402: 159: Bloody Election (Seeking Monthly Votes!)_2 402: 159: Bloody Election (Seeking Monthly Votes!)_2 “You heard what I said, get the fuck out!
I don’t want to see you right now!
No, I don’t want to see you for the rest of the season!
Why don’t you roll back to your office and lick Mr.
That’s all you’re good for, you fuck-up!”
Roger and Gabriel had nothing to say; he wasn’t planning to show any more respect to this general manager.
The idiot’s series of fuck-ups had been enough for Roger.
John Gabriel was stunned for a moment, then turned and left without a word, fuming.
He knew he had completely lost his prestige within the team.
Roger had just murdered his prestige in an extremely cruel way, in front of everyone.
He couldn’t become a successor of Pat Williams’s caliber.
Now the only thing he could do was report this immediately to DeVos.
Afterward, Coach Brian Hill dragged Roger back to the locker room: “Everyone stop the madness, back to the locker room!”
“That’s right, Roger, whatever needs to be solved should be done in the locker room, there’s too much of a mess out here.” Spoelstra also reminded him, too many staff members were watching, and if Roger and O’Neal clashed in front of them, the situation would truly be irretrievable.
It was only after hearing Spoelstra’s words that Roger stood up and walked toward the locker room.
A few minutes after he arrived in the locker room, Shaquille O’Neal came in, accompanied by his bodyguard, Jeromy Crawford.
The scene was rather ridiculous; Saru had never seen anyone need a bodyguard to enter the locker room.
It seemed O’Neal also knew that his words would thoroughly piss off Roger, so why did he do it?
Roger didn’t waste any more words and lunged directly at O’Neal.
He couldn’t believe that the asshole would treat a three-peat like a joke.
If it had been two years ago, Roger might have cajoled him, forgiven him.
But it had been three years.
Why should he keep pampering this baby?
Why can’t this baby ever grow up?
Roger had had enough!
The Magic players immediately got between Roger and Shaq; Jeromy Crawford pulled O’Neal behind him.
He knew that Roger and Shaq were going to clash today, but he hadn’t expected Roger to be so direct.
Now he finally understood why Pippen and Jordan had been beaten so badly.
Once Roger’s bottom line was crossed, he didn’t waste his breath on you!
With no foreplay whatsoever, he just went for it.
How could it not be painful?
How could there not be blood?
Unable to get close, Roger and Shaq turned to verbally attacking each other, spewing profanities.
“You’re so fucking selfish, Shaq.
Your statements to the media hurt the whole team!
The three-peat wasn’t your effort, wasn’t my effort, it was all of our efforts!
And you’re burning it all to the ground!”
“What about you, Roger?
A vulture who preys on his fellows, you fucking dare to call yourself a Hawk?
Who has sacrificed for you time and again, but now you take it for granted and act like the big brother?”
Roger and Shaq weren’t arguing for the first time; they had a similar clash in their first year of collaboration.
In the Eastern Conference Semifinals of 1995, right before the “alley-oop of the century,” they had already started arguing on the bench.
O’Neal was complaining about Roger hogging the ball, and Roger complained about O’Neal’s lazy defense.
Back then, Derrick McKey had thought that the Magic would never win a championship.
Roger and O’Neal opened their hearts, took each other’s advice, and then played a game that laid the foundation for a dynasty.
Perhaps from that day on, they accommodated each other.
But even accommodation has its limits.
Now, the end had come.
McKey was well aware that this argument was different from any before.
Watching Roger and Shaq as if they wanted to kill each other, he knew, nothing would ever be the same again.
Even if they could still play this season, this was probably the last year for this great partnership!
“Enough, everyone sit down!” Seeing the chaos in the locker room, Derrick McKey decided to first calm Roger and Shaq’s emotions, then to lay everything out.
Roger and O’Neal had argued enough and let off steam, so they both sat down separately with their teammates’ help.
Roger took a deep breath and asked Shaq in the calmest tone possible:
“Tell me, why did you say that like an idiot in front of the media?
You say I don’t publicly support you?
You’ve said nothing to us; we still don’t know what happened between you and Jerry in Los Angeles that night!
You’re always silent, never discussing this topic; everything we know comes from the newspapers; you won’t even clarify things with your brothers!
Do you even consider us your own?
And now you expect us to publicly support you?”
“What about you, Roger?
You always act so high and mighty, summoning me and Dom to your house and speaking to us with such a condescending manner!
You won two Finals MVPs, but could you have done it without me drawing Dream’s and Seattle’s double-teams?
My stats aren’t bad either, but why do all the honors go to you?
Why does everyone say it’s your team?”
O’Neal’s words were not surprising.
Before Roger came to Orlando, Shaquille O’Neal was practically the emperor here; no one could say no to him.
If he wanted a rookie to carry his bags, the rookie would happily oblige.
If he wanted someone to attend his mansion parties, that person would rush over without delay.
If he wanted management to trade Webber for Roger, the management would rush to fulfill his wish.