It took a long time to transcribe the insanity that occurred while Stephen Jackson, Don Nelson and Larry Riley met today in Riley’s office, but I finally finished. We start this morning with Jackson walking into the office, where Nelly and Riley have been smoking cigars and watching Regis and Kelly for about 10 minutes (in case you haven’t heard, Jackson and Nelson announced today that Stephen “Captain Jack” Jackson had relinquished his team captaincy):
Jackson: ‘Sup Don!!!! ‘Sup Don’s friieeeenddd!!!!
Nelson: Stack! Come on in here. Shut the door. (turns off TV to the chagrin of Riley, who lets out an audible sigh)
Jackson: Man, somebody better open a window up in here. Or give me some weed, or somethin’. I can’t just breathe all your old man cigar smoke all morning. It’s bad for my teeth and my balls. I don’t want old man balls!
Nelson: Alright Chris Rock, get the fuck in here and shut the damn door. Sit down.
Jackson: Who are you ordering around? I’m the team captain. I’m the only one who plays defense. You ain’t even paying me right now cause of some stupid fuckin’ suspension, and for what? Because I played slapdick with Kobe motherfuckin’ Bryant? Fuck that! You didn’t even have my back when those replacement refs were bending me over like I was Marco fuckin’ Belinelli!
Nelson: Jack, I know you are upset about getting suspended, but we can’t have you leaving the bench during the game. I already look bad enough without you throwing tantrums and popping off to Dime Magazine. You’re the damn captain, for chrissakes.
Jackson: Fine, I’m not fuckin’ captain anymore. You think I give a shit? I’m still getting paid! Being team captain is stupid anyway. I wasn’t celebrating with champagne when I got named captain in 2007 because I was happy to be a leader, I was celebrating because that rule you have that captains don’t have curfew on the road.
Riley: What? That isn’t true! Don?
Nelson: Sure it is, you dumb bastard. How else am I going to get my best players to promise to go talk to the officials before the game? You know I don’t want to talk to ‘em. Shit, I’m usually just trying to sweat off my hangover by the third quarter. That reminds me … hey Lar, get me a Scotch, will ya?
Riley: Now you’re talking. (pours three huge Scotches on the rocks)
Jackson: Man, you know I don’t drink that shit. I drink Cristal, Grey Goose, Gatorade and Drink.
Riley: Drink? What’s drink? Does it have alcohol in it?
Jackson: Man, don’t you watch Sunny D commercials? The purple stuff. I love that shit. I drink it all day, then I mix it with the Goose at night. Fuck Scotch, dude. Scotch is what old men drink in the morning after they DON’T pull off TRADES they SAY they’re gonna make. I thought y’all were gonna get Amare, or Bosh, or somebody other than string-bean Biedrins and fat-ass Turiaf!
Nelson: Listen, you little asshole. If I didn’t make Mullin trade for your ass for Dunleavy and Murph, you’d still be in Indianapolis, telling strippers you’re Reggie Wayne and shooting your Glock up in the air like Yosemite Sam.
Jackson: You know what, y’all can buy me out. Buy me the fuck out. I’m gonna do it up like Starbury and Webb. One million less than what I signed for, pay me the rest and I’ll be out of your hair. (puts his feet up on Riley’s desk)
Riley: Now Stephen, we still see a role her for you. You’re still the starting 2-guard…
Jackson: Shut up. Who are you anyway? Why are YOU even here? Don, tell your friend to shut the fuck up.
Nelson: Larry, get me another cigar. And shut the fuck up. Now Jack, you know you won’t play another minute for us. I’ll get us something for you…
Jackson: Buyout.
Riley: WE’LL try to get something for you.
Jackson: Buyout.
Nelson: Heh heh heh heh (wheeze) … OK Larry, calm down, we’ll try to get something for this little turd, who we are not going to buy out under any circumstances.
Jackson: Buyout.
Nelson: No buyout!!! We’re going to trade you, Jack. And you’re off suspension, just don’t say anything stupid out there when we talk to those moron reporters. Especially Kawakami, that guy is such a dildo.
Jackson: Alright Don, as long as you trade me we cool, but I can’t promise anything. I’ve been drinking Scotch for the last five minutes, and Larry keeps refilling my glass every time I take a sip. It’s like an all-you-can drink Scotch and cigar convention up in here.
Nelson: Now you know why I keep Larry around!
(All three men jump out of their chairs at the same time, leap into the air and high-five each other while the ending theme for The A-Team plays in the background, then they sit down.)
Jackson: Anyway, just trade me and I won’t care. I got my money, y’all can just run this team right into the ground and enjoy yourselves … and your Scotch.
Nelson: You know we will, Jack. I’ll have you and Morrow traded to the Cavs for Boobie Gibson and Delonte West by the end of the week. Delonte just got arrested again, so he should be a nice little project for me over the next couple years.
Jackson: Whatever man. Hey, you guys think Rowell’s got some drink in his fridge? This Scotch is nasty.
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