After saying that, Popovich angrily ended the call.
More than twenty minutes later, the water finally stopped being scalding and steaming. Only then did the players breathe a sigh of relief.
They hurried to wash the filth off themselves.
But just as they were enjoying their showers, the water gradually started to cool. At first, they could tolerate it. After all, a cold shower on a day like this was a little chilly, but still bearable.
But soon the water wasn't merely cool. It turned icy, then bone-chillingly cold.
The players showering shivered, their skin covered in goosebumps. Cursing, they hurried out from under the showerheads.
"That damned bastard! We should let the Texas Chainsaw Massacre take care of him!"
"How can he pull something like this and not have nightmares tonight?"
"That guy's a pile of shit—a stinking pile of shit!"
It wasn't until more than forty minutes later that Kings staff finally opened the doors and turned off the fire sprinklers. The water from the showerheads finally returned to a normal temperature, too.
But after the stinking water had drenched the locker room, it now reeked.
Even after the staff had cleaned the room, the odor inside was still overpowering.
Popovich asked the Kings to bring in some air freshener, but they took their time. Their excuse was that they had just sold out and needed to restock, and the new shipment wouldn't arrive for another half hour.
Popovich had no choice but to endure the stench as he went over the game plan with his players in the locker room.
But after all that, the players couldn't focus on basketball. It was hard for them to pay attention.
Just imagine: you've been drenched in foul water, scalded by hot water, jolted by cold water, and now you