As the players break the huddle, reserve guard Jim Spanarkel grabs a cowboy hat from under the bench and dons it. Wig looks on from the bench, an expression of fury scrawled across his face. A few minutes later (with 7:43 to go in the quarter), Spanarkel makes a terrible pass that sails out of bounds. Shortly thereafter (with just under 7 minutes remaining), Spanarkel commits a foul, but shows incredible athleticism in reaching up to keep the cowboy hat on his head. Steam starts rising from Wig's ears.
A moment or two later, the Bucks' Ray Williams gets an uncontested layup and Wig can't stand it any longer. As Spanarkel takes the ball out of the basket and prepares to inbound, Wig hollers at him, "TAKE THAT RIDICULOUS THING OFF!" After inbounding the ball to Cedric Maxwell, Spanarkel trots over to the bench, looks at the coach sadly, and...
Wig stares at him for an instant, confusion giving way to anger. A moment later, there is the flash of a cat's paw coming down on top of the hat with an incredible amount of force and Spanarkel crumples to the floor in a heap. The referees stop play and the team trainers load Spanarkel up on a backboard to carry him off the floor. Wig shrugs and play continues.
...
Three days later, things were tense in the Portland locker room following a loss to the lowly Philadelphia 76ers. Players scattered as a hairless cat stalked about the locker room, poring over the box score.
"Thirty-three turnovers. THIRTY-THREE!" the cat hissed. He cornered Cedric Maxwell, stood up to his full height, and looked Maxwell right in the kneecap.
"What do you have to say for yourself? Were you chasing a triple-double here? All you needed was two more turnovers to complete the points-rebounds-turnovers triple-double! It's not even a contract year for you, Cedric!"
A murmur went through the locker room, sounding a little bit like "he's gonna get Spanarkeled," before Maxwell could stutter, "Sorry, Mister Nosy, Sir. It won't happen again!"
"It had better not. We are professionals. Professionals have standards! If you're gunning for a triple-double, you'd better not miss!"
Wig spun around to face the team. "By all rights, we should have had this game. We outrebounded Philly 43 to 26. We went to the line 29 more times. And yet, somehow we STILL managed to let them shoot 34 more shots than we did! Worst of all, every single one of their players made it to the end of the game - nobody was knocked out, nobody fouled out, and this was AT HOME! How can I call you BluntForceTraumaBlazers with a pathetic showing like THAT?!?"
The cat storms out of the locker room, muttering "I swear, the next player that disappoints me is going to find themselves on the next flight to LOS ANGELES..."
...
Five days later, the cat is found hunched behind a copy of the San-Antonio Express news in a Chicago airport, scrutinizing the game summary. He beckons one of the assistant coaches over. "Who are our trainers anyway? First we lose Spanarkel for three months with a concussion caused by taking off that ridiculous moustache, and now Donaldson gets clotheslined by Kevin McHale during a full court press and lands awkwardly on his shoulder and he's out a month. The phrase BluntForceTraumaBlazers is supposed to apply to our OPPONENTS not to us."
...
The mood in the visitor's locker room in Chicago is decidedly upbeat the following night, with the players celebrating a blowout win despite being down two players. Nobody notices the cat slink into the locker room, and a street-clothes-clad Donaldson is giving Phil Hubbard high-fives for sporting a +28 plus/minus while starting in Donaldson's absence.
"James, does this cloth smell like chloroform to you?" came a voice from the shadows. Suddenly, Donaldson keeled over and a moment later, the form of the hairless cat hopped up onto his chest. With a snap of the cat's fingers/paws, two burly men appeared, one grabbing each arm, and hauled Donaldson out of the locker room.
Wig spoke to the stunned locker room. "On this team, ability and loyalty are paramount. And Donaldson has simply not been playing up to our expectations, because the number one ability is AVAILABILITY. So I want you all to prepare to welcome your new starting center, Bill Cartwright. You'll have plenty of time to get to know him since we're about to go through a stretch of 8 road games out of our next 11."
The cat hopped up onto a bench and looked at the sullen faces around him. "Yes, that was my first creation draft pick I just shipped out of here. This organization will learn sooner or later that I am absolutely ruthless when it comes to winning, but that I do value loyalty. And when I say LOYALTY, let me be clear. I am loyal to ME. You had all better be loyal to ME... and if anyone complains, they're going to be shipped out to PHILLY!"
And with that, the players part before the cat as he heads to the locker room exit like the Red Sea parting before Moses. Bernard King and David Thompson exchange looks, as if in disbelief. Cedric Maxwell mouths "what just happened" to Greg Kelser. Keith Herron sits in a corner, a grin plastered on his face. Foots Walker finally speaks up, "sometimes you eat the dog, sometimes the dog eat you..." and the team disperses quietly, still in shock...
