Page 188 of The Right Move

“No,” Ethan says into the microphone even though the question was directed at me. “He’s signed here for three more seasons. He’s not going anywhere. Anyone got a question for me? I’m here too, you know.”

A small chuckle settles among the crowd, taking some of the weight off my chest, but it doesn’t last long.

“Shay, do you feel the burden to be on at all times? To constantly be perfect?”

Ethan eyes me again before leaning forward to take over this press conference.

“Yes,” I say before he can stop me. “I feel the burden every day.”

Those words echo off the mic as the reporters go eerily quiet at my candor. I’ve never been so honest with the media in my life.

“I love this team and even more, I love this game. But for the past four seasons, part of me despised it. There’s been a constant pressure to not show any weaknesses, to not let you all know how scared I am to fail or to let this city down.”

The last reporter who asked a question takes a seat alongside his peers. Cameras continue to roll, and heads are buried in notepads as they jot down my statements.

Clearing my throat, I sit up and closer to the mic. “There’s this insane pressure in professional sports to be perfect at all times. To be a machine. I have thousands of people watching my every move to see if I’m worth my salary, and I can’t complain. I have the best job in the entire world, and I love our fans, but I am human. As much as I tried to convince myself I wasn’t, I am. I make mistakes. I have bad games. I miss important shots and I beat myself up over those failures more than any fan, coach, or GM would.”

Ethan adds an encouraging squeeze to my shoulder just as I catch Ron Morgan’s attention, standing in the back of the room.

“I’ve done some outrageous things to convince others I’m the right man for the job.” I take my eyes off Ron, returning them to the media. “And even more so, I convinced myself of things in order to believe I could be this machine who doesn’t lose his cool, who isn’t scared to fail. I’ve cut out friendships and relationships. I’ve isolated myself, and all it’s done is taken this game I love and turned it into something I resent.”

I clear my throat again when the room remains silent.

“My first two years in the league were some of the hardest of my life. Ticket sales were through the roof and my jersey was selling like crazy, so what’s there to complain about, right?” I chuckle a humorless laugh. “Fuck, those years sucked. I was in a dark place. Being new in the league was a wakeup call that I was no longer a man, simply an asset, and I didn’t handle the realization well at all. I’ve been lying to y’all for years. I feel the pressure every fucking day, but this season, for the first time in a long time, the game has been fun again.

“So, yes, I hope we win tonight, but the sun will still rise if we don’t. I’ll still have my family and friends and teammates if we don’t. And I hope I don’t get traded because I fucking love this team and I love this city, but that’s out of my control. So I’m going to go out there tonight and try my best while I have some fun with my guys.”

I stand from my seat, with a wave. “Thanks.”

There’s a blanket of noise behind me, reporters calling out my name, cameras flashing, but I don’t stop and turn around. I take off down the private hall blocked by security.

Ron enters into the hall through a side door. His back is to me, unknowing I’m behind him as he starts down the walkway.

“Mr. Morgan,” I call out, jogging to meet up with him. “Sir.”

He stops, turning on his dress shoes, his pressed suit perfectly in place.

“I apologize if what I said in there causes the organization any grief.”

He shakes his head, confused.

“I know that’s not really on brand for me to admit those things, but—”

“Thank God you finally did.” He laughs. “That’s the Ryan Shay I’ve been wanting people to see all these years. That’s the Ryan Shay I scouted out of college. It’s good to see him again.”

He smacks my shoulder, turning down the hall again.

“Are you trading me if we lose tonight?” I call out.

He laughs so loudly it echoes off the empty hallway walls.

“Hell no. I’ve got the best point guard in the league. Hell, maybe the best point guard the game has ever seen and he’s on my payroll. You think I’m giving that up? Not to mention, you’re kind of growing on me, kid.”

As I stay silent, Ron eyes me curiously before continuing.

“This probably isn’t what any profitable General Manager would say, but I’m not worried about the scoreboard. I want guys that want to be here. That enjoy their teammates. I want the rest of the league to look at the Chicago Devils organization and wonder how they could get traded here because the guys who play for me love their jobs. That is what’s going to win us a championship. That is what’s going to make us successful, and Shay, for the first time in five years, I think you might love your job.”

“I do, sir.”

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