Re: The Gold Standard: The Ronnie Gold Story
7-2-13
He wasn’t comfortable with this. He had done many things in his life. He had won six NBA championships. He had retired and unretired twice. He had been married, divorced, and now he was married again. There were many things he had done in his life.
Begging wasn’t one of them.
He was the greatest player to ever set foot on the court. It wasn’t hyperbole or ego talking, it was fact. No one he faced could stop him. No one he battled could beat him when the game mattered most.
But he never had to beg someone for something.
That was about to change today. Gold had made a passionate argument
that he needed to be more personally involved in recruiting. He needed to be there for big free agent interviews and he needed to pitch the organization. He had clout. He had power.
Michael didn’t disagree with any of that but he had always believed that owners who did that type of thing were in it for the attention. Winning was a side effect of show boating … Cuban liked attention like that and he won on accident more than anything.
But Michael was going to do what Gold asked. He was tired of losing and it was time for him to assert his will, like he did so many times before on the court. But he’d had to pitch it to the player. He’d have to beg, in his mind.
The door to the office opened. Gold stepped in and behind him stepped Tyreke Evans.
Michael stood and extended his hand. “Tyreke,” he said with a smile.
Evans took a moment to gawk – a common reaction – and accepted the extended hand. “Mister Jordan.”
The three of them sat down. Michael had studied Evans when he came out in 2009. Though he didn’t own the team then he studied the players coming out then he liked what he saw from Evans in college though he wasn’t enthused with Evans poor shooting stroke. He reminded Michael of Clyde Drexler in a lot of ways … but Evans didn’t have Clyde’s stroke.
“I want to thank you for meeting with us, Tyreke,” Gold said as he poured a glass of water. “We want you to join us here in Charlotte. We want you to be a part of building this franchise into a winner.”
Evans leaned back. “A winner? I’m sorry to say, that doesn’t sound likely anytime soon.”
“This is the Eastern Conference … it doesn’t take nearly as much to make the playoffs. Once there, anything can happen,” Gold argued.
Evans looked unconvinced. Michael sat there, contemplating what he could say.
Gold continued on. “We drafted the best big man out there in Noel. We brought in Derrick Williams who we feel is going to make big strides soon. We’re primed to sign a big free agent and we want you to be it.”
Evans took a steadying breath. “Look, I appreciate this … I would love to be back on the East coast, closer to my family --”
“And away from the mess the Kings offered,” Gold pointed out. “You want a stable organization? We can offer that.”
“Can you?” Evans questioned. He looked over at Jordan. “Can you
guarantee me we’ll make the playoffs once over the length of my contract?
Can you guarantee me we won’t blow draft picks?”
Michael stared at him. “Ronnie, leave.”
Gold shot him a surprised look. “Sir?”
Michael stood. Evans wanted to talk to him like that? No. He wasn’t some old owner that was just good for signing checks.
He was Michael **cking Jordan.
Gold could pitch the facts all he wanted but Evans wanted something more.
Michael was going to give it to him.
“I can handle this from here … thanks, Ronnie,” Michael said as he stood and opened the door.
Gold took a glance at them both before nodding. He didn’t get it but he could follow orders.
That was good for him.
Gold left and the door shut.
Michael turned his attention to Evans. “You want assurances? I can’t give you any.” He went to his desk and took out a cigar. He lit it and puffed out a ring of smoke.
Evans eyes didn’t leave his. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying the team that drafted you let you walk into free agency and laid out the red carpet. I’m saying you couldn’t be traded because no one was willing to give up anything of value for you. I’m saying you’re here, in my office, asking for a big contract and you want me to make assurances to you?”
Michael blew out another puff of smoke as Evans face grew dark. He was getting mad.
Good. The kid had passion but he hadn’t displayed it in a few years. The Kings had sucked it away from him. But he had it back now.
“I can play this game.”
“So can I and I’m 50-years-old.” He put the cigar down. “You can play the game well. You can do better though.”
Evans glared at him for a moment before nodding. “I can.”
“You can’t shoot from beyond the three point line,” Michael added. “That needs to change. You lack focus on defense … that needs to change.”
“I didn’t come here for a lecture,” he shot back. “I came here to figure out if you’re really serious about winning.”
Michael walked over to him. “Stand up.”
Evans hesitated.
“Stand. Up.” Michael ordered.
Evans did as he was told as he shot a glare at Michael.
“Look into my eyes,” Michael said as he leaned in. “Tell me I’m not serious.”
The two men stared at one another for a long moment before Evans looked away. “All right, you’re serious.”
Michael sat down and Evans did the same. “I’ll do whatever it takes to win. I’ll pay whatever I need to. I’m not gonna blow money on knuckleheads or aging veterans. The money I have is gonna be used to invest in players who will make us a consistent winner.”
Evans looked at the door and then back at Michael. “And Gold?”
“I take the same stance with my management as my players. I’ll invest in players and if they make good on that investment, I’ll continue to invest in them. I invested in Gold and he’s proving his worth right now. He drafted well and he’s going after you … he has taste. He has talent. Just needs a bit of direction and refinement.” Michael pointed at Evans. “Like you. You can come here and be part of a budding, growing, competing team. Or you can take less money, get treated like damaged goods, and end up on a team that doesn’t care about you more than what stats you have.” He leaned forward. “If you come here and show me loyalty, I’ll show you the same in all facets of life.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your choice.”
Evans took a deep breath and stood. “I’ll let you know my thoughts.”
Michael stood. “I expect you to be quick. It’s better for both of us if you are.”
“I will be.”
Michael went to his desk, grabbed a cigar, and gave it to Evans. “Light this up when you decide where you’re going.” He extended his hand.
Evans accepted the cigar and hand. They shook briefly. “Thank you.” He left the office and Gold stepped back in a minute later.
Michael was standing, looking out his window, and smoking his cigar.
“What did you say to him?” Gold asked in wonderment. “He told me he’s strongly considering us … seemed very at ease with the idea.”
Michael blew out a puff of smoke. “I told him the truth … most of it.” He looked over at Gold. Though the kid had been forced on him Michael was warming up to him. The two had more in common than most would know. “Ronnie … take a cigar, light it up, and just smoke,” Michael ordered.
Gold looked at the cigar and then at Michael. “I don’t smoke.”
Michael took a cigar, lit it, and gave it to him. “You do now.”
Gold looked at the lit cigar and shrugged. “Why not?” He put it in his mouth and inhaled.
He began coughing immediately.
“If we’re gonna build a winner, we’re gonna be smoking these cigars a lot.” He looked at Gold skeptically. “Are you going to be able to handle this?”
It was a question within a question.
Gold stared at him for a moment before taking another puff of the cigar. He choked it down a bit better this time.
That was the answer Michael needed.
The hard part was here.
It was time to make them a winner.
7-2-13
He wasn’t comfortable with this. He had done many things in his life. He had won six NBA championships. He had retired and unretired twice. He had been married, divorced, and now he was married again. There were many things he had done in his life.
Begging wasn’t one of them.
He was the greatest player to ever set foot on the court. It wasn’t hyperbole or ego talking, it was fact. No one he faced could stop him. No one he battled could beat him when the game mattered most.
But he never had to beg someone for something.
That was about to change today. Gold had made a passionate argument
that he needed to be more personally involved in recruiting. He needed to be there for big free agent interviews and he needed to pitch the organization. He had clout. He had power.
Michael didn’t disagree with any of that but he had always believed that owners who did that type of thing were in it for the attention. Winning was a side effect of show boating … Cuban liked attention like that and he won on accident more than anything.
But Michael was going to do what Gold asked. He was tired of losing and it was time for him to assert his will, like he did so many times before on the court. But he’d had to pitch it to the player. He’d have to beg, in his mind.
The door to the office opened. Gold stepped in and behind him stepped Tyreke Evans.
Michael stood and extended his hand. “Tyreke,” he said with a smile.
Evans took a moment to gawk – a common reaction – and accepted the extended hand. “Mister Jordan.”
The three of them sat down. Michael had studied Evans when he came out in 2009. Though he didn’t own the team then he studied the players coming out then he liked what he saw from Evans in college though he wasn’t enthused with Evans poor shooting stroke. He reminded Michael of Clyde Drexler in a lot of ways … but Evans didn’t have Clyde’s stroke.
“I want to thank you for meeting with us, Tyreke,” Gold said as he poured a glass of water. “We want you to join us here in Charlotte. We want you to be a part of building this franchise into a winner.”
Evans leaned back. “A winner? I’m sorry to say, that doesn’t sound likely anytime soon.”
“This is the Eastern Conference … it doesn’t take nearly as much to make the playoffs. Once there, anything can happen,” Gold argued.
Evans looked unconvinced. Michael sat there, contemplating what he could say.
Gold continued on. “We drafted the best big man out there in Noel. We brought in Derrick Williams who we feel is going to make big strides soon. We’re primed to sign a big free agent and we want you to be it.”
Evans took a steadying breath. “Look, I appreciate this … I would love to be back on the East coast, closer to my family --”
“And away from the mess the Kings offered,” Gold pointed out. “You want a stable organization? We can offer that.”
“Can you?” Evans questioned. He looked over at Jordan. “Can you
guarantee me we’ll make the playoffs once over the length of my contract?
Can you guarantee me we won’t blow draft picks?”
Michael stared at him. “Ronnie, leave.”
Gold shot him a surprised look. “Sir?”
Michael stood. Evans wanted to talk to him like that? No. He wasn’t some old owner that was just good for signing checks.
He was Michael **cking Jordan.
Gold could pitch the facts all he wanted but Evans wanted something more.
Michael was going to give it to him.
“I can handle this from here … thanks, Ronnie,” Michael said as he stood and opened the door.
Gold took a glance at them both before nodding. He didn’t get it but he could follow orders.
That was good for him.
Gold left and the door shut.
Michael turned his attention to Evans. “You want assurances? I can’t give you any.” He went to his desk and took out a cigar. He lit it and puffed out a ring of smoke.
Evans eyes didn’t leave his. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying the team that drafted you let you walk into free agency and laid out the red carpet. I’m saying you couldn’t be traded because no one was willing to give up anything of value for you. I’m saying you’re here, in my office, asking for a big contract and you want me to make assurances to you?”
Michael blew out another puff of smoke as Evans face grew dark. He was getting mad.
Good. The kid had passion but he hadn’t displayed it in a few years. The Kings had sucked it away from him. But he had it back now.
“I can play this game.”
“So can I and I’m 50-years-old.” He put the cigar down. “You can play the game well. You can do better though.”
Evans glared at him for a moment before nodding. “I can.”
“You can’t shoot from beyond the three point line,” Michael added. “That needs to change. You lack focus on defense … that needs to change.”
“I didn’t come here for a lecture,” he shot back. “I came here to figure out if you’re really serious about winning.”
Michael walked over to him. “Stand up.”
Evans hesitated.
“Stand. Up.” Michael ordered.
Evans did as he was told as he shot a glare at Michael.
“Look into my eyes,” Michael said as he leaned in. “Tell me I’m not serious.”
The two men stared at one another for a long moment before Evans looked away. “All right, you’re serious.”
Michael sat down and Evans did the same. “I’ll do whatever it takes to win. I’ll pay whatever I need to. I’m not gonna blow money on knuckleheads or aging veterans. The money I have is gonna be used to invest in players who will make us a consistent winner.”
Evans looked at the door and then back at Michael. “And Gold?”
“I take the same stance with my management as my players. I’ll invest in players and if they make good on that investment, I’ll continue to invest in them. I invested in Gold and he’s proving his worth right now. He drafted well and he’s going after you … he has taste. He has talent. Just needs a bit of direction and refinement.” Michael pointed at Evans. “Like you. You can come here and be part of a budding, growing, competing team. Or you can take less money, get treated like damaged goods, and end up on a team that doesn’t care about you more than what stats you have.” He leaned forward. “If you come here and show me loyalty, I’ll show you the same in all facets of life.” He leaned back in his chair. “Your choice.”
Evans took a deep breath and stood. “I’ll let you know my thoughts.”
Michael stood. “I expect you to be quick. It’s better for both of us if you are.”
“I will be.”
Michael went to his desk, grabbed a cigar, and gave it to Evans. “Light this up when you decide where you’re going.” He extended his hand.
Evans accepted the cigar and hand. They shook briefly. “Thank you.” He left the office and Gold stepped back in a minute later.
Michael was standing, looking out his window, and smoking his cigar.
“What did you say to him?” Gold asked in wonderment. “He told me he’s strongly considering us … seemed very at ease with the idea.”
Michael blew out a puff of smoke. “I told him the truth … most of it.” He looked over at Gold. Though the kid had been forced on him Michael was warming up to him. The two had more in common than most would know. “Ronnie … take a cigar, light it up, and just smoke,” Michael ordered.
Gold looked at the cigar and then at Michael. “I don’t smoke.”
Michael took a cigar, lit it, and gave it to him. “You do now.”
Gold looked at the lit cigar and shrugged. “Why not?” He put it in his mouth and inhaled.
He began coughing immediately.
“If we’re gonna build a winner, we’re gonna be smoking these cigars a lot.” He looked at Gold skeptically. “Are you going to be able to handle this?”
It was a question within a question.
Gold stared at him for a moment before taking another puff of the cigar. He choked it down a bit better this time.
That was the answer Michael needed.
The hard part was here.
It was time to make them a winner.
Also great 'chise, can't wait for more
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