“When are you going to learn?”
“With Ice Queen? Never. I need to come up with a new angle.”
“Pretty sure you’ve tried all the angles since September and none of them are working for you.”
“Yeah. I’m getting that impression.”
A weeklater I’m hobbling around the facility bored as hell. The team is getting back today from a four day trip, and I’ve already exhausted most of my entertainment options.
So now I’m in the media room, sprawled in a chair bothering Carly, my favorite media girl, while she tries to edit player interviews.
“Okay, hear me out,” I say for probably the fifth time in twenty minutes.
“No,” Carly says without looking up from her screen.
“You haven’t even heard it yet.”
“I’ve heard the last four. They were all terrible.”
“This one’s different.” I spin the chair in a lazy circle. “Player interviews, right? But we ask the real questions. The ones fans actually want to know.”
She glances over. “Like what?”
“Like...” I tap my chin thoughtfully. “What’s your go-to sex song?”
“Hard no,” Carly says.
“Mine’sNo Handsand I bet Dex’s isPony,Zach’s would totally beLike a Virgin.”
“Rodriguez, I’m begging you to stop.” She’s laughing though.
“It’s intimate! It’s revealing! The fans would eat it up!”
“The PR department would eat us alive. Next.”
“Okay, okay.” I spin the chair again. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized pigeon or a hundred pigeon-sized horses?”
She shudders a little bit. “The shit alone. But also no. We’re a professional sports organization.”
I slump deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back dramatically. “You’re killing my creative vision.”
“Your creative vision needs to be killed.”
“Fine. What about this—” I sit up straighter, struck by inspiration. “We ask all the guys what toppings they put on their hot dogs. And if anyone says ketchup, we kill them.”
She turns to stare at me.
“Rodriguez,” Carly says slowly.
“Off camera,” I clarify. “We kill them off camera. I’m not a monster.”
“You want to murder your teammates over condiment choices,” Carly says. “For content.”
“Okay, not MURDER murder. Just, like—” I gesture vaguely. “Pie to the face. Public shaming. Something.”
“You have serious issues.”
“I have PASSION. There’s a difference.”
