The Post-Game Scene In The Warriors’ Locker Room

Nellie: Well fellas, that didn’t go so well.

Baron Davis: Sorry guys. I should have kept my cool.

Baron’s Beard: What the hell you talkin’ ’bout Baron? We didn’t do nuthin’ wrong! The refs screwed us!

Baron Davis: Quiet, Beard. You already got me in enough trouble tonight.

Baron’s Beard: I’m jus’ sayin’ that we didn’t deserve to get tossed.

Baron Davis: Shut up!

Baron’s Beard: DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT! I’M A GROWN BEARD!

Baron Davis: Sorry.

Nellie: Regardless, we played crap out there tonight. We let them control the tempo. Now, as coach, it’s my duty to–

[Monta Ellis starts giggling in the corner]

Nellie: Something funny, Ellis?

Monta Ellis: You said “doody”!

Nellie: Jesus Jeffrey Christ. Anyway, for one, we have to take care of the ball, guys! We have to pass better. We have to dribble the ball better.

Andris Biedrins: In Soviet Russia, ball dribble you.

[Room goes silent]

Nellie: Thanks Andy. Now, we’ve done a decent job on Dirk, but–

Mickael Pietrus: Oui, tres bien, in France, we never bow down to Germans!

[Room goes silent again]

Nellie: Now who can tell me what we need to do differently in Game Three?

Stephen Jackson [screaming, shirtless]: We gotta drop ‘dem muthafuckas! ‘Dey a bunch of jump shootin’ bitch muthafuckas! You come at the king you best not miss. And we gotta drop ‘dem refs too! Yo, coach, you want me to put a dime out on Salvatore’s ass? I got me some hardcore peeps here in da Lone Star State.

Nellie [head in hands, with a look of utter disgust]: What did he just say?

Adonal Foyle [putting down a newspaper]: It’s my contention that Mr. Stephen first depicted our Dallas-based counterparts as feminine athletes who are currently engaging in non-marital sex with our mothers, which would seem to be a contradiction in itself. Now, in Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand says that there are no contradictions, so–

Nellie: Put a cork in it, Adonal. How’s about you go make me a grilled cheese sandwich? Use the good gruyere.

Andris Biedrins: In Soviet Russia, cheese grill you.

Sarunas Jasikevicius [standing up]: We beat ourselves tonight. Jason Terry and Josh Howard continuously outhustled us.

Nellie: Hey, this is a players-only meeting. No ballboys allowed. Scram!

Sarunas Jasikevicius: But I am on the team.

[Nellie stares blankly at him]

Sarunas Jasikevicius: … I’m Sarunas Jasikevicius.

[Nellie continues to stare blankly at him]

Sarunas Jasikevicius: … I came over in the Murphy-Dunleavy trade.

[Nellie keeps staring blankly]

Sarunas Jasikevicius [sighs]: … you’ve been calling me “Vince” for the last three months.

[Nellie keeps staring blankly]

[Sarunas Jasikevicius sits back down, defeated and muttering something in Lithuanian under his breath.]

Stephen Jackson: Hey don’t trip, Vince. We’ll get ‘em in Game Three.

[Nellie pours himself a big glass of Scotch]

Monta Ellis: Hey, anyone want some candy?

[Nellie downs the Scotch]