Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike

by Brad Stephenson

  I assumed the people following us would take the hint after their first 10 commands went unanswered, but they were only growing more ruthless.

  "Come on Justin! Don't be an asshole, you make enough money don't you?" the man antagonized, causing Justin's cheekbone to protrude in anger.

  We carried on, making our way underneath the stadium seats past concession stands and rabid fans. Then one of the autograph seekers breached our bubble, reaching his hand towards Justin, enabling me to counter his violation of personal space with a swift push to the chest, followed by a demonic stare.

  The three of us reached the car unscathed, and we finally got a chance to review and rejoice in what took place the night before.

  "Thanks for last night B-rad. That was big," Chris confessed.

  "No problem," I nonchalantly responded.

  "Yeah, it was nice doing business with you," Justin added.

  Justin always made subtle hints and by mentioning the word 'business' in his sentence, I knew where he was trying to steer the conversation towards the topic of hiring me. The question was: did I want to work for them?

  I went through this before with BJ and Kazmir. I started off getting paid by both of them and then it evolved into a war over which one gained full control. Not only did it cause problems for them, but it also affected my friendship with BJ.

  The golden opportunity to talk about my employment was sitting on a platter, but I ignored it and stayed silent. I didn't want to come in between Justin and Chris and I certainly had no interest in disturbing my friendship with Justin. Some things are more valuable than money; besides, no matter how much was at stake, I would still feel inferior to them.

  I decided not to make the same mistake twice and focused on my original plan ... being financially independent. This would require talking to Dave, so I went to see him once we arrived in Scottsdale. Of course, he wanted the full play-by-play on what happened with the girls.

  He sat back in his grey suede couch, pleasantly occupied as I progressively unfolded each step of the lengthy escapade. When I reached the part about my iPhone being stolen; he was no longer amused.

  "That's messed up man. You know Apple has a feature called Mobile-Me where you can track your phone even when it's turned off," said Dave.

  "Yeah, well I don't have it," I told him.

  "They don't know that," Dave replied with a crafty smile.

  "You just gave me a good idea," I said, even though the idea was really his.

  I was now going to call Summer and pretend like I really did have Mobile-Me, hoping to recover my phone with a bluff. If they did have my phone, then I'm a genius. If they didn't, then I'm an asshole. This was going to be a gamble.

  "Summer, I can track my phone even when it's off and it's showing up at your house right now," I confidently lied.

  "What? What do you mean? I don't have your phone!" Summer angrily replied.

  When being accused, if the subjects initial response is "What?" then it's typically a stalling tactic and most commonly a telltale sign they're hiding something. So I proceeded, but I had to go all-in.

  "Summer, I know you have my phone so you have two options. Bring the phone to me right now or wait for me to come to your house," I said, delivering my ultimatum.

  "I'M SORRY! I don't know how it got in her purse but I will bring it to you right now," explained Summer.

  She handed me the phone and I handed her $80 for gas. It was an awkward exchange and the prospects of sleeping with her in the future were dim, but I wasn't concerned; Dave and I were about to spend plenty of time in the field.

  A New Path

  Before beginning my adventures with Dave, I needed to handle some unfinished business. One item was yet to be scratched off my 'to-do' list, and her name was Jessica.

  As previously noted, Jessica was the seductive dancer who worked for the PussyCat Lounge, but did I mention how she thought I was the backup catcher for the Arizona Diamondbacks?

  I didn't tell her I played for the Diamondbacks, she just assumed I was guilty by association ... and maybe I failed to correct her.

  It's also possible I kept her presumption going with a backstory, besides, who was I to spoil her dreams? If she really wanted to know the truth, it was one Google search away; there was no Brad on the team.

  Lying to girls has an upside because it's remarkably easy and it also gets your foot in the door. Keeping up the lie, on the other hand, is entirely different. It's an obstacle that requires constant attention because all it takes is one slip-up and your cover is blown; as you will see.

  After weeks of text message maintenance, Jessica finally bit the hook and was on her way over to Justin's place to have a few drinks before joining us for a night on the town.

  She wore a sparkling and inflexible sequin dress that was bright yellow, with hair to match and tall black laced up heels. With Justin and his girl in the room, I probably wasn't the only one thinking she looked like a stripper.

  So far, I felt accomplished taking her from Step A (seeing her through the glass at work) to step B (having her come over). Victory was within reach.

  Then I saw a familiar look in Justin's eyes. Unlike his usual self, he wasn't smiling. In fact, it was the same look he gave me in Tampa when Natalia came over. Would he try to pull another power play?

  We all sat around the island in his kitchen making casual conversation, and then Jessica gave him an opportunity to strike.

  "So, do you have a game tomorrow?" Jessica asked me.

  Justin's eyebrows raised and his chin perked up. He quickly caught eyes with me, displaying his trademark shit-eating grin.

  "Brad doesn't have a game tomorrow, but I do!" he said loudly to Jessica, and turned to continue his on-going smirk.

  I should have known. Justin could marginally deal with me pulling good-looking women on a regular basis, but saying I played baseball crossed the line in his sand. I was hi-jacking his angle, and he didn't approve.

  He threw me under the bus and I was in crisis management mode. With my line snapped, I was forced to create a new identity. My options were limited and I scrambled to come up with something tangible on the spot. So I picked up Justin's French bulldog Lil Wayne, and became the guy who loves dogs.

  It was a far cry from playing in the major leagues, but I was hoping she–like most girls–had a sweet spot for animals.

  For the entire four hours we spent at various clubs, I refused to take her out of my sight. There was no way I could allow Justin to directly fill her in on my lie, and I knew he wanted to. The question was ... did she already figure it out?

  My answer would come once we retreated back to Justin's place at the end of the night and sat down together on his black leather sofa.

  "So, do you want to go upstairs?" I asked her.

  "I'm pretty tired. I should probably go home," Jessica responded.

  In summary, Justin sank my battleship.

  I awoke the next morning furious and soon began plotting my reprisal. After mapping out my strategies, I decided on a Blitzkrieg style attack, so I called Natalia and invited her to Arizona. The rest of my day was occupied sitting around the house, staying silent while I twiddled my thumbs waiting for my special forces to arrive.

  Natalia was one of a kind. She was perfect in every way; yet shy as if she was unsure of herself. I didn't need to lie to her, she knew exactly who I was and she also wasn't the type to use me to get closer to my friends.

  My war plans were forgotten once she arrived (even though they technically still worked). I was reminded why I wanted her there; I simply enjoyed spending time with her. Justin liked having her around too.

  Dave came with us to meet Justin's teammates in downtown Scottsdale. Bringing a top tier girl around a group of baseball players is like bringing fresh meat around a pack of wolves, except on this night, the meat was sealed (she wasn't interested in them). As expected, this caused bewilderment among the wolves; they looked at me like they wanted to say, "Who the hell is s
he and how the hell did you get her?"

  Most baseball players didn't like the sight of me with good-looking women, but I was used to it. The answer to their last question was simple – I have game.

  No matter who you are, what your status is, what car you drive or where you live – you must have game. Your game depends on how well you adapt to your environment. My competition held status, but I was heavily equipped with charm ... and charm is tough to beat.

  It also helps to be smooth with words, be (or seem) genuinely interested in their life and to separate one's self from the pack. This doesn't mean to place yourself above your competition; sometimes putting yourself below can work just as well; just make sure you're different.

  Natalia and I spent our last day at the Diamondbacks Fan Fest. Sometimes it comes down to a feeling of knowing a girl is right for you, and after spending the weekend together; I knew she was. She was also the first girl to break Liz's spell, and I thought there was great potential for us to have a real relationship. The only hindrance was our distance.

  I watched her fly away, and then moped over to Dave's house to play him in the FIFA soccer video game. Midway through locking up yet another victory, I received a unique text message.

  "6 years, $51 Million," wrote Justin, who was referring to the contract he just signed.

  "How does it feel to be a much richer man?" I asked.

  "I feel good!" he responded, quoting James Brown.

  I believed him. He was 22 years old with $51 Million dollars; this was a cause for celebration.

  Teammates, agents and friends gathered at JackRabbit in Scottsdale for the guest of honor. Meanwhile, I was convincing Dave to buy Justin a $500 bottle of champagne, which he agreed to do as long as I made the transaction. Moments later, the room suddenly lit up with sparklers, and the grand gesture backfired.

  Apparently when you spend that much on a bottle, the club deems it necessary to parade through the room with fireworks, which attracts unwanted attention for people who don't need or want to show off.

  "Who bought this?" Justin asked, in a grateful tone.

  "Dave," I told him, and then looked around for Dave who was nowhere to be found.

  Crafty Dave successfully lined me up to be the patsy. I had to hand it to him; the guy knew how to handle his personal PR.

  When I woke up the next day, a new reality was sinking in. I remember thinking Justin's life was going to change when he was originally drafted, but this new change was going to be even more drastic, and I wasn't sure if he recognized it yet.

  While I sat in the dark brown leather chair to his right, I watched people he hadn't talk to in year's call and text him. It was that very moment when I knew our relationship was going to change; no matter how much neither of us wanted it to.

  I didn't think he would change and I didn't think I would change – outside influence was going to change our friendship.

  I was the guy who held no punches with him. It was me who openly criticized his financial advisor, it was me who talked shit about one of his agents, it was me who advised him against shady deals and with $51 Million at stake; I was the first person they all wanted to get rid of.

  Without question, it was coming. I just didn't know what angle it would come from first – and it didn't take long to find out.

  Justin told me the girl he was dating, Ashley, wanted to come to the last spring training game with Dave and me at the Diamondbacks stadium. She joined us in the section of right field bleachers, which was recently named 'Uptown' after him.

  I already did a little bit of homework on Ashley through various contacts in Scottsdale, and I found out she was cheating on her boyfriend of 2 years when she first started seeing Justin. In fact, this ex-boyfriend of hers threatened Justin in a club once he found out, causing me to seek him out weeks later and counter-threaten him. Overall, it caused a problem, and whether it was right or wrong, I chose to question her about it at the game.

  "Why were you cheating on your boyfriend with Justin?" I directly asked.

  "What are you talking about?" she replied, and then faced forward.

  She was avoiding the issue, as predicted. Dave nudged me on the shoulder to let me know my line of questioning was too confrontational, but I didn't think so.

  This took place in the first inning; everything was normal for the rest of the game. In fact, she was laughing and joking with Dave and me on the ride home. Apparently all was good, or so I thought.

  She left once we got back to the house so Dave and I began playing FIFA on Justin's Xbox. An hour later, Justin showed up.

  "What the hell happened man?" said Justin, ACTING angry.

  I say acting angry because when he is actually angry, you will know. This is a guy known for slamming bats against his head and getting tossed out of games. It was far from organic, as if he were told he should be angry.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, unaware what he was referring to since Ashley didn't appear to hold a grudge.

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about! What did you say to Ashley at the game?" Justin asked, raising his voice, but far from his natural maddened state.

  Now I knew what she did. She acted like everything was fine, and then sent him in to ambush me. I would have approached it differently if Ashley showed any signs of being upset after the first inning, but she didn't, so I became infuriated.

  "I asked her why she cheated on that guy! Fuck her! You want a girl whose going to cause you to get in a fight when you go out? Is that what you want?" I fired back.

  "I'll be with whoever the hell I want to be with! That's not your call to make!" Justin told me, still not fully heated.

  "She acted like everything was fine! She was laughing with us on the ride home! And then she goes and complains to you?† FUCK HER!!!" I roared.

  "You know what, get the fuck out of my house! Go upstairs, grab all of your shit and get the fuck out!" demanded Justin, STILL not convincingly upset.

  Meanwhile, Dave was sitting five feet from our entire exchange, obviously enjoying himself. I stormed upstairs, packed my belongings and stomped my way back down.

  "Dave, I'll be at your house!" I announced, before slamming the door shut.

  Interestingly enough, Ashley ended up moving in with Justin the very next day. It was less than a week from the day Justin signed his contract; I'm sure it was just a coincidence. I suppose it was well played by her.

  Maybe I could have handled it differently and cooler heads would have prevailed, but that's not how I was with Justin; I always told him exactly what I was thinking on the spot. If I had another chance to re-do the argument, I would still repeat every last word I said to him; it was fun.

  Dave was well aware I wouldn't be moving back in with Justin anytime soon, so he laid down a few ground rules for living with him.

  "You have to keep the place clean, take care of my dog and one last thing no haircuts," said Dave, ending his demands on a humorous note.

  Instead of paying rent, we returned to the barter system that served as the initial catalyst to our friendship. He would continue my education into the world of computers, and I would continue my instructions on how to fearlessly approach women.

  He wasn't bad at it, nor was I computer illiterate; we were simply specialists in our own fields. I certainly valued his teachings more so than I valued my own, but assessment's are in the eye of the student. An untrained skill has a unique and incalculable worth to someone; it just depends who the person is.

  We also shared a determined willingness, or need, to further our own areas of expertise. Anything we pursued was a competition and it didn't matter if it was girls, websites or video games. Shamefully, the fiercest competition was brought on through the latter.

  Before starting our first day of studies in his home office, Dave went out and bought me a brand new Apple laptop. Instead of pestering him from the corner of his desk using his old laptop, I pestered him from the corner of his desk using my own.

  He taught me abou
t editing code, search engine optimization, sales techniques, networking, link building and countless strategies on how to build a business of my own. Dave gave me one piece of advice and once I applied it, he would give me another.

  Time management was of the utmost importance to him, more than anyone I've ever known. Dave was, at the time, running more businesses than I could even count, and those were just the ones I knew about. The bottom line was this; if he was going to help me, he needed to make sure his guidance wasn't going in one ear and out the other.

  On the flip side, if I were going to learn from him, it would require asking a lot of questions. My constant badgering had its ups and downs. He would either give me valued information or he would go berserk and tell me to leave him the fuck alone. No matter the result, I knew deep down he appreciated my persistence, which ironically, was the same persistence needed to be successful with women.

  After a few weeks, I started another website called PlayerSeason.com. It was a sports blog that never would have existed if it weren't for my altercation with Justin. Admittedly, I saw it as my avenue for influence in the sports world, and it was created with bad intentions; one of them being a tool for revenge against Evan Longoria. I may have forgiven him, but I never forget.

  On top of Dave's expertise, his friend Jiyan would stop in town between coast-to-coast conferences and teach me the finer aspects of public relations. He taught me about press releases and how essential they were for building a brand and ultimately getting my businesses off the ground.

  It was strange, just a year and a half before this I was asking a lady in Scottsdale for computer and PR advice. Now there were experts in both fields at my fingertips; it was almost as if my wishes were granted.

  Although Dave and Jiyan had steady career paths, their spousal relationships were much more turbulent. Before we could leave the house for a night out, Jiyan was forced to spend hours on the phone arguing with a mystery woman and Dave, well, he had his own volatile ex-girlfriend to deal with.