Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
He gives me a cocky smile. “I like to think of interviews as give-and-take propositions. You want my time. I want to know more about you.”
“That’s not really how this works—”
“It works however we say it works. You’ve got to give to get. So… how’d you get on the LA beat?”
I can see him digging his feet in and know he’s not going to give until I do. He’s the first athlete I’ve interviewed who’s more interested in talking about something else than he is in talking about himself. Most are arrogant and love to hear themselves speak—especially about themselves. I’m just thanking God he doesn’t refer to himself in the third person.
“Fine,” I say. “I was in the right place at the right time, I guess. The old beat writer quit suddenly and nobody else wanted it. So, I volunteered.”
“Volunteered?”
A laugh bubbles up out of my throat. “Demanded. Honestly, I had no business demanding anything, let alone a spot on a plush beat like this. But they had no other options, so I had them over a barrel, and they gave it to me.”
“Ballsy. I like it.”
“I guess so. Now, I gave, it’s time to get,” I say. “The trade. It sounds like you were caught as off guard as the rest of us.”
“Honestly? Yeah. I didn’t see it coming.”
“So, there’s no truth to the rumor you asked for a trade?”
“In my experience, there’s usually not a lot of truth in any rumors.”
“That wasn’t really an answer.”
His expression tightens, and his face grows stony. “Why would I demand a trade? I was happy in Dallas. For the most part anyway.”
“Still not really an answer.”
He chuckles. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not usually. Not until I get what I want.”
“No. I didn’t demand a trade,” he tells me. “I wasn’t thrilled with all the losing we’d been doing in recent seasons. That wasn’t a secret. And I didn’t think ownership was making the right moves to get us back in contention. But even with all that going on, I didn’t demand a trade.”
“And that blowout you had with your coach on the sideline?”
Ben laughs and shakes his head. “I thought this was supposed to be some puff profile piece you were writing for the team?”
“Well, the first thing is that I don’t work for the team. I work for the paper. And the second thing is I don’t write puff pieces.”
“Don’t you worry about the team revoking your access?”
“I’m not going to be intimidated into being a mouthpiece for anybody,” I reply. “I’ve got more integrity as a journalist than that.”
Ben sits back and nods, a look of what I interpret to be respect crossing his face. It emboldens me.
“So, the blowout with your coach in Dallas?” I press. “Do you think that had anything to do with you being traded to LA?”
“Maybe. Probably,” he says. “Coach Q wields a lot of power in Dallas. We argued because I didn’t like his rotations. I didn’t think he was maximizing the talent on the roster or putting us in a position to win games. It got heated. I regret getting caught up in my emotions in the heat of a game and not taking a step back and discussing it with him in private. That’s my bad. But I’m a competitor. I want to win.”
“I think everybody understands that.”
“But not everybody appreciates it. Coach Q doesn’t like to be challenged.”
Almost all athletes talk a good game about wanting to win. For most of the guys I’ve dealt with, though, winning is secondary to max salaries, endorsement deals, and the fame that goes with being a pro athlete.
There are very few who are as committed to winning as Ben Givens. He wants to leave a lasting legacy in the league. He wants to be known as one of the best to have ever played the game. Ben wants it with his heart and soul. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in every word he speaks. It’s a rare quality, and if I’m being honest, it’s an attractive one.
“My turn to ask a question,” he says. “Are you married? Boyfriend?”
My face immediately grows warm, and I look down at the recorder in my hand. “That’s probably not something we should get into.”
“Hey, you got to ask me a personal question, so I get to ask you one.”
Everything in me is telling me I shouldn’t answer that question. That I shouldn’t even open that door. Not even a crack. Nothing good can come of it. Especially since I’m still trying to make my name in this industry. It’s hard enough for women as it is, and the last thing I can afford to do is get a reputation as a ball bunny at this early stage of my career.
I shake my head. “I don’t think—”