"Are you free, Jake?"
The voice cut through the post-celebration haze, drawing Jake's attention away from the scattered papers in front of him. He looked up to find a middle-aged man with a head of golden curls, slightly overweight but exuding a warm smile, standing in the doorway. A name sprang to mind: RC Buford—the enigmatic architect behind the Spurs' legacy, the shadowy mastermind often overshadowed by the brilliance of Duncan, Parker, and Ginobili.
While the world lauded the Spurs' three icons on the court, few understood the trio of visionaries orchestrating their success from the sidelines: head coach Gregg Popovich, team owner Pete Holt, and the man before him, the general manager, RC Buford. Known for his brilliant strategic mind, Buford had a knack for uncovering hidden talent, whether it was the French phenom Parker, the Argentine maestro Ginobili, or transforming overlooked players like "Little Green" (who would one day become the "Emperor") and "Australian Owen" Mills into crucial team assets. Unlike other general managers who thrived on sweeping reforms, Buford preferred a subtler approach, crafting his vision with the precision of a master chef—hence his nickname in the city: Ghost Hand.
But why was Buford here, seeking him out? A flicker of confusion crossed Jake's mind. Though they shared a cordial relationship, this felt unusual.
"Ahem, Jake," Buford said, pulling up a stool and settling across from him. "I came to talk about something important."
Jake's stomach sank. Am I about to be fired? The general manager's sudden formality sent a chill through him, reminiscent of the tense moments in the office dramas he used to binge-watch. He braced for the worst, mentally preparing to pack up his things.
"Don't be nervous," Buford said, waving his hands in a calming gesture, his expression betraying none of the gravity Jake felt. "I just wanted to have a chat." He reached into his pocket, producing a cigarette box and offering it to Jake. "Want one?"
Trembling slightly, Jake accepted a cigarette but froze, forgetting to light it. Buford lit his own, taking a deep puff, the smoke curling around him like a ghost. "So, Jake," he began, "you've been with the Spurs for almost three years. What do you think of it here?"
Jake's heart raced as he dropped the cigarette onto the table, his thoughts spiraling into panic. This is it! The classic signs of a resignation meeting! "Just chatting," "having a cigarette," "you've been working for a long time"—each phrase echoed ominously in his mind, confirming his worst fears.
As Jake's face blanched, Buford's keen gaze seemed to read his thoughts. "You misunderstood me, Jake," he said quickly, his tone softening. "Your contributions here are clear to everyone. We appreciate you—me, Pop, the whole team. I'm here because I want to discuss a potential opportunity."
"An opportunity?" Jake echoed, puzzled. The last thing he expected was to be courted for a new role.
"Yes," Buford continued, leaning in slightly. "There's another team looking for someone to join their staff. They didn't have your contact details, so they came to me." He took another puff, the smoke swirling ominously around him, masking his expression.
"Other teams?" Jake felt a knot form in his stomach. "Does the coach know about this?"
"Don't worry about that. I spoke with Greg before coming to you. He hopes you find a position that allows you to grow. After all..." Buford spread his hands helplessly. "San Antonio is, well, limited."
Jake nodded. This was the truth. Spurs owner Pete Holt had long held the dubious honor of being among the poorest owners in the league. Despite the team's recent successes, the financial strain was palpable. "Then can I ask which team?" he ventured, curiosity piqued.
At this, Buford hesitated, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. "Uh, it's Sacramento."
The mention of the Sacramento Kings made Jake's heart sink. He couldn't hide his reaction. No wonder Buford looked uneasy discussing this team; their reputation was abysmal. The Kings hadn't tasted playoff success in years, their last glory fading with the disbandment of a once-great roster. The only thing they had to show for seven years of futility was a solitary star in LaMarcus Cousins, the so-called "All-Star below the neck."
What Buford didn't know was that the Kings would continue to languish in misery until 2022, marking a staggering sixteen years without a playoff appearance—the longest drought in NBA history. Jake shook his head, a mix of disbelief and concern swirling in his mind.
Holding a treasure trove of high draft picks, the Kings repeatedly fell into the trap of selecting players who would go on to become nothing more than busts. In the league's vernacular, "You operate like the Kings" became a dreaded phrase, a punchline for failure that stung the pride of any team caught in such a predicament. Was this franchise truly pushing itself into the flames of oblivion?
Jake recalled the current head coach of the Kings: Mike Malone—a former top assistant with impressive credentials. Yet, despite his proven skills, this was only Malone's first season at the helm. Years of labor in the league couldn't shield him from the harsh reality of a beleaguered franchise.
As if sensing Jake's hesitation, Buford leaned forward. "Of course, I'm not asking you to step in as head coach. Mike is doing a commendable job, and there are no plans to replace him for now."
Jake let out a relieved breath. Good, good. No need to take on that kind of blame. But before he could fully relax, Buford's next words jolted him upright in his chair. "They want to invite you to be the general manager."
What?! A general manager? If coaching came with the risk of blame, stepping into the Kings' front office was akin to signing a death warrant for one's career. The Kings had cycled through more general managers than most teams had players, and none had emerged unscathed.
"I can't go, I won't go!" Jake's head shook fervently, each movement more frantic than the last. The old fox across from him merely smiled, as if he had anticipated this reaction.
"Don't rush to refuse; just hear me out."
Jake's guard went up at Buford's tone. Here comes the motivational speech. After three years in the Spurs organization, he recognized that look all too well.
"This invitation from the Kings was unexpected," Buford continued, unfazed by Jake's skepticism. "Popovich and I believe that keeping you with us for a few more years is the safest path before considering such a move."
Popovich and Buford genuinely cared for Jake. He had earned their respect through hard work and dedication. This year's championship hero, Marco Belinelli, was a testament to his eye for talent—Jake had scoured videos and stats tirelessly, ensuring the Spurs wouldn't miss out on the Italian sharpshooter. The decision had paid off; Belinelli had seamlessly filled the scoring void left by Gary Neal, playing a pivotal role in the team's championship run.
Still, at just 26, Jake felt far too young for a management position. Generally, people his age were just beginning to absorb the wisdom of seasoned veterans in the league, biding their time until they could carve out their own paths.
Listening to Buford's encouraging words warmed Jake's heart. He wasn't naive, though; as the youngest member of the Spurs' staff, he had often sensed the affection from the two elder statesmen.
"Do you know Vivek Ranadivé?" Buford's gaze bore into Jake, intense and probing.
"Vivek Ranadivé?" The name sparked a rush of memories—the infamous "Defend the Kings" battle came flooding back. In 2014, the Kings were on the brink of relocation, facing financial turmoil under the Maloof brothers, who sold their shares amidst crisis. The future owner of the Clippers, Steve Ballmer, alongside a Seattle consortium, offered an astronomical $500 million to purchase the Kings—but only if they moved to Seattle to resurrect the Supersonics.
The public uproar was deafening. Sacramento's mayor and its citizens rallied to protect their team, igniting a fierce movement to keep the Kings. It was at that moment that Vivek Ranadivé, a small owner of the Warriors, stepped into the fray. He sold his Warriors shares to join the local consortium, ultimately defeating Ballmer and ensuring the Kings remained in Sacramento.
"Since acquiring the Kings, Ranadivé has been eager to turn the tide on this franchise's fortunes," Buford said, lighting another cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shroud. "Typically, these types of owners believe they're the only ones with a master plan to revive the team. They think everyone else is a fool. It's a classic case of the 'stupid capitalist,'" he scoffed, his disdain palpable.
Jake contemplated this new revelation, aware that any decision he made could alter the trajectory of his career forever.