This is what would happen if Nicolas Cage and I tried to find LeBron and KD’s lost rap track

Thanks to the incredible reporting of Chris Haynes at ESPN, news broke on Monday afternoon that there exists, somewhere on god’s green earth, a never-before-released hip-hop track featuring Kevin Durant and LeBron James.

“One person who has heard the song says he recalls Durant rapping the first verse, James hopping on for the second and then Durant finishing it off. The song’s title and theme are unknown, as are its whereabouts. Durant, who produces beats in his spare time, is believed to have provided the instrumentals.”

So I took it upon myself to find the tape. Here is my super true, real, and definitely-a-thing-that-actually-happened journey.

As soon as I heard that Kevin Durant and LeBron James had released a track, I knew I had to get my hands on it. Not only was I dying to find out whether it was any good, I was desperate for something else to talk about other than “Are the Warriors too good and are Superteams destroying the league?”

The first place I went was a resort in Arizona, where Nic Cage was lounging by the pool.

“Nic,” I said. “You were so good in National Treasure and National Treasure 2 that I know you’re the man for the job. I need you to help me find KD and LeBron’s rap track.”

Nic looked at me and then back at the book he was reading on how emojis are the hieroglyphics of our time.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” he said. “Because I’m actually not a professional Stuff Finder. I’m just an actor.”

“I know,” I replied. “But I’m just a blogger. Neither of us have the skill set to do this, but we must, for the good of our country, at least try.”

“Fine,” Nic said. “Let’s do this.”

We hopped into his Aston Martin and drove to Adam Silver’s office (it was a long trip, but SlimJims sustained us). There was no sign of the tape in Silver’s office, just the word “parity” scribbled over and over on every wall.

Then we called Daryl Morey and Nate Silver to see if either of those guys had any math that could help lead us to the track. They didn’t. Doris Burke simply said, “I’m busy, please leave me alone,” when we showed up to interrogate her. And if Dwyane Wade and Chris Paul knew about the tape, they were certainly not willing to talk. Carmelo Anthony didn’t answer his phone when Nic called him, either; he was too busy weeping softly in a New York deli.

“I’m starting to get discouraged,” Nic said, as we watched Melo cry through the deli window. “Maybe we should go across the street to that bakery and get cupcakes to make us feel better.”

“RUSSELL WESTBROOK!” I cried. “Nic Cage, you beautiful genius! That’s it!”

We hopped back into Nic Cage’s Aston Martin and hightailed it to Oklahoma.

***

By the time we finally pulled up to Russ’ house, it was 4 in the morning. There were no lights on, but when we snuck around to the back, we saw a faint glow coming out of the hole in the base of a tree. Above the hole, there was the emoji of the man with a trash can carved into the wood.

Nic went over to it and put his palm on the bark.

“This is a secret door, Charlotte,” he said.

“How do you know, boss?” I said. I’d started calling him boss by that point, which was weird, but seemed too late to stop.

“Because it was in that book I read was reading about how emojis are the new hieroglyphics. If there’s a hole in the base of a tree and there’s a trash man carved above it, that means there’s a secret lair beneath the earth at that exact spot.”

He leaned his full weight on the tree and the ground opened up. We plummeted through the earth’s core and landed in a bucket filled with Kevin Durant Thunder jerseys.

We climbed out and made our way through a damp tunnel, following the sounds of a thumping base. We reached a door. We pushed it open.

***

Inside the cavernous space, Russell Westbrook sat by himself on a pile of orange photographer’s vests. I’ve never seen so many photographers vests in my life — probably because they’re all in Russ’ secret lair. The sounds of LeBron’s and KD’s voices rapping filled the room. Rihanna sang the hook, and the lyrics — “two big basketball men doing big basketball things” — bounced off the walls.

“Russell!” I said. “It had to be you.”

Westbrook laughed. In front of him, TVs played Sister Act 1 and 2 on mute. Wrappers of cupcakes littered the room.

“Of course it’s me,” Russell said. “And no matter what you do, I will never pass this track to you. I don’t pass anything.”

We stood there, stunned. Nic scanned the room for a laptop that could be playing the track, but he found none. I took out my iPhone and managed to record a snippet of the song before three huge security guards carried us up 10 flights of stairs and tossed us out into the early dawn.

“Boss,” I said to Nic. “I got the track.” I help up my phone.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

I cried tears of joy as we drove to a nearby Starbucks to steal WiFi, where I embedded the audio file into a blog. But just as I hit publish, a surge of electricity raced through my computer charger and completely fried both my laptop and my iPhone that was plugged into it.

My heart started to race. Nic and I stared at each other in disbelief. Nic’s phone rang.

It was Russell Westbrook on FaceTime. He was laughing again.

“In a game of pettiness,” he said. “You will never win.”