Post by Dirt on Dec 23, 2021 14:57:18 GMT -5
Book 1 of the Dirt Saga - The Decision and future of LeBron James
Chapter 1: Future Plans
You can see the faint light of the moon from the window as GM Dirt stares at his palms. The night breeze flows into the large but lonely office in Los Angeles. As the papers flutter around his desk, he looks up at the white board from across the room. The board is full of scribbled papers and red and blue string connecting from several push pins that accumulate in the middle, where a TMBSL trophy is taped.
A long sigh goes through the gravel throat of the occupant at the desk. You can catch the tone of a wheeze as smoke comes out Joe’s nostrils. “My god man, what a day”, Joe quietly whispers to himself. He’s been on the phone lines all day taking offers for the 3023 #1 overall pick. His assistant didn’t come in today or maybe he would request another shot of Johnny Walker Blue. He begins to contemplate the hiatus he took from the team just a few years ago. He can still smell the coconut rum and the suntan lotion from the Brazilians he would mingle with on the beach. “I should have stayed away; I’ve failed for so long” he grumbles to himself. He takes another drag of his menthol cigarette and glances down at his forearm as he rubs at the tattoo. “Patience is key you dumb mother Fuq” – but it’s just a Chinese symbol he got back when he was in Pipa Beach.
He begins to lean his chair back, long flowing hair settles on the head rest and he begins to slowly close he eyes, there’s a knock at the door. “Who is it”, Dirt yells out. “Hey uh boss it’s me LaSalle, “Come in, come in, Joe quietly grumbles under his breath. As the door opens and LaSalle sits down, his eyes move across the office and slowly move to meet with Joe’s baggy eyes. “So, I know you brought me in here, but my family tells me to be careful around you, the rumors around the league aren’t good when it comes to you and your ability to put a championship team together, all you care about is the money and that’s it”, LaSalle states in a respectful voice. Joe responds with a downward sneer showing off his old and wrinkled smile lines. He takes another soft but deep drag of his cigarette, as the smoke slowly blows through the left side of his mouth. “I know Trofie was a good GM, a family guy, and me, I’m just another loudmouth rich guy that thinks he knows shit about basketball. LaSalle, listen, I promise I’m willing to do what needs to be done to get us a title. There’s a young kid out of Akron, he’s an 8th grader dominating in AU. If we can hold on to this pick for 5 years, I should say I’m going to try and hold on to the pick and take him”. You hear the stretching of leather coming from the chair LaSalle sits in as his posture begins to shift from respectful to impatient. “I’m 27 Joe, I think I can win Defensive Player of the Year this year and maybe a couple more if I’m lucky but by then I’ll be 32, then I’ll have 1 good knee and 2 bad ankles”. LaSalle expressing frustrations as he explains to GM Dirt. Dirt begins to sit up in a more professional posture and puts his elbows on the table and leans closer to LaSalle. “Now listen LaSalle, I want you here, your going to be the 2nd HOF coming out of LAC. You’re the new Shawn Kemp Jr. I’ve already spent millions of dollars manufacturing jersey’s and I still owe the Chinese that money, Dirt tells LaSalle sternly. As the grimace begins to lighten on Joe’s face and a wicked smile starts to turn. “Are you requesting a trade? I’d like to keep you here, I just gave up this year’s 2nd overall pick for you, but don’t tempt fate LaSalle. Let’s just forget about this talk, why don't you just relax and settle in LA, get one of those blonde bombshell playboy bunny girls. Shit I don’t care find an Instagram model. I’m telling you the rumors will swirl, the league will rumble, but if you want to be here and be apart of the LeBron legacy, stay and let’s do this together”. As Joe stands up and reaches his hand towards LaSalle…A long quiet pause settles over the office as LaSalle stares at the small sweating palms of an old 40 year old man smelling of marijuana and tobacco and slowly pushes his chair back and glides out the door without a word
