Without hesitation, Jake hit the man back and within seconds, the entire bar had joined the fight. The redhead pulled Desiree’s hair and wound up with a handful of platinum extensions, while the blonde brought her to the ground.
The two women rolled on the marble floor, screaming and cursing, while manicured fists tried to make contact. Darcy leaped up and grabbed the security guard, and then tried to pry Chase out of the mass of flailing limbs. She pulled him away just as he threw up his arm to protect her from a flying beer bottle, while the guard tried to stop the brawl. Jake accidentally punched Chase, his fist connecting neatly with the pitcher’s chin, and took a hit to the gut in retaliation.
The bouncer quickly called for help, and two cops showed up in record time. The lounge looked like something out of an old western as drinks flew along with fists. One of the officers grabbed a pitcher of ice water and unceremoniously threw it on the two women. The redhead let out a howl, giving the man the opportunity he needed to get her off the bartender.
“Break it up!” the other policeman shouted, hauling the brawlers away one by one. He had to call for reinforcements, but once security arrived along with the hotel manager, they were finally able to round up the instigators and hoist them down to the police station. Cell phones flashed, Twitter tweeted, and YouTube exploded. Within minutes, the Sonics’ fight hit social media everywhere as the fans re-tweeted the incident and shared the videos.
By morning, the Jersey team was headline news.
—
“What the hell is this crap?” Jeffrey Caine threw the paper across the desk where Pete Johnston, head coach for the Sonics, placidly chewed his gum. John Palmer, the team’s communications director, looked to the sky.
Pete shrugged and glanced at the lurid headlines and the nearly obscene picture of two women rolling around the floor of the glitzy nightclub. It didn’t take a practiced eye to spot several members of the Sonics, obviously in the thick of the battle.
“They’re just boys having some fun,” Pete said to the general manager as he fingered the paper, trying to suppress a smile. “They start training tomorrow. Looks like they were letting off steam and things got out of hand.”
“We can’t afford this.” The general manager got to his feet and paced the room. “The last thing we need is this kind of press. This is the year for us to make our mark, become a first-class team. Do you think you’d ever see the Yankees plastered all over the Trenton Times like this? I heard the YouTube video has gone viral.”
“It will blow over,” John said with a shrug. “You know as well as I do that this will be forgotten in no time. Right now our governor is front and center with that bridge scandal. By next Tuesday this will be nothing more than a footnote.”
“What if one of them gets hurt?” Jeffrey continued in the same tone. “We need Ryan healthy and hitting. We need Jake fit and able to make the kind of plays he made last season. His contract is up this year, and New York is sniffing around. We want to make sure this is a team he wants to stay with. And we just signed Chase. If he injures his arm, we’re out that money. And for what? So that they can go to a bar and engage in a brawl like some street gang on a Saturday night?”
Pete knew better than to continue to defend the actions of his ball club. “I’ll talk to them.”
“We need more than that. We need to change the way they see themselves, make them aware of the repercussions of what they do. They seem to forget they are role models. Who is going to want to take their kids to the ballpark after something like this?”
“We’ll be all right. We’ll just have to make sure they toe the line.”
“Agreed. That’s why I am hiring a PR specialist. Have you heard of Nikki Case?”
Pete shook his head in the negative while John’s mouth opened in surprise.
Jeffrey continued. “She’s supposed to be the best in the business. I want to do what Steinbrenner did. He got rid of the long hair, the tats, and the beards. George wanted the All-American team. He understood the power of an image. That’s what I think we need.”
John snorted. “They’ll never go for it. Our club isn’t a bunch of pretty boys. They’re hardworking, hard-drinking ballplayers. They aren’t about to put on a suit to talk to the press, or starch their uniforms for a photo op.”
Pete nodded in agreement. “They’re tough guys. They hustle. They fight for every hit, every base. By the end of the game, they look like they’ve been rolling in the mud, and they should.”