by Rasmuth » Sun Mar 31, 2013 3:15 pm
It's 10:37am, the 20th of May, my sister's birthday. I already sent her a check for $1000 as a gift, but I need to make sure I text her a few times today, let her know I'm thinking about her. I worry about her and Mom now, almost constantly. I know they are all right financially, but I just can’t keep them from my mind.
Funny thing is…I really barely know my baby sister. She's 13 years younger than me and by the time she was in 4th grade, I was long gone, trying to make my way in the world. I made a mental note to fly her down to Orlando and spend some real quality time with her. I think it would be good for both of us to close the distance between us.
I’m proud of my sister, despite the separation that exists between us. With my financial help she attended Choate Rosemary Hall in Wallingford, Connecticut, then Brown University and already has secured a nice job doing books for a decent sized law firm. I used to wonder why she was still lived at home at 24, but now I had to admit, it’s a relief knowing she’s there for Mom, and in turn, Mom for her.
My thoughts eventually return to last nights thrilling last second victory over New Jersey. Greg Oden is the toast of the town and it's nice to see something good happen for this much maligned former #1 draft pick. Every NBA fan knows his story, and also the series of injuries that have derailed his once so promising career.
Nevertheless he's carved a serviceable NBA history as a solid bench player who can provide an occasional spark of offense along with solid rebounding and a very effective defensive presence. He's an important cog in the Magic machine and the nicest of people. And despite his injury prone label, he's played every single game the past 2 seasons for us; though I’m sure he’d love to have more minutes on the court.
My mind is overwhelmed this morning. I just can’t stay focused on one train of thought. Thoughts of my Dad constantly overwhelm me, no matter what I’m doing or thinking. The adrenaline rush of last nights incredible win is still lingering in my veins, I just can’t find deep sleep, and that isn’t helping either. And I’m worried how this team will handle Carmelo’s injury.
Eventually I make my way across to the bar and refresh my morning OJ, making sure to top it off with an ample splash of spiced rum. I find it to be the perfect morning drink when coffee just won’t do. Hell, lately I find it to be the most perfect drink most of the time, that is when whiskey just won't do it.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and it convinces me I should perhaps shower and shave, but an unexpected brisk knock on my door interrupts that thought. I didn't recognize the knock and when I opened the door, I was surprised to find Magic owner Dick Amstar standing in front of me, dressed to perfection in an impeccably tailored suit.
"Hey Dick," I said, more calmly than I actually felt. I couldn’t help but wonder if something might be wrong. "Come on in," I added. It occurred to me, he'd never been to my office before. I always went to his, located on the top floor of this 25-story downtown building, eight floors above me. In fact, he occupies the whole top floor. Amstar came from a family of old oil money, he was filthy rich. But he wasn't the prototypical mindless heir irreverently blowing through the family's fortune. Amstar Oil expanded from a small regional player to the #2 largest oil conglomerate in the world under his successful reign and Amstar Trucking vehicles are a fixture on highways and roads all across North America.
When his interest turned to acquiring a professional sports franchise emerged, the NBA was his quickest route to achieve that goal and certainly it didn’t hurt his social standing in the Orlando community, where he now stands as a pillar of Orlando high society.
Amstar is rather refreshing, as owners go, leaving the business of basketball to the executives he hires to manage the franchise. He once explained to me: I know oil, that's my business; I'll leave the basketball business to people like you.
When he bought the team, Amstar didn’t like or even truly understand the game, but to his credit, whatever his motives for buying the team, Amstar is now a rabid fan of the NBA and his beloved Magic. He attends every home game and makes certain to walk the court during pre-game, mingling with players, fans and media. The citizens of Orlando love him. He’s an integral part of the business and social landscape. In many ways, he is the face of Orlando these days.
Amstar entered my office and after a quick, expressionless scan of the room, he drifted to the wall decorated with my personal basketball photos.
“Can I get you something to drink, Dick?” I asked after draining my rum and orange juice.
“Sure,” he answered, not taking his eyes off the wall, slowly and methodically moving from photo to photo. “Just pour me whatever you’re having.”
I arched an eyebrow in surprise, but didn’t question. After all, he’s the boss. After mixing the drinks I walked over and handed him his glass.
“You certainly have a keen eye behind the camera,” he stated honestly. “Someday you should publish a book of your basketball photos. These are quite good. I think NBA fans would eat this stuff up, pay a pretty penny for something of this kind of personal nature, especially if you wrote anecdotes or stories about each photo.”
I’d never given my photos much thought, though I did find the concept somewhat intriguing. I’d have to give the idea more thought, later, down the road.
“How many photos are here?” he said, gesturing towards the wall.
I hesitated, trying to remember the last time I’d counted. “Seventy-six I believe,” I answered tentatively, “though I rotate photos in and out periodically." So few make the cut,[I] I thought.[/I]I literally have tens of thousands of images saved on DVD and backup drives.
“I especially like this one,” Amstar said, pointing to a 12 x 18 inch image of Carmelo, his arm draped around Daymeon Morrison, both of their faces beaming with broad, natural smiles. The 17 year veteran and the teenage rookie, together, both covered with the glistening sweat of NBA action. In my opinion this picture captured the pure essence of this year’s Magic club, the uncanny relationship between all the players on this team. The picture was my latest addition to the wall and it was one of my favorites too.
I smiled as I remembered that night. It was Daymeon’s first NBA game; the kid was a bundle of explosive energy overwhelmed with excitement and nervousness. When he made the bucket it was such a huge relief to the kid, you could see his confidence begin to grow from that moment.
After a slight hesitation, I spoke. “I took that one just after the kid made his first NBA basket. If you remember he was fouled on the shot too,”
“Missed the free throw, as I recall” Amstar said as he turned, smiling. “That kid has certainly captured the hearts of our fans, especially youth and teenagers. Do you know he has the second fastest selling jersey behind Carmelo’s captains’ jersey? Hard to believe he’s just 19 years old. ”
I shook my head, amazed how someone’s fortune could change so swiftly. Daymeon even recently appeared on some live kid’s award program on Nickelodeon. I’ll admit it’s not my cup of tea, but it was funny seeing the kid get soaked with nasty green goo.
Amstar raised his glass and downed a healthy swallow of his drink. A slight expression of surprise crossed his face. “Ah yes,” he said thoughtfully, the slightest of southern accent detectable in his phrasing. “I’ve never understood why this combination is so criminally ignored in our country.” He took another long drink, draining his glass, the ice clinking as he finished. “Don’t know if you are aware of this,” he said, handing his glass to me, clearly wanting a refill. “They call this drink a Cuban Screw, and I can attest from personal experience in Havana, the two words are a perfect match for each other.” He turned to me and clicked twice between his teeth and winked.
I nearly coughed while sipping my drink. He’d never shown anything less than a professional manner in our dealings, except for my father’s funeral, where he was surprisingly genuine and dispirited.
“You’ve been to Cuba?” I asked, a bit in awe.
Amstar nodded. “I have certain connections down there, strictly business mind you. I don’t care for the politics and corruption much. I even met Fidel once and to be honest, I wasn’t impressed. He seemed a bit of a self-absorbed oaf to me, but to each…his own.”
I’ll admit…I was a bit stunned. “That’s amazing,” I finally said.
A broad smile crossed his face. “I’ve never been anywhere else like it. Oh the stories I could tell, but that’s for another time and another place.” Amstar’s face suddenly turned serious. “Listen Crash, I’m terrible sorry again about your father, he was a good man.”
“He certainly was” I managed to say, after polishing off my drink. I turned to the bar and refilled both drinks, a bit stronger this time.
The sting of my father’s death still stabbed painfully, just hearing him mentioned filled me with anguish. I wouldn’t show it outwardly, but I certainly felt it.
The sad thing is he would have relished last night’s game, especially the second half charge by Orando to snatch the game from the confident Nets. He would have loved the poetic irony of Greg Oden’s last second heroics and the resulting small taste of redemption for Oden and his sadly disappointing career. He would have loved telling anyone who would listen that Kenny Horton is the best player in the NBA that nobody knows about, or pays attention to. (I do agree with that statement.)
I handed Amstar his refreshed drink and he promptly swallowed a mouthful and cleared his throat. “Did you know that I lunch or dinner with your father a dozen or so times since you’ve worked for this organization? I even had dinner at your family’s home in Connecticut one night after I concluded some business in New York City. I truly enjoyed his company. We were cut from the same cloth so to speak and being from the same generation, we just had a lot in common.”
I must have looked like a complete idiot standing there with my mouth hanging wide open. “I had no idea,” I finally said.
Amstar smiled. “He was awfully proud of his son, and I’ll say this, Crash…I see a lot of him in you. There is no doubt you are your father’s son.”
I didn’t know what to say and I’m sure Amstar noticed I was fighting back tears. The grief was still so fresh and raw.
Sensing this, he changed the subject. “What’s the word on Carmelo, it’s the prime reason for my visit this morning.”
He could have called or exchanged texts or emails as is the usual case, but he understood the Captain’s importance to this team. He wanted to know now, not later.
I sighed wearily. The phone call from the team doctor nearly forty minutes ago was frustratingly vague.
“It’s his sore calf; he really strained it quite badly. He’s in a lot of pain and it really stiffened up overnight. He’s having a hard enough time just walking and bottom line, he’s done for the rest of this series. Beyond that, it’s just conjecture.”
Amstar shook his head. “I’m surprised that calf held up this long, it’s been nagging him nearly all season.” Amstar could see a measure of surprise in my eyes. He smiled. “I read the reports too, Crash.”
“I’m sorry, Dick,” I said. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything.”
Amstar laughed, raising his empty hand in a friendly gesture. “No worries, Crash,” he said. “I may own this club, but as long as you are the General Manager, this is your club.”
I could see in his eyes he meant it, but I saw there was something else on his mind.
“Crash, I know I said I’d leave the basketball business to you, but I’ve had an idea nag at me for a while now and I figured I’d run it by you.”
“Shoot,” I said casually, but I couldn’t help feeling a slight pit of dread in my stomach, wondering what he had in mind.
Amstar started slowly, choosing his words deliberately. “Carmelo’s reputation has certainly improved since his early days in the league. Wouldn’t you say?”
I nodded in silent approval.
Amstar swallowed another pull from his drink. “But I’ll admit, I’ve been surprisingly impressed with every aspect of the man, from his game on the court, to how he conducts himself off the court…and everything in between.”
My stock in Amstar rose another notch as the conversation continued.
“Heck, son,” he said. “I”ll keep it straight and simple. I think Carmelo would be an asset in the Magic organization after his playing days are done.” Amstar lifted his glass and polished off what remained of this drink, a slight smile across his lips. “He’s smart and he’s a guaranteed future NBA Hall of Famer. Having him linked to our organization is nothing but a win-win.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said confidently. “Now you know why I brought him here in the first place. I saw Carmelo’s potential all the way back in New York.”
Amstar arched his eyebrows, looking at me closely. “But you traded him off your squad almost immediately.”
“That,” I said coolly, “was strictly business…nothing more, nothing less.”
Amstar stared at me, perhaps a bit incredulously. “It’s a ruthless business most of the time, things change so quickly. We terminate careers, end dreams, trade people as carelessly as cattle. There’s an awful amount of stress and pressure.”
I spoke clearly and deliberately. “I respectfully disagree,” I said, shaking my head. “We strive to win, we pursue glory, we fulfill dreams, we chase championships, we embody a city and…we make money.”
He stared at me again. I could almost hear him mentally calculating, a slight smile cornered his lips. “Yes, you are correct,” he finally said. “Indeed, we do make lots of money.”
“In regards to Carmelo,” I finally said, putting the conversation back on track. “I’ve already promised him a position in the organization and he’s verbally committed his agreement. Though he did clearly state his intent to play one more season, fulfill the last year of his contract. I think he needs this one last season to fully come to terms with the end of his basketball career. It’s all he’s known his whole life.”
I could see Amstar was clearly surprised and impressed by my announcement, though he recovered and handled it like the professional he is. “That is excellent news, Crash, but do me just one favor, will you?”
“Sure,” I said.
Amstar raised his glass, gulping nearly half the drink down, a wince across his face. “Get that verbal agreement in writing, as soon as possible.”
I nodded approvingly, while swallowing the remainder of my drink.
“Another drink?” I asked.
Amstar nodded favorably, handing me his glass.