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My father is a big deal in the sports world. Since childhood—his, not mine—he’s been involved in it somehow, some way. Player, coach, owner, manager, agent. When I graduated college and wasn’t sure what to do next with my life, he suggested I give the “family business” a try.
So I did.
And now, five years later, I’m still stuck in place without really moving anywhere. I have a corner office and a generous salary, and anExecutive Vice Presidentnameplate on my door.
But it feels like I’ve accomplished next to nothing. Like I’m swimming, not just floating, but still headed nowhere certain. There’s always more water ahead and no expected destination in sight. I just keep moving.
I shake Lauren’s manicured hand when she holds it out to me. “Nice to meet you, Lauren.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Garner.”
I open my mouth to tell her to call me Hannah, then shut it. Insulting Robert Damon would be a dumb decision. And that’s exactly how he’ll take me inviting an employee he undoubtedly considers inferior to call me by my first name when I didn’t extend him the same courtesy.
A fake smile stays plastered on my face while I mentally count down the minutes until I can leave the Coyotes’ facility and return to my hotel room.
This Vegas visit was a stop my father sprang on me. He called this morning, when I was already on my way to the airport from my best friend Rosie’s apartment in Hyde Park, to ask if I’d be willing to meet with Robert this afternoon.
He said it made sense because I was already traveling but I know the real reason. I work for a sports agency, but I’m not a sports agent, which makes these sorts of interactions more casual. My father calls me his secret weapon, and it makes extricating myself from a career I never wanted infinitely more complicated.
“We can start by looking in the press office?” Lauren suggests.
“Sounds great,” I reply, following her out of the executive suite that overlooks the rink.
Robert trails behind us, unfortunately. I was hoping he had something more important to do and wouldn’t be tagging along on the tour.
This entire meeting is a sales pitch. Vegas is an expansion team in the middle of their second season. They’re fighting for relevance among franchises that have existed for close to a century. Those teams havehistory. Dedicated fans and season ticket holders. Their jerseys are the ones PeeWee players dream of wearing, that carry a prestige earned through blood, sweat, and multiple championships.
Garner Sports Agency negotiates contracts for seasoned veterans and rising stars. Every team’s money is worth the same amount, but that doesn’t make them equal in other respects.
Vegas wants more established players who will bring relevance with them. Ones fans will turn on televisions and buy tickets to see play because of the name on the back of the jersey, regardless of the logo on the front.
Impressing me—by extension, my father, who represents and advises many current and future hockey stars—is what Robert Damon and the rest of the Coyotes management hope to accomplish this afternoon.
The rest of the building isn’t nearly as impressive as the ceiling was. Everything looks brand-new because it is. But the locker and equipment rooms otherwise appear the same as the ten other stadiums I’ve taken similar tours of in the past few years.
I keep nodding and smiling as we walk down a hallway lined with color photos of players on the ice, listening to Robert prattle on about the state-of-the-art, high-definition video boards.
Finally, we end up back in the executive suite where we started. Robert has me promise to return to Vegas for a home game sometime soon before I’m shown out of the stadium and into the waiting car that brought me here a couple of hours ago.
As soon as the car door shuts, I kick off my heels and sink back against the leather seat, wishing I could get on a flight back to Los Angeles right now, instead of waiting until the morning. Back when I first started working at Garner Sports Agency, the frequent travel sounded exciting. A chance to see more of the country after living my whole life in California. I no longer view it with the same excitement.
My younger sister Rachel texts me as the car turns onto the famous Strip. Neon lights flash on either side of the boulevard, the setting sun allowing the artificial brightness covering each building to start shining.
Rachel:You’re in Vegas???
Neither Rachel nor my older brother Edward chose to become involved in the sports industry. Their athletic careers ended in elementary school. I was the one who stuck with soccer through high school, knowing my dad loved to coach. What’s now a croquet course in my parents’ backyard used to be a soccer field, complete with a regulation-sized goal.
Rachel is a high school English teacher. She’s a bookworm who loves kids, so the job suits her perfectly.
Edward—Eddie—is an anesthesiologist married to his high school sweetheart, April. Five months ago, they announced they’re expecting a baby. My first niece or nephew will arrive in about a month.
And then there’s me. The middle child outwardly successful and inwardly unsure.
I text Rachel back, knowing she’ll blow up my phone if I don’t respond quickly.
Hannah:Yes.
Predictably, Rachel replies immediately.
