5
Colleen
My fist raps on Uncle Daniel’s office door.
“Come in,” I hear from inside, so I push against the heavy oak double doors and enter.
His office is even more opulent than Dad’s, though in a darker way. It’s all dark woods and black accents, a much cooler, intimidating feel than the office that I am currently trying to makeover.
“I thought the press conference went … well,” I start off, eager to get this conversation over with.
As the general manager and owner, it’s only respectful that I go up to my uncle’s office after the first game of the season was over to talk optics and strategy. Especially in dire times like this, we all need to make sure we are on the same page. But I’m tired, and I know he’s going to try to use this as an opportunity to school me, so I’m really not looking forward to it.
“The sharks weren’t too blood thirsty, but they were still direct. You survived the firing squad, barely. You should really be working with Jennifer in legal and Trisha in PR to brush up your interview answers and make them extremely succinct.”
I can barely contain the need to roll my eyes. I did better than he did in that press conference, what with his stuttering around tough questions and side-stepping them. Uncle Daniel was of the mindset that being evasive and politically correct was the way to handle confrontation, especially from external forces.
With my new promotion and position, I was not taking that approach. In fact, I am going to try my best to completely reverse that kind of behavior in the Pistons organization. What landed us in this hot water were secrets, lies, evasiveness, and not enough transparency with both our staff and players, but also the media.
“I’ll take that into consideration.” I grit my teeth, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
Uncle Daniel runs the business, but I call the shots when it comes to most of the day-to-day decisions. We’re going into this season with a fresh slate, no matter the taste in our fans’ mouths about us. We have the opportunity to change that, and our reputation within the sports world.
“And when we’re in the box, don’t talk strategy. It doesn’t look good, especially to the celebrities we have up there,” he lectures me.
“I was talking to one of our season ticket holders about which pitcher had a good spring training,” I explain wearily.
“Talking shop makes you look immature.” He hawkeyes me.
Ah, there it is, the first jab at my age. I’ve been waiting for that one. “Actually, I think it makes us more relatable as a franchise. The distant air my father gave off, I’m not going to continue that. There is a reason he was allowed to go unchecked, and that’s not something I want for myself. Not that I’d ever commit the crimes against the sport that he did, but—”
“No one is saying anyone here is going to be like …” Uncle Daniel cuts me off, the temperature dropping just from his chilly attitude.
My uncle refuses to talk about Dad. Part of me thinks it’s because, deep down, he knew something shady was going on. Whether or not he ever admits, at least to me, that he had some part in what Dad did, I suspect that he knows the public and fans of baseball in general implicate him as well.
“Your grandfather, my father, put his faith in you. Sometimes I believed his judgment was clouded. There were many who could take this position, but he specified that it be you. Don’t forget that he’s not here any longer.”
If Uncle Daniel is trying to make me feel comfortable, he’s doing a shit job. The sarcasm runs through my head, because I have to laugh at this little show of power or I’ll smack him across the face.
It’s no secret that I was my grandfather’s favorite. Of his nine grandchildren, I was the closest to him, and we were the most alike. He was a gentle, incredibly smart, fair man. At times, he could be too caring, which caused some people to take advantage of him. But he ran this ball club with a tender touch, and it showed with how successful it was. Both his front office staff and his players loved to work for him, and that was evident in the number of championships that were won during his tenure as the general manager.
But being his favorite came with consequences. I spent most of my childhood in his office, going about his day to day with him. I’ve heard my family members whisper for years that I was gunning for his job, even when I was only elementary school aged. They were jealous, wanted a piece of the pie, or just did not understand the old man the way I did.
It’s why now that I’m in this position, my harshest critics aren’t sportscasters or other teams or even our most misogynistic players. They are my family members.
The people rooting for me to fail, or thinking I’m unqualified, or whispering behind my back, they’re the same ones I share DNA with. It’s upsetting, if I let that poison invade my brain for too long. It’s not as if I don’t doubt myself every day I walk into that office. But knowing that some of those closest to me are counting me out before I even make any real change, or put my name on this general manager position? It’s a tad devastating.
Uncle Daniel is clearly one of them. He’s trying to bully or intimidate me into thinking that I’ll be gone if I don’t do a good job this season. I’m not falling for that crap.
“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’ve been training my entire life to take over this seat. I learned from the best, even if one of them did it corruptly. I have been watching and learning, both hands-on and by observing others. For years. I have studied statistics, watched film, been present during drafts, helped with player personnel, spent one-on-one time with the coaches … suffice it to say, I’ve made it my mission to know every aspect of this job. And I have very big plans for it, and this team. There is no need to remind me how important it is that we succeed this year. I fully aware of that.”
It is, in the nicest way possible, me handing him his bullshit faux caring and intimidation back on a silver platter. Because I have no time for that, I don’t have the option to. There is simply not enough time to break down and panic, or begin doubting myself, or to realize how young or inexperienced I am for the general manager position. If I did that, I would never be able to dig myself out of that hole, for one. And for two, there’s simply too much to do here. So I choose to focus all my energy on that.
After all, it was what my grandfather had left to me.
That was the secret that no one knew. Everyone—the media, our family, the fans—have speculated that I was given the job out of some kind of nepotism, and I was. That much was true. But if it were up to Uncle Daniel, he would have made an outside hire.
My grandfather was the one still protecting me, five years after his death. He’d specified in his will, as part of his ownership agreement, that I be named the GM when my father finally relinquished the position. There was no way my uncle could undo the twisted legal work my grandfather had spun, and so here I am.
Though I have a feeling, if we don’t gel as a team or a front office, he will do everything in his power to oust me. My father’s indiscretions have made him paranoid, as are a bunch of other executives, and it wouldn’t be hard to form a coup.
Uncle Daniel coolly assesses me, his hands splayed on his desk as he sits in his high-back chair, and I stand. I know it’s supposed to be a power move, but I keep my body still. Don’t let him see you fidget, or sweat, or even bat an eyelash.