GREENWICH, CONNECTICUT—As announced last night to a national television audience, the Miami Heat have captured Lebron James, the Golden Goose of basketball, a six-time all star, two-time MVP of the league, and zero-time NBA champion.

But, unexpectedly, the announcement left a sick rumbling in the pit of Heat President Pat Riley’s stomach.

 Once Riley saw how James handled the clock, the Heat coach turned to ESPN President George Bodenheimer and whispered, urgently, “He was supposed to announce his decision at the end of the program. There’s thirty minutes left! Next year he’ll waste all of our timeouts by the middle of the third quarter. My God, he’s a clock retard.” 

Bodenheimer, who had remained slack-jawed since learning advertisers would underwrite an hour of television that would disclose which team James would begin contract negotiations with, calmly uttered, “Incredible. Friggin’ incredible. I’ve never…well…just… incredible.”

But Neddie Perchant, ESPN’s Senior Director tasked with piloting the hour-long “decision” show, found himself with thirty minutes to fill, which, he later stated, left him wondering if his father’s twenty-five-year old offer to join the family’s mortuary business still stood. “It’s well respected,” said Perchant of Jiffy Embalm, “and it’s only been investigated three times for flagrant improprieties.”

So as Perchant fumed and prayed to the gods of free agency that James would mis-read the fine print in his future contract, he decided that the 25-year-old basketball star would indeed fulfill his obligation to the network.

“It’s a decision show,” Perchant sickly stated, “so we sent”—he air quoted with his slick, sweaty fingers—“‘the King’ onstage. He may have shafted Cleveland, but, damnit, we’re ESPN.”

So the self-proclaimed King of basketball was left to fill thirty minutes of airtime by announcing other decisions he was set to make over the next few days. Viewers learned that James would buy seven, not four, new cars once he and the Heat come to a contractual agreement, that he would never set foot in Ohio again—given the spate of death threats he’d received from several Youngstown mob families—and that he hadn’t decided if there was a real difference between two- and three-ply toilet paper.

Stated Bodenheimer as he buoyantly skipped to his Ferrari Testarossa after the show, “This really opens up a whole new world of possibilities. If viewers and, especially, Madison Avenue will buy into this type of thing, I wouldn’t be surprised if celebrities deciding whether to mix mayonnaise or Miracle Whip with their tuna salad might work. Who knows, you could follow them through re-hab.” He snapped his fingers. “How about ballroom dancing?!”—Citizen Dick Arneson reporting