By Justin Cherot
Sorry I missed that first podcast, C-Don, but I was actually busy covering our first scoop.
That’s right. After finishing my shift at Lowe’s, I hopped on our company jet straight to the NYC to sit in on a meeting. Yes, I know we’re in a recession and I shouldn’t have taken it without permission, but this was an emergency.
As I responsible quasi-journalist and avid Mavericks’ fan, I heard the news about the Mark Cuban/Jason Kidd meeting and just had to be there. Opportunities like this don’t come around too often.
So here are the details: Cuban arrived at the 40/40 Club first at 11:45 pm, sporting a tight “I Heart Kenyon” shirt that he seemed to be exploding out of. Him and I sat down in a private section of the club. He ordered a bottle of Grey Goose and within minutes downed about half of the bottle.
“I just need to loosen up a little,” he slurred to me as I calmly took notes, “this one’s gonna be tough.”
An attractive waitress asked if there was anything she could get me. I started to say a Coke but Ice Cube (he said it was cool if I called him that) interrupted me. “He looks like a Martini guy. Get this guy a Martini. Hey, dude, does anybody tell you you look like Tiger Woods? We played once for $1.5 mil a hole. That was a rough week, between losing $27 mil to Tiger and the whole insider trading thing. But, whatever. We’ll make it up at All-Star weekend this year.”
I declined the Martini, and Cuban sent the waitress away with a little tap on the tush.
We were just talking about the Cubs and how Cuban was glad he didn’t buy them this year when all of the sudden I heard a whistle from behind us. We turned around and, sure enough, it was J-Kidd in the flesh.
“JasonKidd!” Cuban slurred in excitement.
“Hey man,” Kidd replied, hands in his pockets.
“Sit down, make yourself at home. You want some ‘Goose?”
Kidd shook his head. “Na, man. I’m good.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his iPhone (I mean, are there any other phones on the market today? Seriously…). He showed it to Cuban, who in turn spit out some of his ‘Goose.
“Now, look… I’m a realist. I know I don’t have a whole lot left in the tank, but I can still play. People talk about how my name is Ason, but look at the numbers, Cubes: I shot better than Dirk and JET from three this year, AND I was top five in both assists and steals. You guys are my first choice. I wanna come back. But, Donnie Walsh just text me with this offer… and I think it would be cool to play in New York. Yeah, they don’t really know what direction they’re going in right now, but come on… it’s the Garden, man. Plus, I might get to mentor Ricky Rubio, and my man ‘Bron is comin’ in a year, and…”
“Do it,” Cuban said without any hesitation, the slur suddenly gone from his voice.
Kidd seemed confused. “But, um, you guys are my first choice.”
Cuban laughed. “No, seriously, do it. That’s what I was coming down here to tell you.”
More confusion from Kidd. “Huh?”
Cuban took a large swig of courage juice, and then continued. “Look, lemme level with ya… I have the utmost respect for your game. You created great shots for Dirk, Jet and J-Ho. You bring it every night. You’re a great leader. But at this point in your career…” He paused and grabbed the chair next to me. “You can’t guard this. So yeah, go ahead and go to New York. You’re a perfect Mike D’Antoni point guard.”
Kidd slumped in his seat. “But, I thought I was your guy.”
Cuban shook his head. “Honestly, I’m just tired of every single journalist in the industry second-guessing trading away Devin Harris for you. I mean, I still maintain to this day that Harris is only blowing up because the rest of his team is a mess… but the truth is, they’re right. There, I said it, damnit. THEY’RE RIGHT! I completely overreacted and took a plunge, and now we’re stuck in neutral. I can only take so much.” Cuban looked at his watch. “Look, buddy. I gotta go. Just got Marley and Me from Netflix. I’ve already seen it, but… man, I love me some Jennifer Aniston. You be safe, bro.”
As Cuban stumbled away from the table, Kidd just sat there in disbelief. His face remained emotionless for several minutes. Then, just when the silence started to get awkward, he spoke. “He called my bluff. I don’t even have Donnie Walsh’s phone number.”
So there you have it. Straight from the source.*
*Okay, seriously. Hopefully by now you’ll all realize that this is all a hypothetical account and an attempt at me being utterly hilarious gone wrong. He probably will re-sign with the Mavericks and continue to erode before the rabid fanbase’s very eyes.