1-25-13
The thunder sounded overhead as he got out of his car. Rain was coming … he could feel it in his knee. He rubbed it gently for a moment, conceding to the pain, before removing his hand as his personal security guard, Ed, arrived by his side.
Ed was, as usual, not very talkative. He followed orders and kept a constant watch over the environment. He didn’t like the idea of a security guard … he didn’t like the idea that he needed to be protected. But there were lunatics out there in the world and his survival was paramount. He had children to care about. He had businesses to run.
Most importantly, he had championships to win.
“Let’s go,” he said with little enthusiasm. This was not a meeting a he was looking forward to.
It never was.
The two proceeded from the car to the empty bar where this meeting was taking place. It was closed today … well, closed to all but a select few.
They entered the bar with little fanfare and found their fellow guest had arrived. He took a seat across from him as Ed took up a position directly beside him. His eyes were locked onto his counterpart on the other side of the table.
“Michael.”
“Vincent.”
The two men stared at one another in silence for a moment. Michael’s eyes swept over Vinnie and he found himself disgusted. The man had clearly been enjoying himself … he’d put on at least twenty pounds since they last met nearly two years ago. He had let himself go.
Vinnie smirked. “Admiring me?”
“We’re here to talk business.”
Vinnie waved him off like a fly. “Business, business … is that all this is to
you? We’re friends, Mike, friends.”
Michael leaned back in the booth. “We’re not.”
“We
are,” Vinnie insisted as he poured himself a shot of whiskey. He offered some but Michael refused: this wasn’t a get together for friends. This was a business arrangement … an unfortunate one, but one he had to keep.
He took a steadying breath. Losing his temper wouldn’t do anything here. He had met more frustrating individuals before. He dealt with them. He could deal with Vinnie. “What do you want?”
Vinnie smirked again. His chubby face seemed to like smirking. “I have news from the family.”
Michael’s eyes showed surprise. “What do they want?”
“They want you to win, Michael. If you win, we win,” Vinnie said as he downed another shot. “Right now, your team isn’t winning.”
“I’m aware of that,” he said in a low tone. He didn’t need to be reminded of that fact. “Building a team is a process.”
“Oh, we agree with that.” Vinnie snapped his fingers and his guard dropped a packet of files on the table. “But we’re not satisfied with the job your front office is doing.”
Michael narrowed his eyes at Vinnie. “You forced me to hire Cho.”
Vinnie nodded. “We did and we were wrong about him. Look at what he’s done … the past two drafts had some definable talent in it that has slipped through our fingers.” He tapped the packet of files on the table. “We’ve decided it’s time to move in a new direction. Cho has not satisfied us with his picks. Biyombo was a waste and Kemba is so-so. Both drafts had talent that, if we took it, would be giving us more wins.”
Michael clenched his fists. “You want me to hire another GM? In the middle of the year, weeks before the deadline?”
Vinnie chubby face smirked again. God, he hated that smirk. “Yes. We want Cho gone and we want to move in a new direction. These files here,” he said while tapping them again, “have every member of your new front office staff selected.”
That was it. Michael stood from his seat and thunderously slammed his open palm onto the table. “I own this team, not you!”
Thunder sounded outside again, this time with a flash of lightning. Within
moments rain began to fall, splattering against the building.
Vinnie’s smirk didn’t disappear. “We
own you, Michael. You own the team and we own you.”
The sudden burst of adrenaline, of anger, dissipated. Vinnie was right.
That’s how it worked, that’s how it always worked.
He sat back down and frowned. “How is this going to work any better than before?”
“The family has brought in an expert at this sort of thing. Turning a losing franchise like this around requires the right people in the right places. We’ve found those people this time.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Then you fire them and we start again,” Vinnie said easily. “It’s no skin off our nose.”
He was right. The family wouldn’t suffer. But he would. The league already considered him a joke of an owner … his peers had mixed opinions at best about him.
With reluctance he reached over and grabbed the packet. He looked over it and his eyes immediately shot back up to Vinnie. “You can’t be serious.”
“We are. He’s your new GM.”
Vinnie wasn’t known for jokes. The family wasn’t known for jokes.
But this … this had to be a joke. “I’m already a laughing stock, the team is already a joke, and you want me to do … this?” Michael angrily threw the packet back onto the table. “What’s his connection?”
Vinnie stood from the table. “It doesn’t matter. The family wants him as the GM and he
will be your GM.”
Michael stood up again. “I’m not putting some young punk in charge of my front office!”
“His qualifications are there,” Vinnie said as he put his rain jacket on.
“What qualifications? He’s bounced around teams since he got of college three years ago; he’s nothing but a scout!”
“A scout with an eye for talent,” Vinnie shot back. His smirk had
disappeared and been replaced with an annoyed scowl. “Don’t argue with
us, Michael … we’ve been through this before. Do as you’re told or we reveal your very nasty past sins.”
Michael stared at him. This wasn’t the first time that threat was made. He had called their bluff before.
His wife divorced him soon after and took a big chunk of change with her.
Vinnie patted him on the shoulder. “This kid is a talent. He identified Kyrie Irving for the Cavs. He helped find Paul George for the Pacers. He’s got skills. We need him to win.”
Michael removed Vinnie’s hand from his shoulder. “He’s too young.”
“Please,” Vinnie said dismissively. “No one is too young in the NBA. If 19-year-olds can be making millions of dollars on the court, 25-year-olds can make hundreds of thousands in the front office. Give the kid his salary, give him this staff, and watch him work. We’ll have a winner sooner rather than later.”
“And if we don’t?”
Vinnie smirked again. “Then we’ll try again.” With that, he and his guard left the bar.
Michael stared after them. “Damn them to hell,” he mumbled.
“Mr. Jordan, we should leave,” Ed said without hesitation. He didn’t like being the last ones in a building.
Michael nodded, picked up the packet, and the two headed back outside.
They got into the car and left the area, heading back to his home.
Angrily, he opened the packet of files again and stared at his new GM.
“Ronnie Gold,” Michael seethed. The family was putting this kid in this position for some reason. Why?
Whatever that reason, Michael would find out.
No matter what the cost.