Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike

by Brad Stephenson

  "Yeah, let's smoke one before I go," Scott surprisingly countered, disguising his current state of embarrassment.

  There was nothing to lose now, so we sat there smoking–again–until it was time for him to go. Then he asked me to carry his bags to the bus, but this is where I drew the line. There was no way I could go near his team, permeating the smell of weed, after he just blew the game AND while he emitted the same distinct odor.

  It was too much, so I said goodbye and went back to my hotel. There was one-day left before my flight back to Arizona.

  The Empire State Building always seemed appealing to me, so I set out on an adventure to the top early the next morning. Believe it or not, I found a loophole and was able to go from the bottom to the top of the Empire State Building without paying one cent. More importantly, I did so without being detected. You would assume the Empire State building wouldn't have any security holes, especially after 9-11. When it was over, I got a free picture as proof.

  I thought New York gave me enough excitement and I was looking forward to relaxing in the valley of the sun – but this adventure was only the beginning.

  New Years Disaster

  Justin drove down Scottsdale Road during a blistering hot day in the middle of October. We were on our way to breakfast.

  The hostess showed us to our seats and I began surveying the menu; then I spotted something strange. Actually it wasn't something; it was someone. In particular, it was a person whom I least expected to see.

  Sitting a few tables over, alone, wearing jeans, a navy blue t-shirt and stubble on his face was my archenemy ... Evan Longoria.

  His legs were crossed and he looked away from us, seemingly on purpose. I'm sure he tracked our entry, and it was inevitable for us to see him, so I tapped Justin on the shoulder and nodded in Evan's direction.

  Much to his delight, Justin nodded back with a grin, signaling his recognition of being the third party to an awkward situation. Justin was up to speed on everything that took place in Tampa and assumed I held no interest in a friendly interaction. Was he right?

  While we ordered our drinks, I began silently pondering exactly why I didn't like Longoria. Obviously, the most glowing reason was the incident in New York with Liz, but I doubt he knew she was supposedly pregnant. On the other hand, he did know she and I were together – he was far from innocent.

  Then I looked at it from Liz's point of view, and I'm sure it didn't take much convincing–if any at all–for her to go along with it. In fact, she was probably the most culpable for the entire fiasco, and causing this lasting friction would be exactly what she wanted. With this in mind, I stood up and walked over to his table.

  "What are you doing in Arizona?" I asked him.

  "Pat Burrell told me how nice it was out here, so I bought a house," Evan responded.

  "Didn't expect to see you here, where's the house," I questioned.

  "It's in North Scottsdale, it's really nice man, you guys should come over tonight," Evan requested, reaching out a proverbial olive branch.

  Justin joined us at his table and we carried on talking about his house and how good-looking the girls in Arizona were, but of course, nothing about Liz. Once we finished breakfast, oddly enough, we exchanged numbers and made plans to meet later that night.

  "Well that was weird!" Justin let out, once we entered his car.

  "Yeah, I'm moving on, she's caused enough problems for me, I can't let her dictate the future," I told him.

  In reality, I wasn't over her and I knew precisely what I was doing. If I became friends with him and she found out (which I would make happen) it would only piss her off; making her feel insignificant.

  A few hours later, I called Longoria and got directions to his house – my plan was in motion.

  We pulled into his cobblestone driveway and parked underneath two pillars outside the front door. He wasn't lying; the house was massive.

  He took us on a tour; first exhibiting the pool in the backyard, which featured three underwater seats built in at the edge with a bar-b-q pit on the other side. Surrounding the pool were two unusual amenities: a putting green and a basketball court. The inside was just as lavish, with a movie theater and plenty of rooms to spare for everyone to handle their business.

  Then we were off to dinner, sushi to be exact, which resulted in a battle between Evan and I over who could most effectively hit on the waitress. My distaste for him never allowed me to figure out who he was, but I began to realize we were very much alike. Neither of us were afraid to be overly direct to a girl, an equal willingness to say anything and everything to get the job done. When we left, I was the one who closed on the waitress's number, a small victory in what was already a covert war.

  BJ, who just got off a plane, met us at a club called American Junkie for a night filled with booze and a table chocked full of girls. It was then I noticed a gentleman beside us with a familiar face; looking in our direction. He went by the name Nik Richie, the owner of a gossip website, most specifically about celebrities and athletes. I already envisioned him writing about us, so I went into defense mode.

  "Hey man, I'm Brad," I said to him, and then shook his hand.

  "I'm Nik," he said back, realizing what I was trying to do.

  It was a goodwill mission to prevent criticism, another self-appointed duty in my unclassified job position. This wouldn't be the last time we crossed paths; believe it or not, we eventually made a positive difference in this world together (we'll get to it later).

  When the night ended, we descended back to Longoria's place with a gaggle of girls. Evan and I sat down on opposite couches, with a brunette by his side and a blonde by mine; then irony struck.

  "Yeah, my dad is a doctor," Evan's brunette announced.

  "Oh, a doctor? You hear that Evan? Her DAD IS A DOCTOR," I said, highlighting a reference to Liz, whose dad was also a doctor.

  "Yeah, I heard her," Evan responded with a blank stare, catching my drift.

  After reminding him of my hostility, I hauled the blonde to an open bedroom and took advantage of his hospitality.

  I awoke hung-over the next morning, scouring the fridge for some much-needed electrolytes. Then Evan summoned for me to meet him outside in the backyard.

  "I have three pairs of custom cleats I'm not going to use, didn't know if you wanted them," he said.

  "Yeah, I'm probably going to sell them on eBay," I told him, and he laughed.

  I don't know why he thought I was joking, because I sold them on eBay for $500 a piece. So far, my plan was moving along swimmingly.

  Now it was that time of year again ... we needed to make plans for our next New Years celebration.

  Justin, BJ and myself had a roundtable discussion and the final decision was for us to embark on another journey to Tampa. Each of them decided to bring a girl and although I knew plenty in Florida, I wanted to show off some of the Arizona talent. In enters "Roxy".

  She (pictured on the right) was a yoga instructor who, interestingly enough, I met through Dave (a sign of his progress). Roxy walked into Justin's place wearing an ASU t-shirt, skimpy cut-off jean shorts and yellow stirrup baseball socks – her body was idyllic. The look or, better yet, drool on BJ's face said it all and my mind was made up ... she was coming to Tampa with me.

  We arrived in the paradise of palm trees and it didn't take long to figure out that I didn't actually know the person I brought along with me. After a few hours of golf with the fellas, I returned back to my hotel room to an odd, but stunning scene. Roxy was sprawled out on top of the desk, just inches from the mirror, applying makeup...butt ass naked.

  Most would assume a discovery of this nature would elicit arousal, but it was simply too bizarre. I was left with questions, what could possibly make someone do this? She wasn't standing in front of the mirror, like a normal person would. She was lying down horizontally on a desk, without any clothes on – who does that?

  Nonetheless, I was ready to show her off...

  We all met
David Price at Ruths Chris for an elegant dinner. Roxy spent most of it convincing Price to take yoga lessons with her, but he didn't seem to mind.

  Neither did I. My experience with Liz irreversibly altered my relationship with the opposite sex. I became incapable of playing the overprotective and jealous boyfriend role; I find it useless. If a girl wants to do something, she's going to do it ... it's simply a matter of whether she does it in front of you or behind your back. Sure, it's a guarded approach but it also has benefits, which came into play later this night.

  BJ reserved a sky booth for us at a Tampa hotspot called AJA. The headlining performer of the night was none other than a man known as 'Lil Jon'.

  He walked by us before he went on stage and let me tell you...he was much smaller than T.I. I don't know what it is about entertainers being short and successful, there has to be some type of correlation, but that's a topic for another day. The real entertainment of the night was set in motion once the clock struck midnight; when I received a text from a girl in Tampa named "Kendall".

  Kendall, on the right, was a regular at Club Kazmir the previous summer, and definitely one of the more scandalous visitors. Her text explained how she was fighting with her boyfriend and furthermore, how she wanted to come hangout with us. I should have ignored her solicitation because my night with Roxy was going well, but of course, I didn't.

  Kendall was instantly grinding against me the moment she arrived, much to Roxy's displeasure. As I said before, if someone wants to do something, they're going to do it. Roxy, in turn, began hitting on David Price. When the club closed, I went to my hotel room with Kendall and I assumed Roxy was going home with Price.

  Every article of clothing was quickly deposited on the floor; Kendall and I were on the bed going at it. The moment was pristine; until I heard a knock at the door ... it was Roxy.

  She walked in; her face strained with severe anguish after seeing Kendall's naked body lounging along the bed. My mind began churning up a game plan as Roxy took a seat in front of her beloved wooden desk.

  "Convince her to have a threesome with us," I whispered to Kendall.

  "She's not going to do it, look at her, she's pissed!" Kendall hissed back.

  "Just ask her!" I demanded.

  Kendall sighs and then began her proposal. The conversation to follow was an instant classic.

  "Roxy, why don't you get in bed with us?" Kendall asked.

  "Because I don't think you're hot," Roxy retorted, as my eyes lit up.

  "Well I don't think you're hot either but I want to fuck Brad so bad that I'm willing to fuck you too," said Kendall, which was not only verbatim, but also music to my ears.

  "I'm just going to sit in the bathroom while you two finish up," Roxy affirmed, sticking a dagger into my hopes of a threesome.

  We were both well aware Roxy was upset, but she added (literally soon to be) injury to insult by tossing a tray of glass drinks on the floor, causing them to shatter on contact.

  Kendall and I started going back at it, but it just didn't seem right. We both agreed it was uncomfortable for Roxy to be sitting in the bathroom, so Kendall asked me to do something about it.

  "Roxy, can you sit in the lobby until we're done," I cautiously asked.

  "FUCK NO! I just ordered a turkey sandwich to the room, I'll leave when I finish eating," Roxy sternly informed.

  One turkey sandwich later, I made my second attempt at asking Roxy to step outside.

  "Roxy, can you please go outside for a little bit?" I begged.

  "Fuck you Brad! Do you know how fucked up that is?" Roxy scolded.

  "Sorry but we did say you could join," I countered.

  "Fine! I'll go but you're an asshole for doing this!" rebuked Roxy, as she stood up in a fury of rage and then lunged to push me.

  Well, that was her plan until she slipped and, ironically, it was the water on the floor–from the tray she tossed–that caused her to do so. However, what happened next was no laughing matter.

  A pile of sharp broken glass was on the floor, and Roxy landed on her back – directly on top of it!

  I grabbed her arm, lifting her disgruntled body back upright. It was a gruesome and dismal sight. Her back was bleeding ... and there were large fragments of glass sticking out of her skin.

  Roxy let out a loud piercing scream, but she wasn't crying; it was a scream of anger... a battle cry. I knew every hotel guest on our floor had heard this shriek, but I was more concerned about the awakening of Roxy's inner monster.

  It was a grim picture; me with two girls in a hotel room and one of them bleeding profusely...with shards of glass lodged in her back. No matter the truth, I could already picture myself being arrested.

  As predicted, twenty minutes later, the cops showed up.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  "Tampa police! Can you open the door please!" the officers shouted.

  At this point, Roxy already gave her story in the hallway before the two-uniformed policeman stepped in my room. Thanks to Kendall, they were given a warm welcome, because she didn't even bother to put her clothes back on the entire time; nor did she attempt to cover herself.

  It didn't come as a shock, but the officers seemed more interested in getting a prolonged glimpse at the perky and above average chest of my star witness.

  I'm not even sure if they listened (their senses were preoccupied) but I went on to explain the dreadful series of events. In the end, they kicked Kendall and myself out of the hotel, and gave the room to Roxy.

  Although it was MY room, I wasn't in the position to press my luck so Kendall and I packed up and went to BJ's house – we were finally able to finish.

  I awoke the following morning, got my computer and gave Dave a play-by-play of the previous nights encounter.

  "That is the best story I have ever heard in my entire life!" claimed Dave.

  Roxy texted me shortly after, telling me she was flying back to Arizona. Believe it or not – this wouldn't be our last encounter.

  Meeting "Natalia"

  "I'm staying in Tampa until spring training," were Justin's first words after New Years.

  I called up my friend who worked at the Plaza, where Kazmir and Price stayed, and got Justin a one-bedroom poolside suite. Once again, my bed was on the couch.

  We settled in and then went to a local spot called The Drynk to meet up with Ryan Howard, a former MVP with the Philadelphia Phillies.

  I wore a white t-shirt with the words "Yoga Class Creep" across the chest, which Justin custom designed for Dave in Arizona...who swore yoga classes were the best place to meet girls.

  Similar to my awkward moment with Longoria in Arizona, the tables turned I was spectating Justin filling a somewhat comparable role. Already seated at the table when we arrived, was a girl from Tampa who frequently 'visited' both Justin and Ryan Howard. Now they were in the same place, and the best part; she chose Ryan.

  As always, it was my objective to scout the room for talent and lure them in but before I set out on my mission, Ryan stopped me.

  "I want that shirt," he said, appreciating the 'Yoga Class Creep'.

  "You can't have this shirt," I commanded.

  After ushering the girls in, I ventured out to the patio and ran across another familiar face ... Gary Sheffield, a 9-time MLB all-star. I never miss a moment to make a new friend.

  "Hey Gary, I'm Brad, BJ's friend," I said to him.

  "I know, I talked to BJ while you guys were out to dinner one night. He told me all about what you do," explained Gary, with a genuine smile.

  This was a fascinating discovery. Gary Sheffield, a guy who I grew up watching on TV, knew who I was. To me, this was hard to comprehend. I always tried to keep up with Justin and BJ (although it was nearly impossible) but being recognized by their peers was a big step to me. So what if he knew me as a guy who picked up girls, apparently I was making a name for myself.

  Kendall sent a text asking me to come inside; I made it to our table just in time to watch her walk up to Ryan
Howard and immediately grab his dick. I had to get her out of there.

  The next night was more of the same, but I encountered a bigger name. It seemed as though Justin and Ryan weren't the only athletes their mutual lady friend was acquainted with.

  Although she was only interested in athletes with top-grossing jersey sales, I started chatting her up anyways. In the middle of our conversation, we were interrupted.

  "Pssssst. Pssssst," someone behind us beckoned, clearly for her.

  I turned around and saw this mystery man dressed in black slacks, black boots and a loosely fitted gray shirt with half of his face hidden. The closer I looked, the more he tried to hide his face. Finally it hit me; I was looking at the captain himself, Derek Jeter.

  Everyone knew he owned a house in Tampa and I heard he kept a low profile ... the scouting report was spot on. He spoke with our female social liaison friend for a few minutes and then slipped out the door, seemingly without being noticed by anyone – New York style. I missed my chance to meet him but it didn't appear as if he held any interest talking to some dude, or any dude that night. Very well played.

  Justin and I were still recovering the next day, so we decided to pull a prank on his teammate Chris Young. Keeping in touch with Dave proved to be advantageous; the prank wasn't possible without his technical knowhow.

  Dave told me about a website which allows you to call someone and have any number of your choosing show up in their caller id. If it wasn't already devious enough, you could also select to have your voice scrambled to make it sound like a female's. So we called Chris from his ex-girlfriend's number.

  Unfortunately, he didn't answer. Justin left a voicemail, which ended up igniting a priceless narrative.

  "Hey baby, I've been thinking about you so much. I want that big black dick in my mouth. I miss it so fucking much. I can't wait until you fuck me again. Definitely need to do that soon, I want you to dog my fucking pussy out. Fucking dig my hole out from behind baby, I can't wait. Please call me when you get a chance, it's Lindsey baby. Love you, bye,"