Marek
As the Pilots’ general manager, I effectively run day-to-day business and financial operations for the team. I’m one of those weird people who love to crunch numbers, but I’m also a people person.
Most of the time.
I’m also luckier than most of my league counterparts because I’ve been given carte blanche by the team’s sole owner, Marvin Spurlock, to manage the operation as I see fit. Marvin’s an incredibly smart man who made his first million by the time he was twenty. He now spends his retirement building empires and a collection of professional teams. His portfolio not only includes the Pilots, but also the Vancouver Vikings hockey team.
One of the things I most admire about the man is he’s an equal opportunity businessman. Over the past several years, he’s been grooming his niece Karis, his sister’s daughter, to someday take over his sports businesses. I’ve met Karis several times, and I like her style. She’s young, having just graduated with an MBA, but has a good head for numbers and is extremely mature for a young woman her age. The only downside with Karis is it takes her a while to warm up to people. Where Marv is incredibly gregarious with a strong likability factor, Karis can come across as stern and standoffish.
I’m sure things will change in the future as we begin working more closely together more frequently. With Marvin, he keeps his distance and only weighs in when he has a strong opinion either way. Like last year, when things spun out of control for our star player, Zeke Forester.
Marv and I met and agreed we had to give Zeke an ultimatum—get help or get out.
Being a heavy-handed leader doesn’t come naturally to either Marv or me, but in this case, I cared about the mental health and well-being of Zeke and didn’t want to watch him ruin his life as he battled to gain control over his crippling mental illness and depression. Not if we could do something about it.
Which we could. We offered to send Zeke to a renowned sports psychotherapist, Dr. Kendall Rush. Not only did he benefit from treatment, but he walked away with a new lease on life, a fiancée, and a baby. Everything happens for a reason.
I wish I could accept that in my own personal life and the way it blew up on me two years ago. Without warning, I went from a happy marriage with a beautiful woman I’d been with since college, on the cusp of a new life and career in Seattle, to taking a hard nosedive into a place I never expected to find myself.
Divorced.
It was the darkest period of my life. A tough pill to swallow, especially when I felt we could’ve worked through it together. Jasmine, for her part, felt differently and did something to force me to see her in a different light.
Following that loss, I was plagued with constant questions in press conferences about my divorce. It was that insatiable appetite for voyeurism into my personal life that turned me against the press. Which sucked because, as the new GM at the time, I needed the press to deliver my message to the fans. My role as the team’s face to the public was a necessity, but it became my nightmare. I just couldn’t stomach it anymore. I began to dread those press conferences and all the microphones and news cameras in my face.
So, I took control and stopped bending over backwards to accommodate them. I only granted interviews to a select few I knew would stick to the script of game and team-related questions and wouldn’t venture into personal territory to feed their curiosity.
Which has me wondering why I’m still thinking about Harper, whom I left standing in the parking lot, rain running down her hair and jacket, looking dejected.
Okay, I admit it. I feel bad about my behavior. She didn’t deserve to be the recipient of my frustration over my past resentment of the press. But how am I supposed to know if she’s telling me the truth about what she wants to cover? She is a journalist, after all, and she’s looking for something. A piece of me. An exclusive scoop. An angle to sell her story.
I’m just not willing to let myself be vulnerable again. To see my name splashed up on the headlines for something that’s not basketball related. I didn’t sign up for this scrutiny into my private life. I am not some kind of celebrity who craves attention.
Still, I am curious about Harper. She said she was with a station in Spokane. I dial up Glen Roberts, our head of PR and Media Relations, to see what he knows about her.
“Glen speaking,” he answers professionally, although he knows it’s me calling through our inter-office phone lines.
“Glen, Marek here. I’ve got a question for you about a reporter sniffing around.”
I can hear him shuffling papers. “Sure, what do you want to know?”
I clear my throat which suddenly becomes itchy when I try to speak.
“Her name is Harper Conrad. She’s from a station in Spokane. I honestly don’t remember which one.” I’d given back her business card and now, through my haze, don’t recall the station name listed.
There’s a pause, and I hear clicking. “Hmm, I’ve never met her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her or her name at any of our press conferences. Let’s see…she does have press credentials. Been with KXEM for five years. Before that, she was in the Tri-Cities. She doesn’t have a very large body of work. Covered a few minor leagues in the Tri-Cities and college ball in Spokane. Why do you ask?”
That’s a really good question. Why do I even care?
I don’t. I don’t.
I DON’T.
“It’s not important. Thanks, Glen,” I offer, hoping to change the subject to our upcoming recruiting visits.
We began determining our interest in our top recruits at the end of each year, with our scouting stats guys providing daily reports for our review. Starting in April, as defined by the NBA rules which allow the league a quiet period, team coaches and scouts can begin their on-campus visits with draft hopefuls.
My coaching and scouting staff sat down in February and drew up our list of players we wanted to scout. We have one last group to visit before we finalize our list. I was expecting to receive an email and itinerary for our last round of visits from Noah. I ask Glen if he’s received it.