Chicago in December has the kind of cold that doesn’t spare a single inch.

But the warmest place in the Windy City might have been the chair occupied by Warriors forward Jonathan Kuminga at United Center Sunday night.

A “DNP-Coach’s Decision” for a healthy, former No. 7 overall pick who just signed a contract making him the Warriors’ fourth-highest-paid player isn’t a message or nudge.

It’s a scream of frustration.

It’s Steve Kerr standing on the scorers’ table with a megaphone, announcing to the league that he would rather play a rotating cast of try-hards and NBA geriatrics than watch Kuminga miss another box-out, treat a defensive rotation like a strictly optional suggestion, or stop the ball dead for another 10-dribble isolation experiment.

This is the final salvo. The final straw. Kerr is telling Kuminga: Buy in, do the “little things,” and stop playing like an NBA game is nothing more than the first draft of a YouTube highlight reel.

If this feels like déjà vu, that’s because we are trapped in the basketball version of Groundhog Day, only Bill Murray is a disgruntled forward who refuses to set a screen.

Kerr has already tried the carrot. He handed Kuminga a “permanent” starting job on a silver platter after the forward showed a modicum of buy-in to start the season. He praised the athleticism. He lauded the professionalism. He gave Kuminga all the external validation that he could handle for doing the right thing for like, a week.

And how did Kuminga respond? By rolling his eyes and promptly reverting to his factory settings, which is “me-first” basketball.

So now, Kerr is using the stick. Again.

Benching Kuminga entirely against the Bulls wasn’t just tactical; it was punitive. It was Kerr saying, simply, “I cannot trust you.”

And trust is the currency of the realm in the Church of the Golden State Warriors. You don’t have to be Stephen Curry to thrive in this system, but you do have to genuflect at the altar of ball movement and defensive connectivity.

Kuminga, however, has made it undeniably clear that he believes he should be the subject of the stained-glass windows.

To his credit, Kuminga said all the right things after the DNP. He was professional. He talked about “staying ready.”

Don’t buy it.

Kuminga is smart. He has a lot of practice in Saying The Right Thing to ensure he doesn’t get labeled “toxic” before he can secure his next bag. He leaves the outlandish comments to his agent and a steady collection of non-ball-knower fanboys on social media.

The real story lies behind the scenes, where Kuminga becomes aloof and passive when confronted, agreeing to everything to end the conversation so he can go back to doing exactly what he wants when he gets his next chance.

Headstrong? That’s just the start.

What has changed?

How has Kuminga appreciably, consistently shown any growth from his age-20 season?

It’s the “Mamba Mentality” gone wrong. Because, despite Kuminga’s belief, he is not the next Kobe Bryant.

For a while now, it’s been clear that the Warriors’ brass would have to choose between Kuminga and Kerr. They’ve tried to have it both ways.

Someone has to go, and forgive me for picking the coach.

Now, Kuminga knows that publicly torching a four-time champion coach is bad business, so he smiles and nods and pretends he cares about what’s being laid down. It’s performance art, so it never reflects in his performance on the court.

And here is the cruel irony of the situation, the part that makes this entire saga so frustratingly stupid: This stalemate is mutually assured destruction.

Kuminga wants to be “The Guy”. He wants out of Golden State so he can spread his wings and fly (and shoot 25 times a game).

But by refusing to adapt his game to a team paying him more than $20 million a year, he is actively lighting his own trade value on fire.

There might still be some marks out there, but general managers around this league aren’t blind. They see the DNP. They see the lack of on-court awareness. They see a guy who thinks being a “role player” is beneath him, despite having never proven he can impact winning in any serious capacity.

Which NBA team is out there watching this and thinking, “That’s what we need”?

Even the Kings have to wonder if the juice is worth the squeeze.

And does Kuminga not know he’s dealing with an organization whose leader considers it a personal affront to “lose” any deal? The Warriors had offers for Kuminga in a sign-and-trade this summer. Decent offers. Offers they would kill to have on the table right now.

But they didn’t take them. They bet on the talent. They wanted to “maximize.”

And because the Warriors passed then, we now find ourselves in an all-too-predictable “addition-by-subtraction” scenario.

Will the Warriors be willing to admit defeat? There’s no guarantee there.

Because, best-case scenario, they’re hoping there’s some five-team supertrade they can sneak Kuminga into. Otherwise, they’re taking on another team’s bad money just to wash their hands of this situation.

That’s going to be some harsh medicine to take, but that’s what you get for not taking care of a problem when it first arrives — for thinking you can fix it yourself.

Kuminga’s highest value — to the Warriors, to the trade market, and to his own bank account—was during that brief, flickering moment when he bought in to start the year, months before he was eligible to be traded. That’s when he cut hard, defended with purpose, and crashed the glass. That player is an asset. That player brings back a decent haul.

Does Kuminga think those five games carry enough weight to carry him out of town?

If so, he’s made a critical miscalculation.

Because the player sitting on the bench in Chicago, watching the game like a fan with better seats, but no drink menu and a personal waiter? He isn’t worth a thing to anyone.

But the Warriors needed to salvage a season that was starting to spiral, so they slapped a salvage title on Kuminga.

Kerr will play him again. He has to. But don’t expect an epiphany. We’ve seen the carrot, we’ve seen the stick, and we’ve heard the quotes.

But actions speak louder than words. What have we seen from Kuminga that makes anyone believe he’s ready to be a professional on the court — to be the Shawn Marion the Warriors want and need him to be?

Until Kuminga realizes that helping the Warriors is the only way to help himself until he can be moved on Jan. 15, we’re all just watching a game of chicken where both cars have already driven off the cliff.

I’m not holding my breath that long.