The lights of Madison Square Garden blazed like a thousand suns. This basketball temple, steeped in history, was once again the center of the world's attention. It was 2015, and the All-Star Weekend had arrived. The atmosphere crackled with energy, as the rise of the Sacramento Kings had brought them into the spotlight.
This year, the Kings boasted an impressive lineup. Cousins and CJ McCollum had both made the All-Star Game as reserves, and LaVine and Jokic earned spots in the Rookie Game thanks to stellar performances. For Jokic, a second-round pick making the Rookie Game was no small feat—it was the league tipping its hat to him. Then came the surprise: Bojan, barely a regular in the rotation, had also made the Rookie Game due to a shortage of international players. The Kings were dominating the event with three rookies in the game. CJ was set to compete in the Skills Challenge, while LaVine was the favorite for the Slam Dunk Contest.
But Jake? He didn't care about any of the other events. His eyes were fixed on one thing: the Slam Dunk Contest. Though many fans would mistakenly recall this as the legendary showdown between LaVine and Gordon, that battle would have to wait another year. This time, the contest featured Antetokounmpo, Oladipo, LaVine, and others.
The All-Star Weekend was more than just a break for the players and fans—it was also a rare opportunity for the general managers. For Jake, it was anything but a vacation. With the trade deadline looming just two days after the All-Star Game, the weekend provided the perfect space for deals. Every GM in the league had flocked to New York, and the face-to-face negotiations were much more productive than the endless phone calls of the past. No GM, no matter how lazy, would miss this chance.
Jake climbed the stairs to the highest stands of the Garden, finding himself in the cheap seats. He chuckled at the thought. "Only in Madison," he muttered. "People pay good money just to watch ants run around on the court." From this vantage point, the players were tiny specks, barely visible, and the fans were forced to rely on the massive screen to see anything at all. Paying to watch TV—that's what this was.
It wasn't that Jake couldn't afford better seats. As the Kings' GM, he could easily have asked for VIP passes or front-row tickets. But today, he was here to fly under the radar. The eyes of the world were on the lower levels of the stadium, and no one would notice what was happening up here.
"You're here," came a voice from a hidden corner. Danny Ainge sat slouched in his seat, dressed down in a plain shirt with no trace of his Celtics affiliation, sipping beer like any regular fan.
"You're early," Jake replied, sliding into the seat next to him. On the other side sat Ryan McDonough, the GM of the Phoenix Suns, who nodded at Jake as he took his seat. Jake and McDonough didn't have much history—being from rival teams in the West, their paths rarely crossed. But today, they were all here for the same reason: business.
Jake unfolded a New York newspaper on his lap. "So, where do we start?" he asked casually.
Ainge, always the negotiator, sipped his beer and turned to McDonough. "According to what we discussed, I'm willing to throw in one more protected first-round pick. But Ryan, you have to understand, we're helping you out here. Your guard situation is a mess. If you don't make a move now, you're dead in the water."
McDonough winced at the reminder. Last season, the Suns had built a fast-paced offense around two lightning-quick point guards. Things had looked promising, and signing Isaiah Thomas in the offseason had seemed like a smart move to solidify their backcourt. But the plan had backfired spectacularly, and their record had collapsed. Dragic, frustrated with the overcrowded backcourt, had demanded a trade.
Sensing McDonough's hesitation, Jake stepped in. "We're willing to bend a little, but the best we can offer is an extra second-round pick. If you don't want Mozgov, you'll have to deal with your overcrowded frontcourt on your own."
McDonough's face hardened. He knew Mozgov could help shore up their interior defense, but Jake had been clever, leaving little room to negotiate. Still, McDonough saw an opportunity. "If we're talking about Mozgov, then you have to sweeten the deal. Otherwise, I'll be the one with an overcrowded frontcourt."
Jake, unfazed, picked up the newspaper again. "Mozgov's a solid blue-collar guy," he said casually. "If I decide to put him on the market, there'd be plenty of takers. Your Isaiah Thomas, on the other hand, has some pretty glaring flaws."
Then, in a sharp pivot, Jake turned his attention to Ainge. "By the way, I've been thinking about your Crowder. He's had a few good games, but for what you're asking, it's not worth it for me."
This three-way deal was crucial. The Kings were looking to move Mozgov, with their frontcourt already loaded with Cousins, Oden, and Jokic. Mozgov had played well earlier in the season, but now he was surplus to requirements. The Celtics, meanwhile, had Crowder—a defensive ace with 3-point potential—but his future was uncertain. And the Suns had Thomas, a scoring machine whose presence was causing more problems than it solved.
The deal was a win-win for everyone. But Jake, as always, knew when to push and when to pull back.
The Kings had made their presence felt at the All-Star Weekend, but Jake had his sights set beyond the games. This was the moment where the real battles were fought, not on the court, but behind doors.
The Suns were at a crossroads, and Thomas was an unfortunate casualty of their lineup's dysfunction. The franchise had all but given up on him this season, realizing that the best move would be to sell him while he still held some value. The challenge lay in the ongoing negotiations among the three teams involved, with each looking to squeeze the most out of the deal. The Celtics wanted to acquire Thomas at a bargain, while the Suns were angling for future assets in return. Meanwhile, the Kings, watching the unfolding drama, didn't mind the chaos; the more they could gain from this situation, the better.
In the upper reaches of Madison Square Garden, the three GMs huddled together, their voices hushed as they negotiated. The crowd below, mostly working-class New Yorkers, was oblivious to the high-stakes discussion taking place just above them. They were focused on the lackluster celebrity game, craning their necks for a better view of the action on the court. But for Jake and his counterparts, this was the real game—one played with deals and negotiations.
As the celebrity game wrapped up, the three of them finally reached a basic consensus. They each left their seats, but Jake lingered a moment longer, folding the newspaper he'd been using for notes and stowing it in his briefcase. Just as he stood to leave, a security guard intercepted him at the partition.
"Excuse me, sir, please show me your ticket."
"Oh, sure," Jake replied, casually producing his ticket. The guard examined it, then frowned. "Sorry, this is a mountaintop ticket. You can't go down."
Jake raised an eyebrow, taking off his sunglasses to get a better look at the ticket in the guard's hand. "Huh? Oh! Sorry, I must have grabbed the wrong one." He fumbled in his pocket, searching until he found another ticket, which he handed over.
When the guard saw the new ticket, his eyes widened in disbelief. "A side ticket?" This was a rare find, reserved for dignitaries and celebrities. The guard looked back up at Jake, who had removed his sunglasses, and recognition struck him.
"Mr. Jake! Sorry, I didn't recognize you earlier. Please, come right in."
With a nod, Jake pulled out a dollar bill and discreetly slipped it into the guard's hand as a tip before making his way down.
As Jake walked away, the security guard was left holding the mountaintop ticket, puzzling over why Jake had chosen to sit up there in the first place. The question lingered in his mind as he looked up to where Jake had just been sitting, almost up to the ceiling. "What was a guy like him doing with a ticket like that? "