NBA contracts are real annoying. The NBA has fewer players on each team than any other league in professional sports besides golf, which has hundreds of fat loners.
Consequently NBA contracts boast perks not seen in other sports, and the worst of these is the mandatory guarantee clause – which is what the blue-collar sector would know as workmen’s comp (if you could strain your neck because your giant gay-ass gold chain swung into a conveyer belt while you were lifting AIDS ridden cows off of a jerky rig.)
Here’s how guaranteed NBA contracts work:
You play for a team. They want to extend your current contract – lets say around 65 million for 5 years.
Prior to being offered this contract extension, you sweated buckets in practice, did squat-thrusts constantly, exchanged semen with your teammates as a casual greeting, referred to the people who launder your towels as “The Almighty” and even brought your own jar of Grey Poupon into the team cafeteria because you like putting it on your turkey burger and they only carry that yellow shit.
Now its the day after you’ve signed.
Upon waking up around practice time in your recently purchased 64.9 million dollar sub-suburban home you wipe the cocaine off of your newly grown Hitler mustache and drive to your team’s facility.
You immediately find the team’s President of Operations and demand that they start carrying 1946 Grey Poupon because the yellow mustard is really fucking up your pre-game KFC Double-Down sandwich.
You then tell the Team President that everyone on your team sucks and they need to sign at least three other players who are pretty good but noticeably less good than you are.
Your Team President explains to you that this is impossible because your team just spent 65 million dollars on you and there’s a salary cap.
You then explain that you prefer warm weather. They remind you you’re in Orlando.
They call you an asshole, at which point you claim that your herpes hurt and you might have to sit out a few games.
Then you demand that all of your teammates be fired.
It is explained to you that this is impossible due to your union rules, and that this is the only reason that you still have a contract, you fucking asshole.
In a huff, you then call the Teacher’s Union and attempt to fire your illegitimate daughter’s tutoring team.
When this doesn’t work you succeed in firing the people who wash your towels because they aren’t getting the hooker blood out. Since they don’t have guaranteed NBA contracts, they’re gone.
At this point you simply sit back until you are traded to another team (which due to the NBA’s Collective Bargaining rules, couldn’t have paid you as much as you’re making now.) Your old team gets screwed in the deal.
To be clear, I’m talking about to varying degrees: Eric Gordon, Kevin Love, Dwight Howard, Brandon Jennings, Carmelo Anthony, Lamar Odom, Kobe Bryant, and a handfull of others.
You guys are fucking assholes and I hope you’re reincarnated as the child laborers who make your jerseys.