by Fresh8 on Thu Jan 12, 2006 7:20 pm
Chapter 3
Losses were coming left, right and centre for the Hawks. Atlanta was riding a three game losing streak and after a 102-109 loss to the Seattle Supersonics, the team was kept back and punished by Coach Mike Woodson. Will Sit watched on as the players were forced to work on drills after the game on the Key Arena floor. The players’ faces displayed expressions of pain as their physical ability were blatantly being stretch to the limit by the tough coach’s orders.
“Down for twenty!” Woodson exclaimed after Josh Childress fumbled the ball on his lay up attempt.
Everyone let out a collective sigh before getting down on all fours to start their twenty push-ups. It was a while before they had all finished and resumed the lay up drill.
“I want one hundred percent accuracy,” Woodson commanded boldly, “We can’t afford to miss any more lay ups, just like in tonight’s game.”
The drill went smoothly but rather slowly for another five minutes and Woodson was satisfied to change the drill. Rookie Marvin Williams then slipped and missed his lay up. Woodson’s eyes bulged and his fists were clenched tightly.
The coach screamed in anger, “Down for thirty!”
The players groaned and half of them glared angrily toward Williams. Everyone started their new set of push ups and did them as silently as they could. In the midst of the grunts of the players doing their push ups, there was a sudden cry of pain that filled the air. The assistant coaches ran on to the court from the sideline to see what was going on.
“It’s only a cramp!” One of the assistant coaches yelled to Woodson who was standing on the sideline with his hands folded on his chest.
Sit pounced from behind the door where he was hiding and sprinted onto the basketball court. He pointed at Woodson as he passed him and said in a stern voice, “Look what you’ve done now.”
Sit knelt beside the fallen Salim Stoudamire who was evidently in a lot of pain. The point guard was clutching his right leg and shaking uncontrollably. Sweat dripped from his forehead as Sit examined him, noticing that his leg was very stiff.
“How much water have you had?” Sit asked him.
“Nothing since the game ended,” Stammered the shaking Stoudamire.
“Take him to the locker room,” Sit told the players.
Josh Smith and Josh Childress helped their team mate off towards the visitor’s changing room. Sit rose to meet Woodson in the eye. He approached the coach slowly, his dark, pinstripe suit making him look slightly taller than usual. Sit’s black leather shoes didn’t make a sound as he walked forwards.
“Are you trying to kill these guys?”
Woodson shuffled backwards and replied, “This is how I coach. No one tells me what to do.”
Sit looked up at the taller man and barked, “These guys have just come out of a game and you give them drills for an extra two hours. This is inhumane and negligent!”
“They lose and they pay the price,” Woodson stated calmly, “Don’t get involved in this business Sit. You have no right nor no idea on what happens when you’re a coach. You’re only a GM… mate.”
Woodson put extra emphasis on the word ‘mate’ and Sit shoved Woodson forcefully. A few of the players stepped in quickly and held Sit back.
Sit struggled to get to Woodson and he shouted out aloud, “I’d be dead too if I’ve been playing for four f*cking hours.”
Woodson chuckled, “What happened to winning? How can we win if we don’t play well? If you want to win so much, this is the price you pay for it.”
Sit had nothing to say to respond to it.
“Hypocrite.”
Sit thrashed around in the arms of the players holding him back from throwing a fist in Woodson’s face. Woodson laughed before turning to leave; his accusation of Sit being a hypocrite had had the affect that he had hoped to see. As he reached the entrance to the foyer that led to the changing rooms, he turned around.
“You can’t sack me or sue me because I’ve done nothing wrong,” Woodson taunted Sit.
Sit sat in rhe warmth of his office, reading the many faxes he had received from the other teams. Rubbish, he thought, as he scrunched up a fax from Mitch Kupchak of the LA Lakers who had offered Devean George for a first round draft pick. There was a knock on the door and it opened to reveal Sit’s secretary.
“Mr Wilson is here to see you sit,” She announced in her soft, soothing voice.
Sit groaned and signalled for her to call Rob Wilson in. Wilson stomped inside and threw a folio of documents onto Sit’s desk.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Wilson questioned.
Wilson couldn’t see Sit’s face as he continued to look down at his desk, ignoring the presence of the senior board member.
“Don’t pretend I’m not here boy. Your ideas are stupid. They stink!”
Sit kept his temper on its leash and tried to keep focusing on his paperwork. Wilson’s words echoed in the background, the man’s voice booming and bouncing off of the walls of the room.
“You’re not good enough to work here. You don’t belong here. You don’t have the experience, the skill or the qualifications. Heck, you don’t even have status! Are your family refugees or something?”
Sit glanced up, angered by the cutting remarks Wilson had spoken to him.
Wilson added, “I don’t know how you keep your job.”
“Say that again!” Sit challenged and slapped his right hand on the desk, quickly rising out of his seat.
“I said,” Wilson paused in between, “I don’t know how you keep your job!”
Sit took a few steps to his right and picked up a golf club. He stared at Wilson who was slowly moving away from where Sit was standing. Wilson took one step backward every time Sit moved one forward.
“Don’t you dare,” Wilson warned Sit, his voice quivering.
Sit walked forwards gathering pace. Wilson backed himself into the wall as Sit swung the club behind his head. As Sit got closer and closer, Wilson covered his face with both of his arms. Wilson shook in sheer terror and in anticipation of pain as he waited for Sit’s club to meet him. There was a loud noise and Wilson quickly moved his arms away from in front of his head. Surprisingly, there was no blood or pain and Woodson looked around the empty room. Wilson opened the door quickly and saw Sit leave the office foyer to enter the lift, with the golf club over his shoulder.
“You know Albino,” Sit told John O’Shea, “It’s really hard not to be tempted to hit Wilson and Woodson.”
He swung at the small, white ball and it went up into the air, falling back down onto the green. O’Shea positioned himself behind his ball and prepared to take his shot.
“I guess you just got to persevere. The job isn’t easy, you know.”
“I hate egos.”
O’Shea muttered quietly to himself, “Not like you don’t have one.”
“What did you say Albino?”
“Nothing.”
O’Shea his ball and the small sphere sailed into the air and back down for a hole in one.
“Harrington still giving you trouble?”
Sit thought about it, “Not really, I wonder what’s up with that.”
“Maybe he’s over it,” O’Shea warned, “But just be wary of the things that go on around here. I don’t think many people like you and they don’t want you around anymore.”
“You don’t say,” Sit said as he swung the club at the ball that fell short of its mark.
“Tell me why we are here again Sit?”
“Because I suck at golf.”
O’Shea sighed and responded, “Well here’s news for you. You suck at mini golf too.”
“Why you late?”
Sit sat down in his courtside seat with the fourth quarter just underway.
“What are you wearing?”
Sit’s Kobe Bryant jersey helped him stand out amongst the crowd’s sea of red and yellow. Rob Wilson didn’t look impressed and he was going to give Sit a lot of slack for it. Sit knew it was coming.
“I wear what I want,” Sit said.
“And you call yourself a part of this organisation,” Sneered Wilson.
Wilson added, “Oh, I support Kobe. I’m a hypocrite,” in a mocking tone.
Sit kept on watching the game and Wilson kept provoking him. The Hawks were down by 6 points with roughly eight minutes left in the ball game. Al Harrington had the ball down low and looked around the perimeter for some options. Joe Johnson cut from one side of the court to the other, shaking off his defender. Harrington faked the pass and pivoted to square up in front of the hook. He took one dribble and leapt towards the basket before Knicks’ big man Eddy Curry swatted the ball from behind.
Woodson cursed loudly and called out to Harrington, “That’s not going to get you anywhere boy!”
The Hawks played worse as time wound down with Harrington missing three straight shots. As the game got to the two minute mark and the Knicks were leading by fifteen, Woodson called for a timeout.
“Williams, get in for Al,” He ordered.
Harrington spotted Sit in his seat close to the Hawks’ bench and shouted, “Traitor!”
Woodson clicked his fingers and called out, “Hey, hey, hey! Don’t get distracted. Concentrate on the game and not some useless man.”
Sit shouted back over the deafening boo from the crowd, “Oh yeah, why is that?”
Woodson turned to face Sit who had already gotten out of his own seat. The spectators around Sit had grown silent, waiting to see and hear what the commotion was all about.
“Mr Sit, don’t get too cocky for being our GM because the fact still remains that you are full of shit.”
Sit laughed, “That’s’ probably because I got a shit board, shit coach and a shit star players who can’t make a lay up. And I got all of them to help me lose every game of the season!”
The few who had chosen to listen in were stunned to hear Sit’s comments. The players on the Hawks bench and the people sitting near it were all in a shocked silence.
Sit added, “If it wasn’t for the fact that I am here, all of you wouldn’t be playing here right now. I own all of your asses!”
“Well, there seems to be a problem here with the Atlanta Hawks. On the sideline in front of their bench it seems that a small Asian man in a Kobe jersey is having a shouting match with the coach of the Atlanta Hawks,” Charles Barkley spoke into his mic, “We have Mike who is now courtside. Mike, what is going on down there near the Hawks’ bench?”
“Charles, there is only little less than two minutes remaining in the game and the Knicks are winning 92 to 77. It seems that GM of the Hawks; Will Sit, has started to argue with Mike Woodson; the Hawks’ coach.”
Charles Barkley then blurted out, “Hold on Mike, look there! Al Harrington appears to be challenging someone to fight.”
Mike turned around and the cameraman zoomed in toward the sideline close to the home team’s bench.
Mike then said, “Looks like Will Sit has taken up the challenge.”
There was a slight pause before Mike added, “Ouch, now that’s got to hurt.”
“Will Sit has just been nailed down by Al Harrington,” A grinning Barkley stated, enjoying the show.
“He’s out cold...” Mike reported.
Sit’s body lay motionless on the sideline as Harrington was being restrained.
Charles Barkley announced, “I think we should go to a short break” before he joked, “TKO!”