BSI Chapter 361 - 173: Rodman Moment
Chapter 361 - 173: Rodman Moment
Washington D.C., the West Wing of the White House.
Today was a big day.
The Boston Celtics, fresh off their NBA championship victory, were scheduled to visit the White House in an hour.
It was supposed to be a feel-good political photo-op.
The President would receive the giants in the Rose Garden, accept a number 1 jersey with his name on it, tell a few jokes about teamwork, and then everyone would pose for a few perfect photos before heading home.
But today was different.
The team’s star player, the new-generation leader who had averaged 38 points per game in the Finals, had already made a statement on X, expressing his dissatisfaction with the administration’s recent silence on certain social justice issues.
He had threatened to stage a protest in the Oval Office, in front of the whole world, if the President couldn’t give him a satisfactory answer.
It would be a disaster.
The door to the White House Chief of Staff’s office was shut tight.
David Stern sat behind his desk, his tie already askew.
Three flashing landlines sat on his desk, and he held a cell phone in his hand.
"Listen, Mark!"
Stern roared into the phone, his voice laced with hysterical fury.
"I don’t care what that damn agent says! This is the White House! Not their locker room!"
"Tell that center if he doesn’t wear a suit, if he doesn’t take off that T-shirt with the political slogan, he won’t set foot in the West Wing!"
"What? Freedom of speech? To hell with freedom of speech! In here, there’s only etiquette! Only rules!"
Stern hung up and threw the phone onto his desk.
He rubbed his temples, feeling his head was about to split open.
Not only did he have to deal with this difficult group of athletes, but his desk was also piled with urgent briefings on the debt ceiling negotiations. If he didn’t sign off on them, the Federal Government would shut down next week.
Just then, there was a knock on his office door.
"Come in!" Stern snapped.
The door was pushed open a crack, and his administrative secretary peeked in, a troubled look on his face.
"Boss, Senator Sanders is here."
"Who?" Stern frowned. "Daniel Sanders? What’s he doing here? He’s not on my schedule for today."
"He said there’s an urgent bill to discuss," the secretary said quietly. "He invoked his privilege as Vice Chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee to demand a meeting with you immediately."
"Tell him I’m busy!"
Stern waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing a fly.
"Tell him I’m dealing with matters of state! If this is about his millionaire’s tax that will never pass, tell him to go to the Treasury Department! I don’t have a single minute for him!"
"I’m already here, David."
A gravelly yet powerful voice came from behind the secretary.
Daniel Sanders pushed the door open, ignoring the secretary’s panicked attempt to stop him, and strode into the office.
He was wearing his usual slightly-too-large, old suit, still clutching that same blue folder under his arm.
"Daniel!"
Stern stood up from his chair.
"My old friend, do you know what crime it is to barge into the White House Chief of Staff’s office?"
"Trespassing."
Sanders walked to the desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down without being invited.
"But that’s nothing compared to the midterm elections you’re all about to screw up."
Stern’s smile froze.
He waved the secretary out and shut the door.
"Alright, Daniel."
Stern sat back down and glanced at his watch.
"You have five minutes."
"In five minutes, I have to go to the Rose Garden and babysit a bunch of basketball-playing millionaires."
"So, what do you want? If it’s about the minimum wage bill, I can tell you right now, it’s a no-go. The Republican Party has it blocked in the Senate, and my hands are tied."
"It’s not about wages, and it’s not about the tax on the rich."
Sanders placed the blue folder on the desk and pushed it toward Stern.
"It’s about saving lives."
"Saving whose lives?" Stern asked, picking up the folder and flipping it open nonchalantly.
"Saving the Democratic Party’s life."
Sanders’s voice grew heavy.
"David, I want to talk to you about Pennsylvania."
At the mention of that name, Stern’s fingers paused.
As the White House’s chief steward, he was extremely sensitive to that name.
"Pennsylvania?"
Stern looked at Sanders.
"What’s wrong there? Isn’t Murphy already prepared to take over?"
Sanders pointed to the folder.
"Take a look at that list first, David."
"Let’s see what you’ve brought me."
Sanders opened the folder.
On the first page, there it was: the list.
Ron Smith, Mayor of Erie.
Joe Byers, Mayor of Scranton.
And a long list of other officials from small towns deep in the Appalachian Mountains, names that sounded like they were coated in coal dust.
Stern picked up the list.
His eyes scanned the names quickly.
As the White House Chief of Staff, his brain contained a detailed map of every political figure in the country.
He didn’t need to consult any files to accurately recall their backgrounds.
Less than ten seconds passed.
Stern threw the list back on the desk.
"Daniel, are you serious?"
An expression of disbelief crossed Stern’s face.
"This is your plan?"
"You want the President to embrace these people?"
Stern pointed at the paper, his finger jabbing at it forcefully.
"These people are political garbage."
He stood up, planted his hands on the desk, and glared at Sanders.
"If the President stands with this group."
"If the White House accepts this so-called ’Blue-collar Core Team’."