May 13th, 2016
The game was over and Max was making his way back to his office, his mind swimming with excitement. They were on their way to the Finals if they pulled out a win in Game 3 -- it was almost assured. All they had to do was play the game they had played the last two: smart passing, timely shots, and a commitment to the gameplan.
If they managed that, they'd be back in their first Finals since 1996. They could capture a title for a city that craved one in basketball more than anything else. If they got that title, in this year, with this team, they'd be legends.
He'd be a legend, one in Seattle and in the NBA. He'd be able to rub it in Bennett's face that they won a title before him, he'd be able to use it as proof that were always meant to be in the NBA and that their arrival back was destined to end in victory.
If they won a title, they could ensure the status of "unforgettable" for this team, something no Seattle team outside of Seattle was. Hardly anyone outside the state of Washington could name even a single starter on the '79 title team. The NBA had wiped them from existence, burying them.
No one would be able to bury this team. Not with Ray Allen on it. Not with Marcin Gortat. Not with Jeremy Lin, or Thomas Robinson, or Jamal Crawford. They were a team of youth, underdogs, and aging veterans that had hit the perfect combination of personalities to propel them to a 2-0 lead in the conference finals. It was a story that Max wouldn't dare write as it would just be too fantastical.
Yet, here he was, living that fantastic tale.
He approached his office door and attempted to open it, but found it locked. Stepping back from it he fumbled in his pocket for his keys but found them missing.
"Looking for these?"
Max turned to see Fredricka jingled his keys from her desk. He shot her a questioning look. "'Ricka?"
She stood and crossed her arms, cocking her head slightly to the side. "You're living in that office
way too much. You're taking the next few days to go back to your house."
"Whoa, wait a minute -- " Max started but 'Ricka held up her hand and he didn't dare utter another syllable, not with the look she had on her face.
"You have a
home that you don't even see, Max! You need to go there and unpack your boxes, set up you stuff, and
live in it. Not here. This isn't healthy for you."
Max frowned at her. "I'm fine, really."
"You are not," she said with a wag of her finger. "You eat fast-food almost all the time, you look like hell, and you don't get much sleep." She gave him a look. "When someone's drinking four cups of coffee a day, they ain't sleeping, Max."
He had nothing to say to that. She was right, of course, he had been putting in more time at the office than he should have ... but the way the playoffs were going, he had to. Leaving here in the middle of their run felt like a decision that would bring bad luck on them all. "I don't want to go home, doesn't that matter?" he argued, hoping to sway her.
"No." She took a keychain off his keys and tossed it at him. "There's your car key and your house key. Go home. Stay there. Don't come back here for a few days or so help me I will call your mother." She gave him a playful smile. "And you
know she wouldn't like what you've been doing."
Knowing that he was beat -- and tired as hell from the game -- Max nodded in agreement. Truth be told, he couldn't remember the last time he had visited his house. He essentially lived in his office, clothes and suits and everything ... it was designed for him to use in that way, at least for the short term.
"Is there any way I can negotiate for my laptop in there?"
'Ricka fished it out from under her desk, along with its charger. "Done. Now go."
With a chuckle, he took his things and left his office.
He half-suspected he could have called the building manager and gotten another key for his office, but bothering someone about that at this point in the night was just stupid.
He
did have a home and, frankly, he needed to work on it. The Sonics were as good as they were going to be at this point -- there was nothing else for him to do except plan for the offseason.
Going home would help with that, actually. He always did think better sitting in his pajamas.