Page 92 of More Than Chemical
Finally, she ended by telling the jury, “This, members of the jury, is what corruption in college hockey looks like.”
Gray stood, and I straightened.
He buttoned the top button of his jacket, came out from behind the table, and stood there, somber, engaging. He had a presence about him. A you-can-trust-me-to-tell-you-what’s-really-going-on-here posture.
“Thank you, members of the jury, for coming today.” Gray took the time to make eye contact with each person in the jury box. “We know there are other places you would rather be, but your service this week is greatly appreciated and wholly recognized.” He paced away from the lectern and then back again. “Let me start this morning by stating something that needs clarification. I’m not going to waste everyone’s time pretending that money was never wired to families of athletes. Because it was. There is evidence. What I am going to explain to you is that the NCAA has rules, created by members of their organization. But these rules—these NCAA-derived rules—are not the laws of our country. The NCAA is run much like a youth soccer league, if that soccer league brought in millions of dollars each year. Millions of dollars they have no interest in sharing. And these rules…they are equivalent to the rules in your homeowners association. If you break them, you haven’t broken the law.”
I straightened a little. It was a good start. I’d give him that.
As I scanned the jury, I noticed they were all middle-aged except for one girl who looked like she’d just stepped out of an EDM nightclub with her fake-animal-fur collar, tight dress, and dark eye makeup.
“Because, members of the jury”—he raised a hand in the air and shook it—“that is exactly what happened here. My client, David Bianchini, may have broken the rules of an athletic organization, but he did not commit a crime.” Gray walked to the table and picked up a white sheet of paper. “The boosters who were mentioned by the prosecution just now weren’t from a youth booster club raising money from raffle tickets. The mentioned booster is a billion-dollar company. While the NCAA allows colleges to be sponsored by Fortune 500 athletic companies, they do not allow athletes being recruited by the college to be paid by the sponsors to play. Sure, there are the name, image, and likeness contract rules now in place, but those NIL rules cannot induce an athlete to enroll in or stay at a particular school. So, let’s sift through this. What kinds of companies are we talking about here, who sponsor colleges?” He looked down at the piece of paper to read names. “Nike, Adidas, Under Armour. As you very well know, these companies are interested in the athletic success of the colleges they sponsor.”
He waved the paper in the air. “What happened here is exactly that. Achilles Incorporated, a billion-dollar company and sponsor of Minnesota University, wired money to families of top players so they would attend a specific school. It was a win-win-win situation that benefited all parties involved—the university by securing highly ranked athletes, Achilles Incorporated by placing top players at Achilles-sponsored schools and the athletes and their families by receiving the money.”
He returned the paper to the table.
The jury stared back at him, seeming mesmerized. He really did know how to speak to them to keep their full, on-the-edge-of-their-seats attention.
“Of course a coach might appear to be culpable in some way. Coaches are the ones trying to find talent for the team, but they’re also the ones who care deeply about the welfare of their players.”
He paused and shifted his weight from the front of his toes to his heels. “Let’s be clear here, folks. The money given to these families wasn’t David Bianchini’s money. He never asked anyone for money. It wasn’t university money. The evidence will show that the money that was wired or attempted to be wired to the families of players was from Achilles Incorporated.”
My face was burning, hot and steamy.Wow.Could the overachieving prosecutor be wasting everyone’s time and public resources on my father? Could it be the big, bad, wealthy corporations that were to blame?
“Members of the jury”—Gray’s voice was louder now—“if my client never gave his recruits money, never asked anyone to give his recruits money, then how can he be guilty?” He lifted his arm and pointed at Dad, which also meant he was pointing at me and my mom. I sank back a little.
“Rather, he is a loving husband, a supportive father, and a devoted coach.”
I kept my face as motionless as I could.Supportive fatherwas debatable.
Gray squared his shoulders and turned back to the jury, who were now looking at me as I shrank in my seat. “My client isn’t guilty of a crime. The only thing he is guilty of is trying to be the best coach he could possibly be.”
He walked back to his chair and sat down with a flourish.
Dad pulled his shoulders back into place.
My immediate instinct was to stand and cheer. Let loose a shout and a whistle. I loved Gray.
But wait. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Quickly, I tamped down my emotions like I was being rolled over by heavy machinery used to flatten dirt.
There was a lunch break. The jurors retired to whatever room existed behind the wall, and the judge went to her chambers.
Mom whispered to me, “I think things are going really well.”
I nodded. I didn’t know what to think, what to feel. The district attorney’s opening had been convincing, but Gray’s had been so good.
After lunch, court resumed. The jury looked refreshed and ready to do their job. Judge Thomas looked on passively.
The prosecutor stood up at her table. “Your Honor, the US would like to call our first witness to the stand.”
The judge nodded.
I heard the doors creak open.
“The prosecution calls Mr. Dallas Reynolds.”
Thirty-Four
