Many moons ago, in a former and more Ann Taylor–filled life, I had a summer internship in the finance world that consisted mostly of the sending of FedExes, the kissing of asses, and the assembling of spreadsheets that would almost immediately become obsolete.

After two weeks of militant training in which I and the rest of the summer analyst class were repeatedly and ominously told to think of our jobs "as a 10-week interview" and instructed to "leverage this opportunity into full-time conversion," I finally got my very first assignment.

The project was straightforward, if time-consuming: My boss had a meeting the following week with some super-rich dude who he hoped would one day become a client, and it was my job to corral the motley dribs and drabs of bank statements, handwritten Post-it notes, and dusty stock certificates the man had shipped over to us into some sort of workable and comprehensive dossier about just how much he was worth. (And, of course, about how we would best "put his money to work.")

As a lifelong goody-two-shoes thrilled by the prospect of being able to finally prove myself with an actual task, I decided I wouldn't leave the office until I'd finished the assignment, which wasn't expected to be completed for a few days. I labored through spreadsheets. I ordered dinner. I anticipated questions and problems and prepared explanations and defenses. I formatted fonts and pasted photos. I went home at 3, showered, and came back at 5. I finished. I felt immensely industrious.

I sat there, exhausted but proud, as my boss — a whip-smart, slicked-back man whose wife would call in every day that summer to complain about the temperature of the pool at the Hamptons house they were renting — came in, sat down at his desk, saw the thick packet I had so speedily slaved over, and smirked.

"Looks like they didn't teach you in training," he said, "how to manage expectations."

In case you were out living a life of leisure, here's what you missed in sports on Wednesday.

• Kevin Durant's 34 points and 14 boards led the Oklahoma City Thunder to a 107-99 win over the San Antonio Spurs and an NBA Finals berth. A despondent Tim Duncan began his postgame comments on a melancholic note. "I used to rule the world," he said. "Seas would rise when I gave the word. Now in the morning I sleep alone … sweep the streets that I used to own." He continued in this vein for about two minutes as some reporters began to realize he was quoting a Coldplay song. The rest of them picked up on it when he sprang up for the chorus, ripped off his shirt, and pumped both fists as he sang, "I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing! Roman cavalry choirs are singing!"
• Martin Brodeur made 21 saves as the New Jersey Devils beat the Kings 3-1 to avoid a sweep in the Stanley Cup finals. Kings coach Darryl Sutter kept a brave face, but when he finally got a moment alone, after the game, he broke down weeping and called his wife. "Those decorative brooms I made?" he said. "One for each player? So festive, so vibrant? Burn them. Maybe then I'll stop dreaming like a stupid little boy. A STUPID LITTLE BOY! A STUPID LITTLE BOY! A STUPID LITTLE BOY!"