[scene - deep inside the Toyota Center in Daryl Morey's private office.  A place he affectionately refers to as The Manhattan Project South.  Thursday's trade deadline has ended, which means the phone has temporarily stopped ringing.  "Eye of the Tiger" is playing on an endless loop on his iPod.]

Boy Genius Daryl Morey:  Well, I guess that about wraps it up for me today.  Nothing else I can do here at the office right now.  Though maybe I should review my checklist of things to do today...

[Daryl's checklist is a detailed flow-chart type spreadsheet with percentages and efficiency ratings notated next to each decision tree.  A new version is created and put on Daryl's desk each morning by a random intern.  Today's intern accidentally deleted an entry titled "research validity of Gorilla-dunk bonuses."]

Yes, yes, I think that's it!  Though I've told 27 GMs to "fuck off" after they asked if Yao was available.  Haha, yeah right, assholes.  Like I'm willing to trade my 8' tall cash cow!  Mofo got Chuck Hayes a shoe contract!  In China!  He's like the Golden freakin' Goose!  Wait a second... for some reason, Orlando and San Antonio didn't call.  Hmmm...

[Morey pauses and looks at the security cameras to see Luther Head pacing back and forth outside his office]

Morey:  [cracks open door]  What do you want, Luther?  Can't you see I'm busy deciding your pathetic future in here?

Luther Head:  [nervous] Yeah, ummm, Coach said you wanted to see me... did you trade me?  And if so, please tell me you traded me to Illinois.  I went to school there, you know.

Morey:  No, I didn't trade you.  Not for lack of trying though.  Do you even realize how worthless you are to me?  I couldn't even trade you to the NBDL right now.  Shit, I shouldn't be surprised.  Your dumbass cost me $50 when Illinois couldn't beat a North Carolina team that had one play... throw it to the fat guy in the middle.  How hard is that to stop?  Battier would have shut that play down before it even got started!

Luther:  I don't understand.  Shane was already in the NBA by then, sir. 

Morey:  I know that!  I just don't know why you can't be more like him.  Ahhh, the hell with it.  Get out of here, Luther!  And don't worry... at worst I can cut your sorry ass tomorrow.

[Luther leaves.  As he walks back towards the locker room, Joey Dorsey picks him up and stuffs him in a nearby trash can.]

Morey:  Why??  Why do I have to deal with these small-minded buffoons?  If I'm not explaining the details of the salary cap to Vandeweghe, I'm busy babysitting Adelman to make sure his narcolepsy is under control.  Fuck it.  I need a drink.  Maybe unwind a little and watch some TV. 

[Morey changes into his non-work attire, which consists of khaki pants, $500 shoes and a M.I.T. pullover hooded sweatshirt with matching t-shirt underneath.  He then leaves the office and enters the security code "S-U-I-N-E-G" to activate the locking mechanism.]

[scene - Buffalo Wild Wings in Midtown.  Morey takes a seat at the bar in the back next to the big-screen TV.  SportsCenter is on.]

BW3s waitress:  Hey there... can I get you a drink?  Maybe a menu?

Morey:  Sure... I work down the street and I've never been here before.  Interesting place.  Uhhh, I'll have a martini. 

BW3W:  Sir, ummm, this is a sports bar.  We don't really have that.

Morey:  [agitated] Okay, fine, I'll take a chocolate martini.  Whatever.

BW3W:  [confused]  Of course, sir... I'll see what I can do.

Morey:  Hey, wait a second... is there any way we can change the channel on this TV?  I really am not in the mood to watch SportsCenter.

BW3W:  Yeah, you don't seem to be the type that is into sports...

Morey:  What the hell are you talking about?  Do you even know who I am?!?  I'm the freakin' general manager of the Houston Rockets.  I helped bring you Shane Battier, dammit!  You should be thanking me!

[/a group of random guys overhear the conversation and drunkenly walk over to Morey.]

Drunk fan #1:  Duuuuuude!  Did you say you were the manager of the Rockets?  They fuckin' suck!  You should trade Yao, man.  He's fuckin' soft! 

Drunk fan #2:  Duuuuuude!!!  No - You gotta trade McGrady for LeBron, man!!   You gotta do it man.  That would rule!  McGrady's a punk anyway!

Drunk fan #1:  Yeah, totally!  Why is Yao so slowww?  I could outrun him, man.  I bet I could kick his ass at darts, too!  I'm gonna go practice now...

Morey:  [sarcastically to Fan #2]  You think Cleveland would ever trade LeBron?

Drunk fan #2:  [slurring] Surrrre, man, whyyy not?  Who the hell wants to live in Cle-ve-lund!?!? *hiccup*

Morey:  How could I possibly argue with your impeccable logic?  I will look into that opportunity right away!

Drunk fan #2:  cooool, dude.  I'm gonna go tell everyone on ClutchFans now that we're trading for LeBron!  I rule!

[/Drunk fan #2 turns away quickly, spilling beer all over Morey's pants-leg.]

Morey:  [closes eyes, sighs loudly]

BW3W:  Mr. Moby, I brought your drink.  We don't have martinis, but I made you a mudslide.  It's similar.  It's got alcohol, so what do you care, right?!?

Morey:  Fine.  Whatever.  Seriously, is it possible we can change the channel?  Two-and-a-Half Men should be on soon... can we put that on this screen?  And turn the sound up.

BW3W:  [puzzed] I'll ask, but I think the Aggie basketball game is on soon.  Most everyone is going to want to watch that.

Morey:  Aggie basketball?  Isn't that like an oxymoron?  [Morey chuckles at his own joke.  The waitress is not amused.]

[/Morey's cellphone starts to ring (the ringtone is Devo's "Whip It')]

Morey:  Who is this?  How'd you get this number?

Rafer Alston:  MOTHER FUCKER, what's this shit I heard that you TRADED me?  But I'm the leader of the locker room!  What the hell are you thinking?  ANSWER ME!!!!

Morey:  [laughing hysterically] 

Rafer:  Is this a joke to you? 

Morey:  Yes, yes it is.  I am very much amused by this.

Rafer:  Bitch, what's wrong with you?  I am a leader! 

Morey:  You, sir, are no Shane Battier. 

Rafer:  What?

Morey:  It doesn't matter.  You belong to the Orlando Magic now.  Now leave me alone so I can savor this bizarre alcohol-based concoction that has been provided to me.  It's time for Daryl to get his drink on!