Page 82 of The Show

Jason Reese stopped talking. My grandfather poured himself a cup of coffee, leaned back against the far wall and sipped it. I took his raised eyebrows as a sign for me to finally take over.

“Thanks, Gramps.” Everyone’s focus shot back to me; the people directly in front of where I was standing were craning their necks so much I was tempted to advise them to go for a realignment after the meeting. “My name is Penn Shepherd; I am the new owner of The New York Lions. While Maypole may not have been quite as eloquent in his delivery, he was correct to say that the transfer of ownership was completed last month, with full awareness of the Commissioner’s Office.”

“How the fuck has he kept that quiet?” snarled someone to my right.

“Great, we just had a bored rich old man leave, and now some bored rich kid has come in to take over. Shoot me now,” Reese grumbled.

Murray smacked me on the back with a loud laugh. “Bored rich kid? Excellent! I’m so glad I cancelled my meetings for this. Can I record it for Rafe?”

I shot him a look that he correctly understood to meanno, he couldn’t record itand to shut the fuck up, which he did. He stayed where he was next to Beulah, both of them sporting a wide smirk.

The seat Maypole vacated had been tucked back under the table. I pulled it out and sat down. The waiter who’d poured Maypole his cup of coffee rushed to pour one for me.

“Thank you,” I took a sip and made a vow that my first port of call was to have the coffee replaced with better coffee. “Jason; may I call you Jason?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re only half correct there. I might be a rich kid, but I’m certainly not bored. Are you bored?”

“What?”

“I asked if you were bored. I’m asking because at last night’s game, you were in the dugout as the coach, because we somehow still haven’t found one. And at last night’s game, you missed an easy swap-out between Jones and Christenson, resulting in The Red Sox stealing a home run that lost us the game. Every time the camera panned to you, you weren’t paying attention. You were asking where Furst was - we parted ways with him last night. He’s made a series of terrible decisions this year, including not appointing a new coach, which is why I’m taking on his role.”

Jason Reese sputtered out a response I couldn’t understand, and I turned back to the rest of the table.

“I have loved the game of baseball since I was old enough to hold a bat. Since I witnessed Derek Jeter’s first home run back in April nineteen ninety-six, it became my dream to own a team with my dad. Iactuallywanted to own The Yankees, just like him,” I smiled over at my grandfather, catching his eye, “but I realized recently that there was something better than owning them, and that was building a team to beat them. Which is what I’m going to do.”

Mostly people stayed silent, though I did hear a couple of scoffs, a tut, and saw the Head of Stadium Operations roll his eyes.

I looked directly at Jason Reese. “One advantage of being a rich kid is that I come bearing gifts. I have money. And I…” I looked round the room, “we… are going on a shopping spree. I plan to strip the team and rebuild it. There are some decent players in free agency right now; I’m going to buy them, and I want your help.”

I was greeted with silence again. I had the impression they were still processing the last ten minutes of their lives. I picked my coffee up and sat back into the soft leather boardroom chair.

“Look, I understand this is not how you were expecting this meeting to go. If I’m honest, I wasn’t expecting it to go like this either.” I ignored Murray’s snickering. “I spent some time on the grounds yesterday, spent some time speaking to a couple of The Lions fans. They love this club, they’re loyal to the core, but they’re frustrated with the mediocre management and lack of care that’s been given to their team, and I agree. Therefore, it’s going to stop here. I am making a vow that this club will get the love it deserves, and if you’re willing to give me the chance, I want your help to rebuild it. I want to hear your thoughts on where we can improve. I also want to reassure you that all your jobs are safe, but if you want to leave, there will be no hard feelings. There’s the door.” I pointed to it.

“Getting rid of everyone is not how you win. You can’t do that,” said a voice who I think belonged to J.R. Branson, the Director of Player Personnel.

“Watch me.” I pushed out of the chair and stared them all down. “We have work to do before next season starts. There will be an internal announcement to all personnel and players at five-thirty p.m. tonight, and at six, the announcement of the ownership transfer is going out. By Monday lunchtime, I want lists on my desk of everyone you think is worth keeping, and everyone from the farm team you think is worth bringing up. It’s time for a shake-up. It’s time to turn this team into winners.”

I took one last look at my magnificent field before heading out the door. It was fucking glorious. My grandfather had already stepped out, followed by Beulah, and Murray, and I followed.

“Now where are you going?” asked a voice from the table; not sure whose.

“I’m going to find us a new coach.” I turned back to the room as my hand touched the doorhandle. “Make sure those lists are on my desk, all of you.”

I closed the door behind me, hovering for a second to see if there was a sudden uproar… but nothing.

“Rousing speech, J.F.K. You were only missing a fist pump in the air,” laughed Murray, when I reached the three of them at the end of the empty corridor.

I rolled my eyes. “It did the job. They know I was serious.”

“You need to get more women.”

I turned to Beulah. “Yes, I know. Marnie will be a start, then we’ll see about more.”

“Who’s Marnie?” asked my Grandfather.

“If I’m lucky, she’s going to be our new Director of Baseball Science. If I can get her to agree to leave N.A.S.A.”

My grandfather didn’t bat an eyelid, nor repeat the word N.A.S.A. like everyone else had.

“Excellent, Pennington, good to see you aiming high. Let me know if you need me to make a call. I know the Administrator.”

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