Page 2 of Love Game

The athletic director’s words faded to background noise as Kate surveyed the crowd crammed into the too-tiny conference room. Never in all her days as a player or a coach had she seen so many media outlets assembled in one spot. Well, maybe when she played in the Olympics, but certainly not here in America.

She didn’t see Musburger or Costas in the crowd, but National Sports Network had sent their golden boy, Greg Chambers. She hadn’t seen him live and in person in years. Something was up. Something juicer than an NCAA Women’s title.

A lump of apprehension formed in her stomach. Cameras whirred and flashes blinked like strobes. She shifted on the utilitarian metal folding chair and squinted into the glare of the portable lights set up on either side of the stage. Needing something to ground her, she reached out to touch the severed net dangling off the edge of the trophy. Ironic that something that usually hung nine feet off the floor should make her feel more secure.

“…Coach Snyder’s unwavering dedication to the Warrior athletic program is an inspiration to me and everyone who has known her as a player, leader, mentor, and role model.”

Kate plastered a gracious smile back on her face and promptly zoned out as Mike launched into the usual spiel. She didn’t need to be reminded of her accomplishments. The proof of her hard work and determination sat front and center on the table.

The Wolcott University Warrior Women were the national champions, and she, Kate Snyder—Wolcott alumna, WNBA all-star, and Olympic gold medalist—was the one who’d led them there. Again.

This was her moment. The net-draped trophy was her third Division I championship as a women’s basketball head coach. A stat that placed her a half dozen wins behind the current king—Geno Auriemma, from the University of Connecticut—but next in line after her idol, the late, great Pat Summitt, in the record books.

A banner achievement. One more personal milestone. She just never imagined it would garner this much press attention. Kate drew a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves making her heart stutter-step, and tuned back into what the AD was saying.

“Kate Snyder is the personification of the title ‘Coach.’ Grace under pressure and the instincts of a born champion…”

His voice held a slightly too-enthusiastic edge. Kate shot him a curious glance. Mike was a former NFL player turned collegiate program builder. Women’s basketball probably wouldn’t have even registered on his radar if his first gig as athletic director had landed him anywhere but Wolcott. But the Warrior Women held the only bragging rights the university had reaped in decades. That meant it was time for Mr. Former Football Star to suck it up and sing the praises of women’s hoops.

“We are honored that Coach Snyder continues to call Wolcott University home…”

Ah, a shot across the bow. Her contract was up this year. He knew it, she knew it, and the handful of people in this room who actually cared about women’s basketball did too. Kate Snyder was no longer willing to be treated like the protégé she’d once been.

No more jokes about the salary differential between her and her male counterparts being her contribution to the alumni fund. If Mike thought he could bamboozle her with a charming smile and a hefty dose of sentiment, he had another think coming. She was done shooting from the outside. He’d better be prepared to pay her what she was worth or be ready to take a charge, because she was coming at him straight down the middle.

“Kate Snyder is the epitome of a warrior, and I, for one, am damn glad to have her on my team.” He turned his smooth-operator smile on her. “Coach, on behalf of the Warrior nation, I congratulate you on another fantastic season and thank you for doing us proud.”

The two of them exchanged smiles and nods. She reached out to touch the net again, and a barrage of flashes nearly blinded her. Kate hoped the cameras captured every morsel of Mike’s sincerity. Her agent was most likely recording the press conference, but Kate wanted to be sure they had a good record of the depth of his gratitude. Those things were easy to forget once contract negotiations began.

“Thank you, Director Samlin.”

Squashing the rising tide of nervousness building inside her, she scanned the crowd, looking for a friendly face to focus on while she gave her statement. She didn’t need to look any farther than the front row.

Jim Davenport from the Sentinel held his micro recorder pointed directly at her. She stifled a smirk when she noted the grim expression on his face. It seemed out of place. Jim was Wolcott’s hometown sports reporter and a die-hard basketball junkie. You’d think that would make him the friendliest face of all, but no. He frowned every bit as fiercely as he glared at the other reporters, clearly peeved by the additional media coverage. Why hadn’t he been out on the court?

A hot flash of annoyance fired in her gut. Jim ought to be happy. He was the guy with the inside track after all. He should have been the first clamoring for a quote. Pushing through her irritation, she ignored Jim’s snit and scanned the room until she landed on the familiar face of Steve Bishop from one of the Nashville news affiliates. When their gazes locked, she turned on her brightest smile and dredged up a little of the drawl she’d never quite shed.

“And thanks, y’all. My, I never imagined a turnout like this. I thought I’d just let y’all catch a couple of pictures of the new hardware and then hop on the bus.”

Her comment was met with a low rumble of chuckles. Though she’d been dealing with the press for years, it still took her some time to get her feet under her at media events. She zoomed in on Jim for a moment, allowing herself to dally in her comfort zone before making eye contact with the bigger sharks in the tank.

“I appreciate Director Samlin’s praise, and trust me, I’ll be playing that sound bite over and over on my DVR,” she added, flashing her boss a cheeky grin. “But I’m not the one who won the game, am I?”

Lifting a challenging eyebrow, she turned her attention to Greg Chambers. She hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing the National Sports Network’s lead basketball commentator since she’d been in the WNBA and he’d been hanging around the sidelines hoping for a quote. Well, she had one for him now.

“Most of y’all didn’t expect much out of us this year, and I want to thank you personally for giving these twelve phenomenal young women the kick in the long baggies they needed to get the job done. Just imagine: if we’d believed our own press, we could have been watchin’ the game from home.”

The press corps gave another appreciative chuckle, and she plowed ahead, confidence growing. “Then again, if we were watching from home, we would have had snacks.” She pressed a hand to her stomach and grinned at the assemblage. “I don’t suppose anyone thought to bring us any Ro-Tel dip? Maybe one of those six-foot sub sandwiches?”

That earned her a heartier round of laughter, but it was laced with discomfort she couldn’t quite identify.

“Of course, it’s also nice to be able to wrap this one up so close to home. The Music City has been awful good to us, but I hope that the good people of Nashville won’t be offended when I say I think we all look forward to sleeping in our own beds tonight.”

She went on to praise a few individual players for outstanding performances and heaped the usual load of “I couldn’t do it without you” on her assistant coach, but still an undercurrent of impatience hummed through the room. Reporters tapped pens and repositioned equipment. Onlookers gathered along the walls shifted their weight from foot to foot. Her words came slower, but her mind raced.

Was she missing something? Forgetting to thank someone critical to the process? Was her blouse buttoned correctly? Or maybe she was committing the kind of unwitting gaffe that would turn her into an internet GIF before the evening was out?

Watching the crowd warily, she wound down with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I guess that’s all I have to say.”

---