Page 107 of The Locker Room
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right? Get it?) They were the odds busters: they"d played high school and
college and pro together, and really—who did that? There were scores
upon scores of stats that said not one goddamned team of two had ever
made it through the draft intact. But Xander had the natural talent, and
Christian had the drive to match him, and together, they were
unstoppable.
By the end of that year, that second year, Chris had started drinking
and Xander had dropped thirty pounds of supposed baby fat and started
taking ibuprofin and Pepto-Bismol for breakfast.
“Hey, you two—gonna go out and get laid tonight?” Coach would
call after games. Then he"d snort, and say loudly to his assistant coach,
or the physical therapist, or sometimes even the owner of the team, who
seemed to like the two of them well enough, “Hell no, they"re not!
They"re gonna go home and have them a circle jerk together, "cause
that"s what faggots do! You guys wanna get to the playoffs? Go out and
get yourselves some pussy, goddammit! This „pretty-boy" escort bullshit
is only fooling yourselves!”
They"d laughed him off for a month, and then for another, but by
Christmas of that year, when they"d go out with the team for a beer and a
buzz-down afterward, they found it hard to find a spot on the table.
“Naw, Cave Man—you and Edwards go have yourselves a little
romantic tryst, whydoncha—we"ll let the real men sit here!” Sammy
Lyndecker, first string guard, usually wasn"t a prick, especially after
they"d won, but tonight he"d had his vodka in the town car on the way
over.
“And how many points did the real men score tonight?” Chris
asked caustically. “Because, um, Karcek here pretty much threw all you
real men up on his back and hauled you down the court, or weren"t we at
the same game?”
