"FUCK, FUCK! Who are you calling soft?" Bruce Bowen roared from inside a villa in San Antonio.
As the story continued to spread, Bruce Bowen, who had never been popular to begin with, became a rat everyone wanted to beat.
Bruce Bowen didn't care at all. It wasn't going to affect his income; he would still get paid by the San Antonio Spurs.
This season, Bruce Bowen would earn $3.65 million from the San Antonio Spurs.
That was more than most people could make in a lifetime.
So he didn't care one bit about the fans insulting him.
But something had happened today that really infuriated him. Before he entered the training facility, a huge crowd of fans had called him soft. He had even spotted a few of them wearing those obnoxious number 20 jerseys.
In an instant, Bruce Bowen had been consumed by rage, like a toad thrown into a steamer.
You could call me dirty or a lousy player, but you couldn't call me soft!
How was I soft?!
Furious, Bruce Bowen had argued with the fans.
But one mouth couldn't stand up to so many, and the fans had torn him to shreds.
He'd been so angry he'd wanted to get physical. Luckily, staff had arrived in time; otherwise, Bruce Bowen would've been screwed.
After all, NBA commissioner David took fan relations very seriously. What were fans? They were the ones paying the bills.
The NBA had grown so huge, and its players earned so much, thanks to the fans' support.
Without fans, the NBA would be nothing.
When Gregg Popovich heard that Bruce Bowen had nearly gotten physical with the fans, he immediately called him into his office and gave him a stern dressing-down.
Bruce Bowen: "..."
He'd already been in a bad mood, and