Sofia (49.02)

[mragland]

12.12.2048 – Los Angeles, California

The dark sedan sped down the freeway in the southern California night. Sofia was in town for the Winter Meetings strategy session. She sat in the back seat with an older gentleman who wore a gray suit, and had a white, neatly trimmed beard. Between them, sitting on a briefcase that rested on charcoal gray leather upholstery, was a well worn hardback of The YS9 Way, with multicolored tabs running down the side. Sofia's assistant, Jill, sat in the front passenger seat, a small laptop balanced on her knees.

Sofia held a phone to her ear. “This is Sofia,” she said. “No, let him finish his meeting, I'll hold the line.”

She craned her neck to look at Jill's screen. “What are you looking at, there?”

Jill turned her head to speak with her boss. “Some of the preliminary drawings for the 2050 rebrand.”

“Any good?” asked Sofia.

“Some. They seem to be going traditional with the look. I like this one,” Jill said, pointing to her screen.

Sofia wrinkled her nose. “I don't know. Seems a little … old-timey. Is that popular these days?”

Jill shrugged. “It's kind of an old-timey game,” she said. “I think what they're going for is something traditional, but timeless. You know, that won't seem dated in twenty years.”

“I think I'll just leave it to others to decide,” replied Sofia.

“They also have drawings of next year's stadium expansion,” said Jill, opening a new window.

Sofia shook her head. “And when will that end? If we're determined to build a sixty-five thousand seat monstrosity, why not do it all at once, instead of this seven-year ordeal. The place is a permanent construction site.”

“League rules, I guess?” said Jill.

Sofia bowed her head slightly. “And good evening to you,” she said into the phone. “We're on our way to the hotel. Dinner will be at eight-thirty.”

…

“Yes, I had heard you were hoping for a little something extra in you stocking this year, but the P&L I'm looking at suggests you've been far too naughty for anything but coal. Do you really want to make your pitch now?”

…

“Ten million? You're kidding.”

…

“When you speak about putting this team on a sound financial footing, what is your timeline exactly? We're bleeding millions right now.”

…

“I see. Well, hopefully we'll all live that long. So, in the meantime, you're perfectly happy playing the wastrel?”

…

“Of course you can always improve the strength of the roster, dear. That's not really an excuse for a spending spree, is it? This club hasn't carried a nine-figure payroll since '24. I'm guessing because they didn't think the revenue could support it. Our most optimistic projections don't have the club better than twentieth in total revenue this year.”

…

“That old canard? We're both smarter than that. You have to spend money wisely to make money.”

…

“Oh, I do have some good news. We're meeting with a real estate agent tomorrow afternoon.”

…

“Yes, I'm finally going to settle on a west coast home. Enjoy some of that sunshine you have here in such abundance.”

…

“Well, yes. I'm still concerned that the countryside seems to be actively trying to kill its residents, but I think the risks are manageable.”

…

“No. Something nearer to the water I think.”

…

“We'll speak more of it later. I'll let you go, now. We're almost there.”

Sofia ended her call and put her phone in her jacket pocket with a sigh.

“Who am I kidding?” she asked no one in particular. “This is fun as hell. We're starting to look like a real ball team.”

The older gentleman stared out the window for a few moments before turning to Sofia. “You should have gone after Weiner,” he said, in an unmistakable Brooklyn accent.

Sofia looked at him, a smirk on her face. “And I've told you a hundred times. He didn't want the job, dad.”

[Dington]

“Oh, I do have some good news. We're meeting with a real estate agent tomorrow afternoon.”

Chad Nason has entered the chat

[RonCo]

I find myself enjoying this.