Hawks 2019 Presser
Posted: Fri Feb 23, 2018 2:42 pm
Wig scrambles up to the microphone in front of a half-empty press room. The players, present for the first time in a long while, are clustered off to one side of the room, smiling and joking amongst themselves.
"Well, this is an improvement on last year when the place was packed. Means I need less in the cafeteria to feed you all."
He sighs.
"Last year can only be described as an unmitigated disaster. We pushed the Magic all the way to the final game of the season, only to fall one game short of a division title and the #1 seed. That failure took us out of a favorable matchup and into one that was... less favorable.
"We pushed the Cavaliers all the way to the final quarter of the season... only to fall short in front of our home crowd. This was... unacceptable."
Wig turns and stares daggers at the players, who go quiet. He turns back to the reporters and his voice drops to a low hiss.
"We offered deals to Daniel Randle and Harland Ellinger that we thought were more than fair... only to see them sign max offer sheets with other teams, blowing up our plans to keep a nice, tidy tax bill and surround them with more talent. Clearly they valued money over loyalty. This slight will not be soon forgotten.
"We offered Deron Williams what we felt was a lucrative extension... only to see him sign with the Wizards. This slight will not be soon forgotten.
"We offered Joakim Noah what we felt was a fair deal... and he departed to the Suns. This unkindest cut of all, after the way he treated us last season... is not good and no, I guarantee you this slight will not be soon forgotten.
"So where are we as a team? I'll tell you."
Wig swivels in his chair and fidgets with a long, wicked looking knife while addressing his players directly.
"Harland Ellinger, you wanted the big money. I've coddled you behind the likes of Nate Robinson, Steph Curry and Deron Williams long enough. It is time for you to step up and earn your paycheck, son. Greatness is no longer expected of you... it is required.
"Daniel Randle. When I found you that first preseason I saw what all masters live to see. Raw, untamed power. And something beyond that, something truly special... now that you have that massive contract, the hunger no longer seems to burn in you and I fear I was mistaken."
Greg Monroe opens his mouth to defend his teammates, "you paid me. I just don't think it's a good idea, murdering our confidence like that."
Wig's eyes narrow. "Am I mad, or did the word 'think' escape your lips? You were not hired for your GMing skills, you hippopotamic land mass!"
Monroe stops mid-sentence in shock, mouth moving but no words coming out.
Draymond jumps in, "I agree with Greg..."
"Oh, the sot has spoken! What happens to their confidence is not your concern. Never forget this - when I got you out of Milwaukee you were so slobbering drunk you couldn't buy BRANDY!"
He cuts Thomas Robinson off before he can even say anything.
"And YOU! Friendless! Brainless! Helpless! Hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to where I found you? Out of the playoffs? In San Antonio?"
There is a long, awkward silence. The players are in shock. Wig slowly continues.
"The expectations are the same as they are every year. I brought you all here for one purpose... winning a ring. Five other teams have scaled the championship summit since we last picked up a ring and I do NOT want to be like that baseball team here in Atlanta. I do not fear losing. I loathe it. Perform or there will be consequences."
He storms out of the room, flipping his chair. Behind the podium, a screen flickers to life. The players study it silently...
"Well, this is an improvement on last year when the place was packed. Means I need less in the cafeteria to feed you all."
He sighs.
"Last year can only be described as an unmitigated disaster. We pushed the Magic all the way to the final game of the season, only to fall one game short of a division title and the #1 seed. That failure took us out of a favorable matchup and into one that was... less favorable.
"We pushed the Cavaliers all the way to the final quarter of the season... only to fall short in front of our home crowd. This was... unacceptable."
Wig turns and stares daggers at the players, who go quiet. He turns back to the reporters and his voice drops to a low hiss.
"We offered deals to Daniel Randle and Harland Ellinger that we thought were more than fair... only to see them sign max offer sheets with other teams, blowing up our plans to keep a nice, tidy tax bill and surround them with more talent. Clearly they valued money over loyalty. This slight will not be soon forgotten.
"We offered Deron Williams what we felt was a lucrative extension... only to see him sign with the Wizards. This slight will not be soon forgotten.
"We offered Joakim Noah what we felt was a fair deal... and he departed to the Suns. This unkindest cut of all, after the way he treated us last season... is not good and no, I guarantee you this slight will not be soon forgotten.
"So where are we as a team? I'll tell you."
Wig swivels in his chair and fidgets with a long, wicked looking knife while addressing his players directly.
"Harland Ellinger, you wanted the big money. I've coddled you behind the likes of Nate Robinson, Steph Curry and Deron Williams long enough. It is time for you to step up and earn your paycheck, son. Greatness is no longer expected of you... it is required.
"Daniel Randle. When I found you that first preseason I saw what all masters live to see. Raw, untamed power. And something beyond that, something truly special... now that you have that massive contract, the hunger no longer seems to burn in you and I fear I was mistaken."
Greg Monroe opens his mouth to defend his teammates, "you paid me. I just don't think it's a good idea, murdering our confidence like that."
Wig's eyes narrow. "Am I mad, or did the word 'think' escape your lips? You were not hired for your GMing skills, you hippopotamic land mass!"
Monroe stops mid-sentence in shock, mouth moving but no words coming out.
Draymond jumps in, "I agree with Greg..."
"Oh, the sot has spoken! What happens to their confidence is not your concern. Never forget this - when I got you out of Milwaukee you were so slobbering drunk you couldn't buy BRANDY!"
He cuts Thomas Robinson off before he can even say anything.
"And YOU! Friendless! Brainless! Helpless! Hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to where I found you? Out of the playoffs? In San Antonio?"
There is a long, awkward silence. The players are in shock. Wig slowly continues.
"The expectations are the same as they are every year. I brought you all here for one purpose... winning a ring. Five other teams have scaled the championship summit since we last picked up a ring and I do NOT want to be like that baseball team here in Atlanta. I do not fear losing. I loathe it. Perform or there will be consequences."
He storms out of the room, flipping his chair. Behind the podium, a screen flickers to life. The players study it silently...