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Insider Transcript Reveals Assistant GM Hiring Secrets
August 28, 2058: Foreverland – It’s late in the evening and the sound of a seven-game winning streak is blowing on the cool Pacific breeze, winding through the thatched roof of Bikini General Manger Ron Collins’s front office hut. He’s sitting back and reading reports of last week’s games for the five hundredth time when a sound comes from the door. It’s Monica Green, the team’s Vice President of Community Outreach.
“Monica!” Collins says with a jaunty seven-game winning-streak tone. “Always great to see you What can I do for you!”
She comes in and takes a seat. There is an awkward moment of silence.
“What gives Monica? You don’t look happy. You do realize we’re on a seven-game winning streak, right?”
“Yes, I’m aware of our seven-game winning streak.”
“Then what’s up? Want to discuss our record attendance? Your work has been fantastic there. I’m sure Westy will be giving you a big Christmas bonus.”
“I wanted to talk to you about Dustin Zúñiga.
“I see,” Collins sat back and gave his seat a giddy, seven-game winning streak spin before coming back to face Green. “What about him?”
“I understand you’re considering extending his contract. You do understand the hot-water he put us in earlier this year with his conversation about the Heartland division?”
“Of course I do.”
“You remember that I wanted him fired then, but you said you’d just let him run out his deal and sink quietly into depths?”
“Well…” Collins stammered, thoughts of the team’s seven-game winning streak apparently fading. We have it on record in a semi-drunken conversation that Collins had figured that Green wanted Zuniga out because she and the assistant had a brief moment together, and now that it was done…well. It seems that now Collins is reconsidering that issue.
“You remember telling me that the only thing you could rely on the guy to do was to tell you that he was on the fence about any trade proposal you were faced with, and that he figured there wasn’t a bad choice?”
Collins gritted his teeth and said nothing.
“You remember the work we needed to do to cover our assess then, specifically including you making a statement in a public about what a good GM Chad Nason is?”
“I do.”
“Then, for crying out loud, tell me why you’re considering keeping this idiot around?”
“Well,” Collins said. “I mean, usually I just dump the position and go to the next in line, but young Mr. Zúñiga has some traits that I like.”
“Such as?”
“Well, his name is easy to remember when I write TNs.”
“That’s it?”
“Do you know how important that is? Do you know how much time it saves a GM to just know the name of his assistant GM while gaining two points at a time.” Collins is clearly on a roll now, happy to be on the offensive end of the conversation. “Do you know how many points it takes to run a real live BBA team, Monica?”
Now it was Green’s turn to be silent.
“A lot of points, I tell ya. ’Specially the way I burn through them.”
The sound of the seven-game winning streak breeze picks up again.
“Besides,” Collins continued. “He’s pretty cheap overall.” Do you know what the average assistant GM in this league makes, Monica? Even those assistant GMs not on seven-game winning streaks?”
“$417,992. That’s how much. Do you know what Zúñiga is willing to take to simply saunter in here and tell me to do whatever I want?”
“You know I’m not allowed to see the team’s salary structure, Ron.”
“A helluva lot less than that!”
“I see,” Monica Green said with a sigh. “And I get it. I’ll get our PR department spun up and play it on the quiet. Maybe even prepare a few voices to not that while his comments might have been rough to hear, they weren’t really wrong. Maybe that’ll soften the blow.”
“It’s true,” Collins said. “Dustin wasn’t really wrong. No one really cares about the Heartland division.”
Green stood up and rubbed a wrinkle out of the thigh of her dark pants. “All right, then,” she said as she left. Pausing at the door, she gave Collins a questioning face. “You think maybe someday I could be an assistant GM?”
Collins stared at her for a moment, thinking, recalling her deft handling of several facets of the franchise’s position and thinking about young Zúñiga’s clumsy essence at most social outings. Besides that, it’s always easy to remember the name Monical Green, and it’s easier to type—without those danged diacritic marks he has to skip sometimes because he’s a doofus.
“I do,” he finally said. “You’ll need to get deeper into operations to make it happen, but if that’s something you’re interested in, we can get you working with several other groups the next couple seasons. If you’re still game in a few seasons, I’d love to have you in the role.”
She nodded, and then grinned a seven-game winning streak smile. “Challenge accepted.”
She almost left then, but stopped. “Hope you make lots of two-pointers,” she said.
“Thanks. I can already feel two more as we speak.”
Then he sat back, alone, to stare out to over the ocean where the sun was setting, sending seven golden-red beams of light into the air, one for each of the team’s seven-game winning streak.
August 28, 2058: Foreverland – It’s late in the evening and the sound of a seven-game winning streak is blowing on the cool Pacific breeze, winding through the thatched roof of Bikini General Manger Ron Collins’s front office hut. He’s sitting back and reading reports of last week’s games for the five hundredth time when a sound comes from the door. It’s Monica Green, the team’s Vice President of Community Outreach.
“Monica!” Collins says with a jaunty seven-game winning-streak tone. “Always great to see you What can I do for you!”
She comes in and takes a seat. There is an awkward moment of silence.
“What gives Monica? You don’t look happy. You do realize we’re on a seven-game winning streak, right?”
“Yes, I’m aware of our seven-game winning streak.”
“Then what’s up? Want to discuss our record attendance? Your work has been fantastic there. I’m sure Westy will be giving you a big Christmas bonus.”
“I wanted to talk to you about Dustin Zúñiga.
“I see,” Collins sat back and gave his seat a giddy, seven-game winning streak spin before coming back to face Green. “What about him?”
“I understand you’re considering extending his contract. You do understand the hot-water he put us in earlier this year with his conversation about the Heartland division?”
“Of course I do.”
“You remember that I wanted him fired then, but you said you’d just let him run out his deal and sink quietly into depths?”
“Well…” Collins stammered, thoughts of the team’s seven-game winning streak apparently fading. We have it on record in a semi-drunken conversation that Collins had figured that Green wanted Zuniga out because she and the assistant had a brief moment together, and now that it was done…well. It seems that now Collins is reconsidering that issue.
“You remember telling me that the only thing you could rely on the guy to do was to tell you that he was on the fence about any trade proposal you were faced with, and that he figured there wasn’t a bad choice?”
Collins gritted his teeth and said nothing.
“You remember the work we needed to do to cover our assess then, specifically including you making a statement in a public about what a good GM Chad Nason is?”
“I do.”
“Then, for crying out loud, tell me why you’re considering keeping this idiot around?”
“Well,” Collins said. “I mean, usually I just dump the position and go to the next in line, but young Mr. Zúñiga has some traits that I like.”
“Such as?”
“Well, his name is easy to remember when I write TNs.”
“That’s it?”
“Do you know how important that is? Do you know how much time it saves a GM to just know the name of his assistant GM while gaining two points at a time.” Collins is clearly on a roll now, happy to be on the offensive end of the conversation. “Do you know how many points it takes to run a real live BBA team, Monica?”
Now it was Green’s turn to be silent.
“A lot of points, I tell ya. ’Specially the way I burn through them.”
The sound of the seven-game winning streak breeze picks up again.
“Besides,” Collins continued. “He’s pretty cheap overall.” Do you know what the average assistant GM in this league makes, Monica? Even those assistant GMs not on seven-game winning streaks?”
“$417,992. That’s how much. Do you know what Zúñiga is willing to take to simply saunter in here and tell me to do whatever I want?”
“You know I’m not allowed to see the team’s salary structure, Ron.”
“A helluva lot less than that!”
“I see,” Monica Green said with a sigh. “And I get it. I’ll get our PR department spun up and play it on the quiet. Maybe even prepare a few voices to not that while his comments might have been rough to hear, they weren’t really wrong. Maybe that’ll soften the blow.”
“It’s true,” Collins said. “Dustin wasn’t really wrong. No one really cares about the Heartland division.”
Green stood up and rubbed a wrinkle out of the thigh of her dark pants. “All right, then,” she said as she left. Pausing at the door, she gave Collins a questioning face. “You think maybe someday I could be an assistant GM?”
Collins stared at her for a moment, thinking, recalling her deft handling of several facets of the franchise’s position and thinking about young Zúñiga’s clumsy essence at most social outings. Besides that, it’s always easy to remember the name Monical Green, and it’s easier to type—without those danged diacritic marks he has to skip sometimes because he’s a doofus.
“I do,” he finally said. “You’ll need to get deeper into operations to make it happen, but if that’s something you’re interested in, we can get you working with several other groups the next couple seasons. If you’re still game in a few seasons, I’d love to have you in the role.”
She nodded, and then grinned a seven-game winning streak smile. “Challenge accepted.”
She almost left then, but stopped. “Hope you make lots of two-pointers,” she said.
“Thanks. I can already feel two more as we speak.”
Then he sat back, alone, to stare out to over the ocean where the sun was setting, sending seven golden-red beams of light into the air, one for each of the team’s seven-game winning streak.
