So, when gas prices go back to 'normal,' the price of my tall buttermilk will go back down? Right? Like beer, worldwide hops shortage, prices rises. Now that hops are plentiful again, I'm waiting for the price to drop. But it never seems to ever get back to that original price.
While I bemoan this price increase automatically being passed on to the customer, I look up. Is that David Stern, Commission of the NBA, walking through the front door? Along with two husky guys in dark glasses?
What is he doing in here at the Montana Galley, and who exactly are his two friends?
This has to be the most famous person in here since Al Pacino came in to see his agent, a week or so ago.*
I should introduce myself. This would make an interesting Post for my Blog. But as I move to get up, he turns toward me, and walks back. He stops at my booth for a second, taps the table, then slides in next to me. His friends, still wearing their shades, also slide in. There are no smiles.
A bit befuddled, I push back in the seat. "Hello, guys," I say.
This is a mistake. He wants to meet me? Maybe he reads my Sports Blog? He wants my autograph? But...This is David Stern?
"Mr Belair. How are you today?" He puts out his hand. "Commissioner Stern."
I look at his two companions, but they are silent. They simply stare at me. (X and Y)?
I look at each. "Okay," I say. And how are you Mr. Stern." I'm shocked he even knows my name. I hold my buttermilk with both hands. "This is certainly a surprise. What brings you here?"
"Well," says Stern. "I got this thing out in Burbank, doing the Leno Show, and thought I'd just drop in here and see you."
"You know where I..."
"We know where you are most of the time. We read your Blog. You're usually sitting in this restaurant, just to be close to the blond in the kitchen, Helena. I saw her. Not bad. Keep trying, scout. One day, maybe you two'll be an item." He laughs. X nods his head and continue to eyeballs me.
"She heard you talking like that..."
A waitress comes over, but Stern waves her off. "We won't be here long."
He adjusts his jacket. "Reason I came by. You've probably read about cry baby Stan Van Gundy saying I screwed him over at ESPN. That I told them not to hire him for ESPN’s 'NBA Countdown.' Because I don't like him. Guy's a fool. He compares me to Gadhafi. Says I'm a dictator. What'd he expect? That kind of guy does not belong on ESPN, I don't care who it is."
"Yeah, I think I did read something..."
"ESPN is partners with the NBA," he says. "$930 million contract. So any significant hires have to be cleared through me...you know, the NBA."
Stern waves his hand in the air. "We figured he was just too mouthy about me to be good on the air."
"But," I say. "isn't that really what ESPN needs. Exciting, mouthy guys. You want ratings, right? Wouldn't he be more exciting than Shaq? Someone should build a fire under Shaq, you know."
I get the 'We'll grind you into the ground' stare from X and Y. Guess you don't interrupt the Commissioner.
"Mouthy and smart, that's okay," says Stern. "Anyway, here's the reason we dropped by."
He folds his hands, looks at both associates, (the word Gorillas comes to mind), then at me. "We want only...how should I say it...good writing from you in your Blog."
"Only good writing? You mean only Responsible Writing?"
"Yeah, you know, " he says. "Do I have to spell it out? Look, Belair, you want to go the way of Van Gundy? Good writing means good posts about me, the NBA, and ESPN. Believe it or not, people actually read your stuff."
"But what if...?"
X and Y clench their fists. Oops, again an interruption.
"I remember reading a Post about one of my cab rides from LAX. Your friend, Diego Garcia, guy who owns the Fresh Air Taxi Company. I thought he was a stand up guy. But my conversation mysteriously ends up in your Blog. I don't remember any call from you, asking me if it was all right?"
"So if you say something that I think is Sports worthy..."
"I command a presence. It's not going to be tarnished by the likes of some blogger. Better yet, Mr. Belair. I don't want you writing anything about me or the NBA."
X and Y lean over toward me, breathing heavily through their noses.
There are flashes of men sitting in dark corners waiting for me when I get home, baseball bats in cornfields, horse heads in beds. This could get out of hand.
"You sure I'm the guy you want? I hate to say it, but I really don't have the worldwide audience you seem to think."
Again I spoke. Not good. X shows his teeth, pushes his glasses up on his forehead, and glares at me. Then he looks down and opens his coat. I'm shown a gun in his waistband. He had that, 'Your a dead man if you mess with us,' look in his black eyes.
"Van Gundy claiming I was some sort of tyrant, cost him his job. I'm in charge and it you don't like it, find some other place to go."
My face is hot. Was there something in the Buttermilk? This is a bad episode of Gangland, Vito Corleone, Tony Soprano, the ghost of George Raft.
The three rise together, turn and head for the door. As X holds the door for Stern, he look back at me, lowers his head, and pats his pocket.
I get it, you're tough guys.
And they're gone.
What the hell just happened? Commissioner David Stern sits down, and demands happy thoughts about ESPN, the NBA, and about himself. Or else? What? I'm going to start a fire storm against the NBA? With StiffLeftJab?
The romantic notion of the 'responsible journalist'' taking a bullet for his reader, I get it, but, those guns look really real. I'm not dealing here with the manager of the Studio City Little Dribblers. Bullets hurt, hurt bad, you know.
I lean over the table, my head on my fist. I rub my forehead, never imagining this day would ever come. I sip my buttermilk, but I know I'll need to buy something a lot stronger on my way home. I have to learn all I can now about Cricket. Damn.
..........................
HELP COMESFROM:
thebiglead.com/index.php/2012/10/10/did-david-stern-put-the-kibosh-on-stan-van-gundy/
orlandosentinel.com/sports/os-mike-bianchi-stan-van-gundy-espn-1012-20121011,0,5261071.column/
larrybrownsports.com/basketball/stan-van-gundy-david-stern-preventing-espn/157876/
readabilityformulas.com, Google/Images,
* WILL PACINO PLAY PATERNO IN THE MOVIE? StiffLeftJab.com.
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