The Minnesota Timberwolves may look like an NBA team. For the past six months, they did a decent job masquerading as one – with their giant humans in matching outfits and their appearance Tuesday night in the play-in tournament. But they’re more than an NBA team.

The Timberwolves are actually just like you and me. They’re a bunch of employees who can’t stand their most annoying co-worker.

Ours might be the project manager who schedules mandatory one-hour meetings when he knows an email would do just fine, or our neighbor in the next cubicle who conducts all her personal conversations with her outside voice. For the Wolves, the associate least likely to win Employee of the Month would be 7-foot-1 center Rudy Gobert.

They seem to hate him. Teammates treat Gobert like the guy who takes that third slice of pepperoni whenever the boss treats the staff to pizza, leaving only the despised veggie for the rest of us. (Side note to all the bosses out there: Ordering one veggie pizza is sufficient. Even the vegetarians in the office don’t like veggie pizza. There’s a reason leftovers are found in the greasy box that holds the mash of cheese, tomatoes and miscellaneous green cubes.)

It wasn’t bad pizza that finally made the Wolves’ simmering hostility boil over last Sunday. While in a team huddle, Gobert and Kyle Anderson had a heated exchange; maybe it had to do with the pie chart on PowerPoint not having enough variant colors or something. That’s when Anderson reportedly swore at Gobert, using an insult that would’ve justified Anderson receiving a warning from human resources, or at least being denied the employee discount at Target.

However, Gobert responded before the higher-ups could get involved and threw a punch at his co-worker. He should’ve learned during onboarding with Minnesota; such actions aren’t part of their preferred workplace culture. Then again, what was Gobert expected to do? People react differently to disrespect from co-workers. In 2018, when Golden State Warriors forward Draymond Green swore at Durant, Durant sat there and said nothing: the equivalent of quiet quitting while mentally drafting a resignation letter to be sent later that summer.

Still, Gobert reacted too emotionally, and in the aftermath of his right jab, his co-workers declined to run it up the flagpole. One shoved him, then another claimed the group had suddenly grown closer. When Mike Conley said this, Gobert was conspicuously missing from a group work trip in Los Angeles. The team brass had suspended Gobert ahead of Minnesota’s 108-102 overtime loss to the Lakers, a critical moment in the company’s final Q4 of the year.

This makes the Timberwolves the most relatable NBA team remaining in the postseason. They may not like their co-worker, but they have to pretend to while on the clock.

To anyone who doesn’t shower inside an NBA locker room, Gobert seems like a lovable oddball. He has a cool accent, keeps bees and endorses documentaries about mushrooms. He loves his mother and all-star appearances – so much that the thought of both will bring him to tears. He’s also one of the best in the world at his skill set. Who wouldn’t want to make a coffee run with a guy like this? Especially since his pay slip reads as long as a corporate handbook, chances are he might be generous enough to spring for your latte, too.

Even so, Gobert grates on the people who work closely with him.

They don’t appreciate how he calls them out during his on-the-record conversations with outsiders. Or how he’s accused colleagues of having a poor work ethic when he should’ve kept his thoughts in-house. It’s hard to be friends with the disgruntled employee who airs the office’s dirty laundry to the public.

Also, he’s remembered as the reason they all had to work from home beginning in March 2020. Gobert, fair or not, will forever be known as the NBA’s “patient zero” after he tested positive for the coronavirus, which prompted the league to shut down for months. At that time, Gobert worked in the parent company’s Salt Lake City branch, and his co-workers there complained how nonchalantly he had acted about the looming pandemic – touching their belongings and breathing all over the place.

And you know how unions will support even the worst employees? Not Gobert’s. His peers within the Fraternal Order of Tall People in Shorts seemingly stand around the water cooler and gossip behind his back. Sometimes, they mock him to his face. Outsiders like Gobert – a French guy who appreciates the nostalgia of Pokémon and cares enough to defend the rim while others might fear going viral – don’t always get invited to the team-building happy hour, either.

The major difference between professional athletes and people who punch a clock: In sports, they really do work together as a team. And teams naturally grow closer than a collection of co-workers.

The 2013-14 Indiana Pacers spent most of the season playing together while living atop the Eastern Conference – and posing for a regrettable fashion photo shoot. Then they wobbled late in the year and fell flat in the second round against the Miami Heat. Players blamed the trade of a nominally productive and older teammate, Danny Granger, for this collapse. They couldn’t get over losing such a likable teammate.

The countless hours in the weight room. The extended overnight road trips. The shared agony inside tight quarters following a heartbreaking loss. Teammates experience this intimacy. Co-workers usually don’t.

The men who work together in Minnesota? They’re a befuddling mess stockpiled with talent that has underperformed all season. They play as though it’s 4:56 p.m. and they have to beat rush hour. They lack the self-control and decorum to respect one another when tempers rise. They are merely co-workers.

If the Wolves make it out of the play-in as the eighth seed, a 7-foot-1, paint-protecting big man could be useful. Gobert may be not be universally liked, but now, his work friends need him.

When Gobert comes back, they’ll probably repeat the company line about synergy, leaning in and thinking outside the box ahead of the most important team function of the year on Friday night. But no doubt, he’s already been deleted from the secret Slack channel everyone uses to complain about the return-to-office policy. And you thought you had workplace drama.