Page 7 of Wild Catch
I collect myself while clearing my throat. “Posts on TikTok and Instagram that prominently feature the players are the most viewed, liked, shared, and commented on by far. Unfortunately, much more than replays or team advertising.”
“What kind of posts?” one of the marketing managers asks.
“Interviews, Q&As… just anything that shows their personalities,” I explain.
“Hmm.” She leans back in her chair. “That’s great but we need to make sure that whatever we do is to grow the Orlando Wild brand, not the individual players.”
“And yet it’s the players who are popular,” says one of the promotions folks, speaking truth to power. He makes a very indiscreetahem. “Especially the lookers.”
I freeze in the middle of a smile. I was just about to agree when that reminded me of something. Or rather someone.
The lookers. This is the designated name that the marketing team has for the most handsome players in the Orlando Wild. And boy, is this team blessed with some outstanding specimens.
Sure, we historically we haven’t been the best team but no one, not even the most spiteful internet troll, can deny that we pack the top hotties of the league. And at the very top of them is…
Logan Kim.
The guy I spilled all my embarrassing secrets to in a moment of anger.
Thus, the guy I’d love to avoid for the rest of my life if I could. Except he’s the most popular player across all our social media.
In fact, this one time I posted a five second clip of Logan removing his mask after tagging out a runner, and I don’t know if it was the sweat dripping from his skin or the fact that he had some hair plastered on his face, but he ran his tongue across his lips as he smirked down at the runner.
That was last year’s most viral video on our TikTok account, and it was only surpassed this year by Cade Starr’s interview about his ideal woman.
Dave places his elbows on the table and leans forward. “And that’s why my proposal is to use the lookers to increase the value of the Orlando Wild brand. We need to create a lot more content centering them.”
“Thirst traps?” a woman from the digital content team asks with a sly smile.
“Yes,” Dave hisses in a dramatic voice. “Thirst traps with the Wild logo everywhere. That’s how we cement the brand.”
I choke in the middle of taking a coffee sip, which brings a lot of attention to me. One of the managers points at me with her pen. “Rosalina, can we trust you with the thirst traps?” She seems to be as on the verge of laughter as half of the other people around the conference table.
The other half appear to be annoyed that this is really part of our jobs.
“I—uh. Yes.” I set my cup of coffee down so I don’t spill it on myself.
“Just make sure they’re approved first, okay?”
That’s a clear dig at me going a bit rogue last week to help Hope.
Yeah, it set me back professionally. I didn’t need Dave’s approval for anything before this but now I’m on probation. So, would I do it again?
Abso freaking lutely.
As a broadcast journalism major turned social media manager, I know the power that media holds.
As a huge baseball fan who is a woman and now works for a professional baseball team, I also know how little power women have in this world.
If power is a bit like video games where certain activities drain it and others replenish it, my actions basically depleted my reserves. I have to build them back up, and that means running absolutely every thought by my boss from now on.
I’m more than willing to play that game because I’m here for the long haul, until one day I’m the face of the team during live broadcasts. Me, a mixed Afro Latina.
Go big or go home and all that.
“Trust us, we know that.” My boss slices the air with his hand to drive the finality of the point home. “Now, can we talk about Mexico?”
I stand corrected. I thought that everyone was buzzing about how well the team’s been performing this week, but everyone turns from interested to electrified at the mention of Mexico.
