The Q-View

Recently, I read that the NBA had held its NBA 2K draft. Seventeen NBA teams own franchises in the esport league. My reaction was “What?!?” I did some more reading and decided that this might be an interesting chapter in my second novel: a satire about high school teaching.  The setting: the faculty/copier room where some veteran teachers learn that a former student was drafted into the league. A 24-year old substitute teacher bridges the generation gap. 

“Do you remember Thomas Wilkins?” Dana Starr asked Greg Snowden at lunch.

“Texting Tommy?”

“That’s him.”

“What about him?”

“He got drafted by an esports basketball team,” Starr said.

“Get out!” Maverick Zimmerman, the twenty-four-year-old substitute teacher, said from the other end of the table. “That’s awesome.”

“Time,” said Snowden, making a T with his hands. “Excuse me for showing my age, but an esports basketball team?”

“Is that TTSlaM?” Zimmerman interrupted, fingers flashing across his phone. “It is!”

“Who?” Starr asked.

“Thomas Wilkins is TTSlaM,” Zimmerman said. “Wow.”

Snowden rolled his eyes. “TTSlaM?”

“Apparently, people want to pay to watch gamers compete against each other,” Starr explained, answering Snowden’s question.

“That’s right,” Zimmerman said. “Esports made a billion dollars last year. The NBA just had its draft.”

“You’re kidding me?” Joyce Whitcomb said from the copier. “People pay to watch video games that they are not even playing.”

“Yeah, haven’t you ever streamed it? I use Twitch,” Zimmerman said.

“Excuse me. What planet did you say you are from?” Whitcomb responded.

“Ignore her,” Snowden said. “She’s still using an overhead projector.”

“You can watch it on ESPN or TBS,” Zimmerman said, slowing down as if speaking to a developmentally disabled child.

“So, I guess we were all wrong telling Thomas to get off his phone,” Starr said quickly before Whitcomb had a chance to do more than shoot Zimmerman a dirty look.

“I used to have him first period,” Snowden related. “Fifteen minutes in, every day, and I mean every day, he would put his head down and sleep. Even if we were taking a quiz.

“He would tell me he was working late. Other kids in class said he was playing video games until like three/four in the morning.”

“Yeah, I remember that parent conference we had with the mother,” Starr said. “She was clueless. Worked from four to twelve or something like that.”

“Damn this copier,” Whitcomb said vociferously. “Never fails. Jams when I’m almost done.”

“If you didn’t make a thousand copies at a time…” said Tony Antolini, who was just coming through the door ahead of Nate Simonis.

Whitcomb flipped him off.

“Did you hear Thomas Wilkins got drafted?” Mav Zimmerman said.

“No. I didn’t. Who’s Thomas Wilkins?” Antolini said.

“I remember him,” Simonis said. “He fixed my computer for me one time. Nice kid.”

“Former student?” Antolini asked.

“Yep. Three/four years ago, maybe,” Snowden said.

“Never had him,” Antolini said.

“Drafted? Into what?” Simonis asked.

“Mr. Zimmerman,” Snowden said with a sweep of his hands.

“Yeah,” Zimmerman began, reading from his phone. “He was one of one-hundred-and-two players drafted to play by the NBA’s 2K esports league. His in-game character is a 6-foot-6 point guard who makes forty-five percent of his threes and has double-figure assists every game. Wow!”

“I hate this copier,” Whitcomb said, slamming the maintenance access door shut. “I can’t find the jam.”

“Wasn’t this kid like five-eight, one-hundred-forty pounds?” Snowden said.

“He played NBA 2K ten hours a day to get good,” Zimmerman continued.

“That’s dedication,” said Dana Starr, “I guess.”

“And people can make a living doing this?” Antolini asked.

“Millions, if they’re superstars,” Zimmerman said.

“I have work to do,” Whitcomb said, putting the copies she did get to make into a box and hustling out of the room.

“Did she at least put an ‘Out of Order’ note?” Starr asked.

Snowden laughed. “Seriously.”

Dolores Stanton ran into the room with a sheet of paper in her hand and headed for the copier.

“Not working,” Simonis told her.

“Damn this copier! I’m giving a test.”

“Sorry,” Simonis said.

“It was working this morning,” Dolores noted.

“Joyce,” Antolini said.

“Damn that woman,” Dolores sputtered. “Is the copier upstairs working?”

Snowden shrugged.

Stanton ran out of the room.

“Nothing like planning,” Simonis said.

“So, I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your answer,” Antolini said to Zimmerman as Snowden used a marker to write ‘Out of Order’ on a piece of paper and left it on the copier. “Can you make a living doing whatever it is that this kid is doing?”

“Um, he gets $35,000 for a six-month contract and free housing and a medical plan.”

“You’re kidding?” Starr said.

“I guess we were holding the kid back,” Snowden said. “Hope he doesn’t name us in his memoirs.”

“And people pay to watch, to watch, someone else playing a video game?” Simonis asked as Tom Moore came in and went to the copier.

“Damn this copier,” Moore said, giving it a kick when he saw the “Out of Order” sign.

“See if it works now,” Simonis urged.

Moore put his paper on the glass.

“Oh look, Joyce didn’t log out,” he said pressing the Copy button. The machine rumbled to life, spat out a wrinkled copy of chemical formulas and then produced a perfect replica of the labeled diagram of plant parts.

“I should be in IT,” Moore said proudly snatching his plant parts paper. “Since I’m on Joyce’s dime here, I think I’ll make enough copies for next semester too.”

“That should help put her over her yearly limit by Christmas,” Simonis said. “Love to hear that conversation with IT.”

“Now that I would pay to see,” said Antolini.