the camera jerks sideways and crashes to the floor. The hissing voice can again be heard...
"You again? What are you doing near my office this time? And what did you hear? All you paparazzi types are all the same... and this is the third time I've seen you creeping around here this week! The media room is back the way you came, and if I catch you anywhere else in my facility, your press pass will be revoked. Now turn that camera off!"
The camera abruptly jump-cuts to the back of a bland, 1980's press room complete with chalkboard. A group of middle-aged, male, balding reporters are seated on folding metal chairs. At the front of the room is a desk. Seated on the desk is a sphynx cat with a hideous scowl, holding a piece of chalk and addressing the reporters in an annoyed, condescending manner, that suggest he'd rather be doing anything else.
"...I'm just here so I don't get fined."
"You saw the Finals. We had to fight and scratch and claw, and things went to Game Seven, but that's what you play the regular season for... to have that final, winner-takes-all game on your home court. It seems like every year we smack another contender into a rebuild; last off-season it was the Warriors and this off-season it was the Kings... but every year some other conniving GM reaps my just rewards... and why is it so frequently LTS? First he trades for Magic Johnson, then he gets Jeff Ruland to sign for way below market value. All I know is, if injuries aren't turned ON when we play the Lakers this year, they may have to be turned on in the Commissioner's Office, mark my words..."
The cat waves a paw dismissively before the reporters can say anything.
"I know, I know, you're all looking to know why I let Kurt Rambis get away after we just won a title rather than bringing the same core back. Well, I'll tell you. Look at this disgusting division. The Lakers still lucked into Magic Johnson for Magic Johnson AND they're still getting people to trade them top talent. The Warriors are back to a twin towers look with Alton Lister and Robert Parish. Seattle still has Dominique on offense and Mark Eaton and Darwin Cook on defense. San Diego's core is in their primes AND they added a guy after my own heart in Charles Oakley. And the Suns... well, I guess there is some justice in the worlds since the TC gods decided to delay the development of StocktonToMalone by a year. Simply put, there's so much firepower in this division, I am going to have to zig when everyone else is zagging. Instead of building around an offensive dynamo, we're going to have to gut out victories with teamwork and grit, and Rambis was just the kind of lunchpail guy to help lead us in that direction... until he decided he had champagne tastes incompatible with my beer budget."
A young reporter a couple of rows from the back tentatively raises a hand.
The cat raises and eyebrow and asks derisively, "are you lost, little boy?"
"Steve Duin, Blazer beat writer with the Oregonian... Mister WigNosy, sir, rumor around Portland is you've been having trouble coming up with a new marketing campaign?"
The cat sniffs. "Trouble? No. Trouble runs and hides from me. But I tell you, Stevie, I like you. You have absolutely no tact... you just come right out and ask stupid questions. The era of the Blazing Blunt..."
The cat cuts himself off and his eyes narrow as there is a collective snicker from the sportswriters.
"AHEM... the era of the Blunt Force Trauma Blazers continues. Other teams value offensive skill. Maybe they like Scoring ... guys like Mike Mitchell with their post game augmented by jumpshots. Or maybe they like flashy passing like that Stockton kid in Phoenix. The Blazers? I want to play rugby. Do you want to know what made a guy rank highly on the Blazers' draft board? Do you? You want an inside scoop, Stevie? I know your Oregonian reported that Bob Backlund dropped by our offices last week to pay me a visit. Here's the secret... he wasn't here to pay a visit. He was here to assist in our pre-draft workouts, and I might even hire him on as an assistant coach. I like his ... um ... playing style."
The cat sucks air through his teeth and continues, "We had to pay a hefty price to move up to #13. And just as we did, those jerks out in Washington moved up to #12 and took the guy we had our eye on, A.C. Green. So now we're the junkyard dogs fighting for scraps. And you'd better believe I looked for guys that had that a chip on their shoulder and that aren't afraid of rough-and-tumble play. We're not going to be given a thing. We're going to have to take it. We don't value pretty passing here. We value raw, brutal effectiveness, and it's our goal to bring a style of play to the league all these other pretty boys are simply unprepared for. I don't know if it's going to win, but I know for sure everyone is going to hate playing us. I'm going to have to get him a pair of glasses, but I want you to meet the younger, bigger, Kurt Rambis... Jon Koncak!"
Wig has lathered himself up into a frenzy, and perhaps realizes it because he takes moment to groom a paw and calm himself down. Duin perhaps can't help himself. He squeaks, "well, that was... interesting. And other than blunt force trauma, what do you like, Mister WigNosy, sir?"
The cat leans back and stretches, then in an almost inaudible voice replies, "Hmm... lying to stupid reporters? Actually, no. Ephemera. Go look that word up. I like intangibles in my players ... and I like intangibles in my assets. Have you ever held a draft pick? Or better yet, 10 points? No? Well, I love all that stuff. Until we accumulate more talent, I'm going to have to satisfy myself with collecting that. But you know what I love even more than that? Winning. No... not winning... crushing the hopes and dreams of anyone that stands in my way. So I'd better see a nice writeup in the Oregonian tomorrow, Stevie."
"And you'd best believe I'll be stewing and brewing after every loss we collect along the way this year... I hate losing even more than I like winning. Yes, I have a vision for how to do that. No, believe me, we are not resting on our laurels. Last year's team was a championship team. This year, the squad hasn't won a thing. We had to let Rambis go; I wasn't in good conscience going to pay him a max once I saw the value the Jazz were offering in the Lamp and Breuer. Am I bitter about it? Maybe. If this year is a lost year because we don't win it again, so be it... it will just make the return to the mountaintop even more sweet. But I wouldn't mind being wrong about that. And as you can probably tell, I also don't mind being 'the heel,' in fact, see this cup here? It's for me to collect the tears of all the other owners when they meet the Blunt Force Trauma Blazers this year."
"And so you have something nice to write, let me give you a couple of softballs. We don't do convention here. Everything you think you know about this roster is wrong. I will use players wherever they are effective and wherever I think I can get an edge, and to my eye, our roster is pretty interchangeable, so expect the unexpected This is the Ship of Theseus. Where we started with Donaldson there is now Bill Cartwright. David Thompson has given way to Kelly Tripucka. Phil Hubbard became Kurt Rambis and is now Jon Koncak. Greg Kelser out, James Worthy in. Jim Spanarkel is yesterday's news, meet Lester Conner."
"The team is bigger than any one individual. We plan to keep on rolling and we play to win the game. Get too big for your britches, and I will ship you out of here even if you style yourself as a star. Ask James Donaldson. Ask Bernard King. Nobody is bigger than the Cat."
Wig stops again and sneers at the room. "Why y'all so quiet? Anyone besides Stevie got anything they want to know?"
"Oh, and one last reminder about how last season turned out for us..."
