"A Rip Off"
Friday July 26, 2014 9:15 am
He stood barefoot in his office rummaging through boxes that had not yet been unpacked. “There they are,” Mark Murphy mumbled as he pulled out a package of cotton balls. He could now commence in his weekly ritual of shinning his shoes. It was a practice that started during his days in New London as a cadet. Life at the academy was rigorous, particularly for athletes and at the time proved to be something of a therapy for him. It allowed him to clear his mind and relax. Murphy sat down behind a great big oak desk that once belonged to his uncle and his great uncle before him, and began. Then a knock at the door, “Yes,” he answered annoyed. It was his secretary Mary Tucci who had worked for Murphy for the last 10 years, “Mr. Murphy, Mr. Jordan Correll is here to see you.” Murphy jumped from his chair looking for his socks, “send him in Mary.”
Jordan Correll was a longtime friend of Murphy’s. They grew up together in Miller Place, a small affluent town on the north shore of Long Island. Jordan’s upbringing wasn’t typical of the rest of his peers. His family was dirt poor and he was one of only three African Americans in the school district. He lacked the advantage of money growing up, but he was blessed with something that proved to be much more valuable, he was extremely intelligent. An underachiever in high school, Correll went on the graduate top of his class at SUNY Albany and later earned a master’s of Mathematics in Finance from NYU. He is currently working as an actuary for ING in Manhattan.
Mark Murphy had his own unusual upbringing as he was the son of an Episcopal Priest. One of four children, he and his family lived at the rectory on the church property in town. He wasn’t destitute or a minority like Correll, but like his friend he was not afforded the same luxuries that their classmates enjoyed. This somewhat shared experience is what forged their close relationship.
Earlier in the week Murphy had his private currier deliver a package to Correll’s home. In it contained all the financials of the Jets and a request for his friend to review the material. Murphy had already had his accountants look over these documents, but he wanted Correll, whose analytical sense was second to none, to give him his take on the state of the franchise.
Correll walked in and his eyes where immediately drawn to Murphy’s feet, he had not found his socks. Then Correll’s eyes wandered in search for the shoe shinning kit he knew couldn’t be far. “Are you serious man?” Correll said with a laugh, “You’re a billionaire and you still shine your own shoes?”
"Maybe I should pay someone to shine that bald skull of yours," Murphy replied as he embraced his friend with a hug. Correll had gone bald in his early twenties and had a clean shaven head. He stands tall at 6'2", well built, and by all accounts very handsome. The two were like brothers and never passed up an opportunity to take shots at one another.
"Here, take a seat buddy," Murphy said as he gestured to a lavish brown leather chair.
Correll quickly took in his surroundings and assessed his friend’s new office before he sat down. A few feet behind Murphy’s desk stood a large table with the boxes he had just been going through. Above it was an enormous blank white board that reminded Correll of the lecture halls he sat in at NYU. The wall behind Correll was dominated by a 70 inch television. To his left were windows that stretched from floor to ceiling that over looked the three outdoor practice fields. Unimpressed by the billionaires work space Correll looked for something to comment on, "This must be the desk you told me about."
Murphy began to sit down, "Sure is, dates back to the 1900's."
"You know what they say about men with oversized desk's right?" Correll said, taking his seat with a smirk.
Murphy knew this was a shot at his manhood so he quickly replied, "yeah, the same thing they say about men who drive Porsche's."
Correll's head shot back as he was the proud owner of a Cayman GTS, "damn Murph, after watching that presser I thought you lost your edge, guess not."
Murphy was not always the stern, tight lipped person that he had led on to be in his press conference. The casual Murphy was laid back, enjoyed busting chops and dirty jokes. He would fit right in at the local firehouse. He had a way of communicating that endeared him to his workers at the mill and the crew members of the Jayhawk he piloted. Then there was the conference room Murphy, who was calculating and expeditious, mostly because he hated meetings and wanted them to end quickly.
Murphy explained, "I'm still the same guy I've always been, but right now our season ticket holders need to have confidence in ownership. If I went out there and started dropping f-bombs the media would go nuts and probably paint me as some sorta Dan Snyder-Rex Ryan hybrid.”
Correll nodded in agreement, "Who’s Dan Snyder?”
Murphy was eager to get down to business and ignored his friend’s silly question, “Speaking of season tickets, what did you think of the package I sent you?"
Correll sat back in the deep chair and crossed his legs, humored in the billionaire’s apparent neediness, “I think you have people on your payroll to do this.”
“I do,” Murphy admitted, “but I still have a lot of holdovers around here and I’m sure they’re sweeping s--- under the rug to keep their jobs.”
Correll uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, “well it sounds like you’re already are aware of the problem.”
Murphy was diehard fan of the Jets and a season ticket holder for seven years until 2010. Following the 2013 season, reports began to surface that some season ticket customers were in danger of defaulting on their PSL’s. The Jets, as well as the Giants, established Personal Seat Licensing to help finance construction of the $1.6 billion MetLife Stadium which the teams shared. Murphy despised this as a fan and refused to pay for the “right” to purchase season tickets. Being aware of this issue made little difference in his decision to purchase the team, but now he needed to know the extent of the problem as the reports had quickly disappeared from the headlines. He had a statement prepared to address this issue in his press conference, but surprisingly the question never came.
Murphy cleared his throat, “what can you tell me about it?”
Correll began, “by my estimation there are over 1100 agreements in threat of default. Right now a $60,000 PSL is up for sale for $20,000. A $30,000 package of 4 coaches’ club seats behind the bench is going for 12,000. Fans can’t get rid of them. The value of your mid-level seats is even worse. I hate to break it to you man, but your PLS’s right now are a crap investment.”
“A rip off,” Murphy said chuckling while remembering back to one of the reports that quoted a 30 year season ticket holder saying such.
Surprised by Murphy’s reaction Correll continued with concern in his voice, “I’m glad you can find humor in this but that’s not all. The prices for actual tickets in the lower bowl and mezzanine sections on secondary markets were going for a 70% discount last season.”
Correll wasn’t a sports fan, it never interested him. The one sport he played was golf and he wasn’t half bad, but he knew next to nothing about the NFL. Knowing this about his friend, Murphy found some amusement in his worry. “Jordan relax, there’s a simple solution to all of this.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Correll asked as he sat back in his chair.
“We have to win. The Giants don’t have this problem and it’s because they just won a Super Bowl a couple of years ago. Winning in the NFL makes a lot of problem go away.”
Visibly annoyed Correll asked, “So then why the hell did you ask me to look into this for you if you already have the answer?
Murphy gestured by raising his hand slightly off his desk, “Settle down buddy, I still need your help. While I’m working on getting a winning product on the field, I need someone to find a short term solution to our PSL issue. Someone smart and creative like yourself.”
With a hint of defiance in his voice Correll said, “You want me to work for you?”
Knowing he needed to tread lightly with his prideful friend Murphy responded, “We’d like you to join our team as a financial consultant. We can really use you here.”
“Stop with the ‘we’ sh—alright,” Correll said, “I’m always willing to help, but I’m not going to work for you.”
Murphy expected resistance from his friend and didn’t want to push it. “Well I would appreciate your help any way I can get it, sorry if I offended you.”
With a sudden change in demeanor and a big smile Correll replied, “No worries Murph, so what’s the end game?”
Murphy emphatically said, “To get rid of the PSL’s completely.”
A surprised Correll asked, “Aren’t PSL’s standard procedure around the league?”
The question indicated to Murphy that his friend went much further in his analysis than what was supplied to him. “Yep, and that’s why I want to get rid of them. It is a rip off and our fans deserve better.”
“Murph the trailblazer!” Correll said jokingly.
Murphy then got up from his chair, “Listen I have this d--- marketing meeting I have to get to, but why don’t you stick around, go for a walk and check the place out. When I’m done we can hit up lunch before I head back to Cortland. One good thing Woody did was build this place, it’s worth a look. Besides, we need to catch up on family.”
“Sounds good Murph,” Correll said, “One other thing real quick, why the hell are you guys $30 million plus under the salary cap?”
Murphy had included the team’s salary cap information in the package he sent hoping his friend would show interest and his question confirmed that he did. Satisfied, Murphy told him, “that’s problem number two, meet back here in thirty, ok?”
As Correll exited the office, Jets General Manager John Idzik came walking down the hall behind him. Correll entered the elevator and the door closed. Idzik made his way to Mary Tucci’s desk and in a low voice asked Mary, “Who was that...?”