interesting. I could ask the important questions that I had never heard anyone ask before. I could get him to open up about his past scandals, not the boring stuff like which socialite he was using or was being used by, but questions like, what did he plan on doing about his apparent anger issues that had gotten him in trouble in the past?
That was good . He was a livewire. He flew off the handle, creating full on brawls on and off the court. Where did that come from and what had he done, if anything to control it? He should have done something. He needed to. Honestly, I wanted to know whether he knew what the consequences of his actions were, the real consequences, not just the suspensions and minor injuries he might get.
Acting like that, with other players and with fans, was just inexcusable. He might have had a temper, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to act like that. His longevity in his career depended on people liking him and him showing that he was a person who you could depend on to not do stupid shit like that. When he acted like a wild hyena, it reflected badly on the Charlotte Yellow Jackets, and they would be held—at least to a certain degree—responsible for his actions. It had to be something. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. There weren’t real people who just acted crazy like that for no good reason. He was basically a brand, and I wanted to separate the man from the face. Who was Dante Rock, actually ? Was that even his real name?
He was in the locker room when I got there. He was sitting in front of his locker. Professional team locker rooms were nothing short of fantastic. They were massive, first and foremost, and emblazoned from the ceiling to the floor with the yellow and black of the Charlotte Yellow Jackets.
“There you are, TMZ. Sexy as ever,” he said, grinning at me from his locker. I shook my head and walked up to him. I was wearing the same sort of thing I had been the first time we had met. A pencil skirt and blouse with heels. It was not sexy ; it was professional. The women who worked around him wore uniforms where their cleavage and half their asses were out. My get-up was practically nun-like. I looked like Sister Quinn of Our Lady’s Sacred Heart Convent next to those cheerleaders.
We were not playing this game. He was not going to start this whole song and dance, not with me. He being as hot as he was, and me being a girl would have nothing to do with what would eventually transpire between us. There were the obvious reasons, like professionalism and the fact that having a romantic relationship with someone I was reporting on was the grossest misconduct imaginable.
Romantic relationship . When was the last time Dante had had one of those? Did he have a romantic bone in his body? Did he know what that was? Was he familiar with the concept? I wanted to bet on no. If he took a quick click through TMZ, the only news outlet he seemed to know about, he would find out that his exploits with young women were very well and extensively documented.
He wasn’t going to flirt and sway me for his cause. I was there to be impartial. I wanted the truth, and if he wanted to be off the hook, he would give it to me.
“Listen, Dante. I’m not one of your little hoes , okay? I am here to clear you name if there is reason enough for it to be cleared. We aren’t friends , and we sure as hell aren’t anything else.”
“Mm-hmm. Do you threaten all your interviewees like this? It’s kind of hot.”
“You and I are working together. Sitting here and talking to you is part of my job. Because I am at work. I will and expect you to behave professionally, as well. Your job is a little untraditional, but you can understand that can't you?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. I was being mean. Was I being mean? I couldn’t be nice to him. He’d steamroll right over me. He didn’t understand nice . If he did, he didn’t understand it
That was good . He was a livewire. He flew off the handle, creating full on brawls on and off the court. Where did that come from and what had he done, if anything to control it? He should have done something. He needed to. Honestly, I wanted to know whether he knew what the consequences of his actions were, the real consequences, not just the suspensions and minor injuries he might get.
Acting like that, with other players and with fans, was just inexcusable. He might have had a temper, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to act like that. His longevity in his career depended on people liking him and him showing that he was a person who you could depend on to not do stupid shit like that. When he acted like a wild hyena, it reflected badly on the Charlotte Yellow Jackets, and they would be held—at least to a certain degree—responsible for his actions. It had to be something. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. There weren’t real people who just acted crazy like that for no good reason. He was basically a brand, and I wanted to separate the man from the face. Who was Dante Rock, actually ? Was that even his real name?
He was in the locker room when I got there. He was sitting in front of his locker. Professional team locker rooms were nothing short of fantastic. They were massive, first and foremost, and emblazoned from the ceiling to the floor with the yellow and black of the Charlotte Yellow Jackets.
“There you are, TMZ. Sexy as ever,” he said, grinning at me from his locker. I shook my head and walked up to him. I was wearing the same sort of thing I had been the first time we had met. A pencil skirt and blouse with heels. It was not sexy ; it was professional. The women who worked around him wore uniforms where their cleavage and half their asses were out. My get-up was practically nun-like. I looked like Sister Quinn of Our Lady’s Sacred Heart Convent next to those cheerleaders.
We were not playing this game. He was not going to start this whole song and dance, not with me. He being as hot as he was, and me being a girl would have nothing to do with what would eventually transpire between us. There were the obvious reasons, like professionalism and the fact that having a romantic relationship with someone I was reporting on was the grossest misconduct imaginable.
Romantic relationship . When was the last time Dante had had one of those? Did he have a romantic bone in his body? Did he know what that was? Was he familiar with the concept? I wanted to bet on no. If he took a quick click through TMZ, the only news outlet he seemed to know about, he would find out that his exploits with young women were very well and extensively documented.
He wasn’t going to flirt and sway me for his cause. I was there to be impartial. I wanted the truth, and if he wanted to be off the hook, he would give it to me.
“Listen, Dante. I’m not one of your little hoes , okay? I am here to clear you name if there is reason enough for it to be cleared. We aren’t friends , and we sure as hell aren’t anything else.”
“Mm-hmm. Do you threaten all your interviewees like this? It’s kind of hot.”
“You and I are working together. Sitting here and talking to you is part of my job. Because I am at work. I will and expect you to behave professionally, as well. Your job is a little untraditional, but you can understand that can't you?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. I was being mean. Was I being mean? I couldn’t be nice to him. He’d steamroll right over me. He didn’t understand nice . If he did, he didn’t understand it
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