by Rita Ewing
“Actually, it was a joint offer to TCI and ITT, and though neither company has accepted as yet, they haven’t rejected the offer either,” explained Tom, looking every bit the Ivy Leaguer Brent knew he was.
“Wait a second, is that the same Hightower Enterprises that owns the Wolverine football team?” Jake asked, putting his cigar down.
“Yes, it’s all one and the same. Apparently Hightower is now interested in owning a basketball team. They’ve approached Hal with an offer to buy the Flyers.”
Coach Mitchell and Jake focused their attention on Tom at the head of the table as his words began to sink in. No one stared harder than Brent.
He felt as if his world were rocking around him.
“You can’t be serious, Hal. Sell the Flyers? The New York Flyers? You and your family have owned the team for fifty years. Why would you want to sell us—especially to Hightower?” Brent demanded. “The players, hell, the entire team, the Hirshfield history, would get lost in a conglomerate like Hightower Enterprises. And,” Brent continued, “let’s not fool ourselves; we’ve all heard the rumors about the racist asshole who runs that show. What’s his name? Leo or something like that.”
“His name is Leonard Hightower,” Hal said. “Listen, please be patient with me while I explain everything. There’s no way to make any of this look any better than it is, so just hear me out and try to understand exactly what is going on here. The Hirshfields have always supported ownership of the Flyers. Over the years the team has proved itself to be much more than just a fanciful whim of my grandfather, God rest his soul. The team turned out to be a damn good investment. But times have changed and so have many of the tax breaks and city financing programs. Today the team is barely running itself, and the operating costs are eating up whatever profits the team generates. I’m really left with few options.”
The conference room was thick with silence. The young Ivy League attorney cleared his throat and pushed his chair back from the table.
“This is really difficult for Hal. Maybe I can help put some of this into perspective. There is no way for Hal to continue operating the Flyers without a profit margin. The Hirshfield estate is subject to numerous trusts. Each trust has relevant conditions stipulating the rules and guidelines for using the funds. The funds allotted for ownership of the Flyers are regulated by the Flyers management, but only if the team operates at a profit. The moment the Flyers begin to cost more than they’re worth, the trust mandates the present owner to place the team on the auction block. In other words, even if Hal wanted to help run the team with his personal funds, the trust guidelines would not allow for this. This was done to protect all future Hirshfield heirs from having the principal of the Hirshfield estate invaded.”
“I don’t understand, Hal. This is ridiculous. I’m not about to sit back and let this happen. Maybe Hightower can manipulate you but he can’t touch me or my team.” Brent, usually cool and collected, was visibly upset and not willing to accept the idea of selling the team … the team he was captain of, the team he helped build into a championship contender.
“How much money are we talking about here? Can’t the players chip in and help out?” Brent looked to Coach for backup, but he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.
“Sorry, Brent,” Tom replied, “but your union rules don’t allow for active NBA players to have ownership of any NBA team. You’re either a player or an owner. You can’t be both.”
“Hal.” The agent waited for the older man to look at him. “Isn’t there some other viable option here? We’ve all heard rumors about Leonard Hightower. He’s an asshole and he doesn’t have an ounce of respect for athletes.”
Everyone in the room did a double take at Jake’s last comment, especially Brent. Even though Jake was one of the finest negotiators in the business, he was notorious for treating his basketball players like children in virtually every aspect of their lives. Brent was one of the few athletes who didn’t tolerate being Jakized.
“And,” Jake continued as he adjusted his Hermès tie, “he treats his other employees worse. He dictates to those around him and could care less about his employees or their families. Remember when the papers ran that story a couple of years ago about the coal miner from West Virginia who died in an accident in one of Hightower’s mines? Hightower got away with paying his widow a cash payment of tenthousand dollars in exchange for her signing away her rights to that poor guy’s survivor’s insurance policy, which was worth over a million dollars. And what about the two Wolverine football players that were waived from the team when they leaked those rumors to the media about Hightower’s support of the Southern Christian Coalition and David Duke? If you must sell, can’t you at least solicit other offers?”
Brent stared at Jake as his glasses shifted down on his nose and wondered why he seemed so concerned. It was not like him to take things such as personal or ethical issues into account. Brent had often found his agent ruthless—sometimes more than he felt comfortable with—and although Jake was not a racist, at least not overtly so, Brent knew he held his own stereotypes regarding athletes and the business of professional sports.
Then it hit Brent. Jake was dead set against a Hightower takeover because Leonard Hightower was renowned as a hard-ass negotiator. Since Jake currently represented four of the Flyers’ top players as well as Coach, he was protecting his own selfish interests. The last thing Jake wanted was a lethal battle when he went up to bat for his clients.
“Jake, actually a couple of other offers have floated our way, but each time we acknowledged receipt of the offers, they were withdrawn,” Tom explained. “We heard from a reliable source that Hightower has put the word out on the street that the Flyers are his and if anyone dares to get in his way, he’ll crush them.”
Coach cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “This all seems like a bad movie. Who does this guy think he is, the Godfather or something?”
Brent found the whole situation unbelievable. “I don’t even see why a good ole southern boy like Hightower would be interested in an urban, Yankee team like the Flyers. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you have money to burn and an ego that requires constant nourishment.” Hal clasped his hands together firmly and looked around the table with intense wizened eyes that were weighted down with more than the layers of age. “The bottom line is, I cannot afford to continue running the Flyers under the city’s present terms, and believe me, Hightower knows the position I’m in. Let’s face it, owning and operating a professional sports team in the Big Apple is big business. I’m certainly not getting any younger, and aside from a few spoiled nieces and nephews whom I love dearly, there’s not even a Hirshfield in line who would be interested enough to take on ownership of the Flyers. I believe it’s time to hand over the reins and let the team be run the way it deserves.”
Brent was shocked. He couldn’t accept Hal throwing in the towel, not on something as crucial as this. “Come on, Hal,” Brent began in desperation. “What if we could get all the guys to defer some of their salaries? Give you time to get things taken care of?”
“Brent, that’s very kind of you, but I would never ask any of the players to do something like that. You guys deserve every penny you get for what you bring to the city, and I know I shouldn’t admit this in front of Jake, but a few of you deserve even more than what you’re getting paid. I’d be doing you guys a disservice to hold on to the team, because there would be little room for expansion or increased salaries under the salary cap rules.”
Even though Brent held a B.A. in business from Duke University, he didn’t need it to know that his agent was ultimately concerned with the best business deal, no matter how it affected his players’ private lives. Brent watched Jake perk up at the mention of increased salaries and was not surprised when Jake asked Hal to explain the exact terms of the offer.
“Well,” Hal began, “Hightower Enterprises has offered an obscene amount of money for the team. And as much as I hate
to admit it, as far as my attorneys and advisers are concerned, that’s really the bottom line for them pushing me in this direction. But from what I’ve heard, Hightower plans on building a brand-new state-of-the-art arena, buying a new team jet, and offering a chauffeured car service for each player to and from the home games. We all know the Mecca is way past its day. We’ve needed a major renovation for the past twenty years.”
“Well, that sounds like the first good news I’ve heard today,” Coach Mitchell said with wide eyes. “I think he did that with the Wolverine football team.”
Hal looked over at the lawyer, and Brent noticed the silent communication between the two. Tom accepted his cue and once again performed Hal’s dirty work.
“There is one last part to this offer,” Tom began. “It’s probably the only negative part of the deal.”
“It can’t be any worse than having to work for Leonard Hightower,” Brent muttered.
“Hightower Enterprises plans on relocating the Flyers to Albany, New York,” Tom said, taking a deep breath.
“Oh, hell, no!” Brent shouted as his temples throbbed. He shot up from his chair and turned to Hal, enraged. “This is un-fucking-believable! Move the team? Hal, come on! It’s one thing to put us up for sale, but move the Flyers to Albany? You can’t even be considering that asshole’s offer. The fans would never forgive you and every local sponsor would pull out so fast, they’d leave our heads spinning. And you know what else. I can guarantee you, the players would never forgive you either. The Flyers are New York. You might as well ship us off to Siberia!”
“Brent, Brent, come on, that’s enough,” Jake said. “Let’s not get too upset. The Flyers haven’t been sold yet, and you know Hal would never do anything to hurt you guys,” Jake said in an obvious attempt to smooth things over.
“It’s not about whether or not Hal’s trying to hurt us. Nobody said Hal is trying to hurt us.” Brent jammed his hands in his pockets and started pacing back and forth behind the table.
He knew he had to regroup. The Flyers were not going to be sold. It couldn’t happen, not to his team. Brent began to feel fueled by his anger. Nobody was going to move the New York City Flyers. The city would be devastated by the loss. And although it wasn’t Brent’s main concern, most of his teammates would be hit hard in the pockets. Brent, as the captain of the Flyers, knew that he spoke for his teammates, who were conveniently excluded from this private meeting.
“How could it not hurt all of the players?” Brent started. “Besides the whole team’s life being turned upside down, which is hurtful enough, most of us have endorsement deals, some worth millions of dollars, that would be yanked away the moment we left Manhattan. Hell, we’re in the marketing capital of the world, and you think our being moved to Albany won’t hurt us?
Think again … And what aboutthe city? How much money does the city stand to lose if they no longer have a pro basketball team attracting thousands of people into the city three to four days a week?”
“If the city cares that much, then they should cut the Flyers some breaks, but they’re not doing that, Brent,” the lawyer said. “The city will only step in when it’s going to work in its favor and improve its public image. Hightower, on the other hand, has some major holdings in Albany. Hell, he probably owns the city. He’s guaranteed to make a fortune even if the Flyers’ profits suffer.”
Brent saw Coach come to attention at the mention of public image. Everything was about perception to the debonair Flyers coach, whether it be the image the ruthless New York City sports writers depicted of Coach Mitchell or how the other coaches in the NBA viewed him. Coach wanted to conduct his orchestra in only one way—his own. And he had to look perfect doing it.
“Improve its image, huh?” Coach began, running his manicured hands through his curly grayish blond hair. “So has the city offered any type of … of financial assistance?”
Tom looked again at Hal, but this time Hal spoke first. “Look, everyone, if I don’t turn a profit with the Flyers soon, my family estate will take any decisions about the team out of my hands. What Tom was referring to came out of a meeting with a couple of city officials last week. There’s no guarantee in it, though.”
“Hal, if there is something, anything, that the Flyers could do to avoid being sold, then damn it, tell us … please!” Whatever was in his power to keep the Flyers together in his city, Brent knew he would do.
“If, and some might consider it a big if the Flyers were to bring home a championship this year, the city would be amenable to financing fifty-five percent of the Arena’s operating costs and would issue a couple of municipal bonds to the Flyers which would decrease some of our major tax-related expenses.” Hal sat back in his chair and placed his hands on the table.
“As much business and revenue that we’ve brought to the city already, you mean to tell me that the city will only help us out if we win the championship this season, as in at the end of this season’s play-offs?” Brent asked.
“Afraid so, Brent,” Jake began. “It’s politics … The city might be nice enough to help us out of the kindness of its heart, but minus a championship, every department in the city would have something to say about it. Housing would be pissed off because they’ll claim that the funds should have gone to a housing development project. Welfare would cite their statistics and point out all the unemployed people the money could have gone to. Education will cite the ten city schools it had to close down last year because of insufficient funding, and so on. On the other hand, if we bring home the ring, we make enough people in other departments happy, like in transportation and tourism.”
“Hal, you know better than anybody what kind of team we have this year. It’s the best squad we’ve had in years … hell, since I’ve been a Flyer. I think we can really do it this year. I’m confident enough that we have the best team in the NBA. Can’t you wait until the play-offs are at least over to give Hightower his answer?” Brent asked, looking at Hal hopefully.
The weary owner of the Flyers locked eyes with Brent. “Listen, I don’t have to respond immediately to Hightower Enterprises, but I do know that the longer I take to accept their offer, the more risk I run of them withdrawing it. At least under Hightower’s ownership I could rest assured that the Flyers would have everything the team deserves.”
“Maybe in your eyes, Hal. But from a player’s point of view, this sucks. Working for someone like Hightower would be a nightmare. His ego is gigantic. And Lord knows we already have enough big egos in this business,” Brent said, envisioning Hightower’s abuse of them already. “Hightower would probably expect us to be at his two-year-old’s birthday party dressed in our uniforms shooting baskets with his drunk racist friends who’d call the police on us if they spotted us in their neighborhoods on any other occasion. It won’t work, Hal. People will get hurt and more than a few careers will be ruined before someone like Hightower tires of us and moves on to his next project. You know it just as well as I do. Stop trying to fool yourself into thinking you’re making the right decision.”
Hal looked down at his age-spotted hands. Brent noticed once again how old and tired Hal actually was. The lines in Hal’s face showed every one of his sixty-eight years, and Brent found himselffeeling sorry for the owner. Hal had always been there for him ever since the Flyers drafted him nine years ago. Unlike most of the other team owners, Hal had extended friendship to each and every New York Flyer. He had always maintained an open-door policy with the players. He even helped some of them out with personal problems.
But Brent couldn’t allow his concern for Hal’s health to override his concern for his teammates. “Hal, I’m begging you. Just hold off for a little while and let Coach and me take care of the team … please.”
Brent caught Coach’s eye for backup, knowing this added challenge would be right up his alley. Winning was everything to Coach, especially with such high stakes.
Hal looked hard at Brent and turned to Mike Mitchell. “Mike, are you with him on this?�
�
“Winning an NBA championship isn’t a new goal for me or Brent. Have a little faith in us. We might surprise you.”
Hal looked at his lawyer, who shrugged his shoulders.
Hal covered his face with his hands and took several deep breaths. Looking up, he said, “Brent, Mike, I’ll give you some time. I can’t say just how much time. Hightower is putting pressure on me to close the deal right away. But I’ll keep him and his sharks at bay for as long as I can.” Hal looked doubtful as he continued. “In the meantime, I wish you luck. You have a difficult task ahead.”
The next six weeks would be hell.
Chapter 4
Kelly was on fire. How dare Steve try to shut her out! Everyone knew the Flyers reserved their tickets to play-off games for their nearest and dearest. How did he expect her to see the game without giving her a ticket? She couldn’t simply go to the box office and purchase a ticket—play-off tickets to the Flyers games were the hottest items in New York City. Beyond that, even if she bought a ticket, her name would have to be on a special list in order to get into the Flyers Family Lounge—after all, she was still Steve’s fiancée!
At least she still boasted the rock he’d given her. She comforted herself with this thought for a moment, then her anger took fire again. What would the other wives think if she didn’t show up for the first game of the play-offs? Everyone was probably already wondering why she hadn’t been at Alexis’s breakfast. It would be doubly humiliating if she wasn’t at the first play-off game.
Steve was going to have hell to pay when she caught up with him!
She stood in front of her floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall mirrored closets, alternately pacing and staring at her own reflection—the face and body most men would kill to have for themselves. She needed to look especially hot tomorrow night. That was for sure. Steve was up to something. Probably he had invited one of his bitches to the game and he didn’t want to risk Kelly running into them and ruining their evening. Well, she had a surprise for him! She’d get into the Mecca if it was the last thing she did.