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He raised an eyebrow. "An idea? Must be a hell of a one to schedule a pre-meeting meeting with me.”
I exhaled, my grip tightening around the warm ceramic mug. "It's something that could change the game for us, Hoss. But it's a long shot."
He paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. "Okay, you've got my attention. What is it?"
I shook my head. "Nope. Gonna save it for the meeting. Just wanted to give you a heads-up that I'm planning to shake the tree a little."
"A tease, really? You better not be yanking my chain," Hoss grumbled, but his eyes twinkled with curiosity.
"Would I do that?"
"In a heartbeat. But that's why I like working with you," he admitted. "You're not afraid to stir the pot."
"Well, today, the pot's not just getting stirred; it's gonna get flipped over,” I hinted.
Hoss chuckled, one of my favorite sounds in the world. "Well, make sure you've got something to catch all the slop. Meetings like this can get messy."
"Aren't they always?"
We slid out of the booth. I felt a prickly sense of anticipation as we walked to the door. Like a goalie in a tie game, I was nervous but buzzing with adrenaline or maybe too much caffeine.
"Ready to turn some heads?" Hoss asked as he held the door open.
"Let's do it," I replied.
As soon as we entered the meeting room, the feeling came back. It was a growing dread that settled like a stone in the pit of my stomach. We’d just won a championship for Cold Pines, and a sale of the team to a businessman in Massachusetts was still on the table.
How could a championship team suddenly abandon a community that supported their path there?
As head coach, I felt some level of responsibility. It was our end-of-season staff meeting with administrative and scouting personnel present. With the team’s future in Cold Pines in doubt, I decided something had to be done. I couldn’t listen any longer to stories about what losing the Cougars could do to the town without taking an action.
Hoss tried to lighten the mood by suggesting renaming the team “Massachusetts Snowflakes,” but his comment landed with a sickening thud. He was the only one in the room laughing.
I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “Listen, everyone. I’ve got a proposal. It’s an alternative to the entire Massachusetts deal.”
Everyone suddenly stared at me, including Hoss, with a raised eyebrow.
He decided to be the voice of skepticism for the room. “I’m listening," he said, slowly leaning back in his chair.
“What if we don't sell the team to some hotshot businessman from Massachusetts? What if the owners sell the team to Cold Pines itself? Why not make it a community-owned team?" I stopped to let the idea sink in.
The room erupted in questions. "Are you serious?"
"Is that even legal?"
"How would we go about that?"
It was Hoss's voice that cut through the chatter. "How the hell do we fund that, Pete?"
I had expected the range of questions and even prepared for it. “If the Green Bay Packers and Harrisburg Senators can do it, why not us? We can set up shares and have people buy into it to invest in the future of Cold Pines. I’ve done some of the beginning math, and I think we can pull this off.”
There was dead silence in the room. I didn’t know whether that meant they were starting to believe me or they thought I’d finally gone completely around the bend.
I decided to drop what I thought would be my ace card. “And to get it all started, I’m willing to put down a sizable chunk of my own money for the down payment.”
Everyone suddenly shifted their looks to Hoss. At first, it was impossible to read his opinion on his face. I wondered whether I’d stepped over a line.
“Have you thought this through? Really thought this through?” he asked.
