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[Author’s disclaimer: The following is an original work of fiction based on
the television series Sports Night,
created by Aaron Sorkin, and produced by
Imagine Entertainment and Touchstone Television.]


SPORTS NIGHT

INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES




Chapter One

We’re Still Open

            Isaac Jaffee knew Dana was coming.   It was a little after two, he’d just gotten settled in behind the desk again, and he had a full day’s work ahead.  So naturally Dana was coming.  Frankly, he would have been a little disappointed if she didn’t.  So he kept at the paperwork, signing off on the latest production notes and what-not, all the while waiting for the best showrunner in the business to burst into the room.  
            She surprised him today.  She barrelled in, instead.  “So has it happened?”  Dana asked, half-slamming the door behind herself.
            Four minutes late, he mused.  “It?”  Isaac replied calmly, not looking up.  “Which it?”
            “You know.  It.”  Dana shook as she spoke, frustrated with his coy response.  She just wanted him to say the words.
            He still didn’t look up.  “Nothing’s official, you know.  Things in this business can and do change.  You should know that by now.”
            Dana frowned.  “Isaac….”
            That was the tone.  The mixture of plead and bleat that always made him meet her eye.  It was infuriating and mysterious to him how this woman had figured out the one thing that made him feel the most guilty about evading her.
            He set down his pen and met her gaze.  His eyes softened when he saw hers.  There was real confusion there, and real fear, just like when they’d gotten the news that Quo Vadimus had gone belly-up.  That day was significantly worse, considering that they heard about the collapse from the competition, calling to verify the news.
            Isaac decided to say it softly, so as not to agitate her.  “They’re going with the Stratosphere bid.”
            Dana was quiet for a moment.  “Stratosphere,” she finally whispered.  “So that’s good news, right?”
            “I don’t know good from bad anymore,” Isaac replied. “I just know that it means we’ll have our third owner in five years, and this one is notorious for its tinkering.”
            Dana didn’t respond well to the sound of that.  “Tinkering?  As in fixing what might not be broken?”
            “Yeah.”  Isaac sounded a bit weary.  He knew he shouldn’t have mentioned that to her.
            She chose her next question carefully.  Tried to, anyway.  “How notorious?”
            “Enough for me to mention,” he replied, dropping his eyes back to his paperwork.
            Dana groaned.  “We’re doomed again, aren’t we?”
            “No.”  Isaac’s tone was firm.  “As long as I am sitting at this desk, we are never doomed.  And you should also know that by now.”  He looked up at his protégé, and gave her a sweet half-smile.  “So this sale is good news.  We’re still open, and I have no intention of closing.  And that better be your attitude, and everyone else’s, too.  Now go run your three o’clock.”  With that, he went back to work, and hoped she believed half of his bluster.

            Dana watched the older man wave her away; not dismissively, but in a gentle shooing motion, as if to say, go away, kid, you bother me.  It didn’t bother her in the slightest.  Isaac was the best father-figure in the industry, and she was lucky to still have him to annoy.
            She wasn’t sure if she trusted much of what he said, though.  Isaac was the proverbial rock-and-shield around here, and sometimes that meant he had to protect you from your own worst imaginings.  And those often flew thick and fast through her mind, even after his best counsel.  Today’s mixed news seemed to point to the negative, but it seemed important to Isaac that everyone believe that wasn’t the case.  She was determined to keep a positive mind-set about the whole thing.
            And she did, all the way to the hall outside Isaac’s office, where Natalie was leaning against a wall, clipboard against her chest.  Natalie read Dana’s eyes.  “We’re doomed again, aren’t we?” she asked.
            Dana sighed, then plastered a glass smile across her face.  “Nope.  We’re safe, secure, and sold.  And that’s the attitude Isaac wants around here.”  At that, she began walking down the hall.
            Natalie stayed on her hip.  “Who owns us today?”
            “The ink isn’t dry, but we’ll be getting our checks signed by Stratosphere.”
            “Stratosphere?”  Natalie’s voice went up an octave.  “Don’t you mean our pink slips?”
            Dana shook her head. “Wrong attitude, Natalie.”
            “Sorry,” the younger woman said. “But am I wrong?”
            Dana stopped and faced her friend.  “Isaac seemed a little apprehensive himself about the news…”
            Natalie’s jaw dropped. “We’re done for.”
            Dana frowned. “…but he’s not giving up the ship.   And neither do we.”
            Natalie chewed on that for a moment, then said, “Okay.  Isaac was apprehensive, how?”
            Dana took a breath, and picked a word from the conversation that wouldn’t send the other woman into convulsions.  It surprised her that she could find one.   “He said they like to tinker.”
            “Tinker?”  Natalie said the word like she’d never heard it before.
            “His word.”
            “He said ‘tinker’.”
            “Yeah.”
            Natalie though about that for another moment.  “That might not be all bad.  Them tinkering?  It might even be good for us.”  A smile appeared, then disappeared.  “Who am I kidding?  We’re doomed again.”  At that, she took off down the hall, leaving Dana behind.  

            Jeremy tried to be subtle.  He finished reading from his computer screen, casually shut down the browser, and pretended to find a file on his desk.  When he ‘found’ what he wanted, he headed for Dan and Casey’s glassed-in office, carrying it in front of himself, and walking with purpose and direction.  The walking was not pretend.
            Casey finished typing as Jeremy entered.  He was about to ask why the younger man was coming in, but then he saw the look behind the eyes, and knew.  CSC had an offer.
            “It’s Stratosphere.  Quo Vadimus, or whatever’s left of it, signed us over as of noon today.  Stratosphere’s owners offered forty-two, and that won the bidding war,” he said to no one in particular.
            Dan sauntered in behind him, opening a bottle of water.  “Forty-two?”
            “Per share,” Jeremy replied.
            “Is that good?”  Dan asked, taking a swig.
            “Good enough for the creditors of QV’s estate, I guess,” Jeremy said.
            Dan slipped past Jeremy and sat on the edge of his desk.  “So we’re under new management.  Again.  Just when I was starting to not hate the old management.”  He grabbed the foam football off his desk and tossed it at Casey.
            “Stratosphere?  They’re the ones we wanted, right?”  Casey asked, snatching the ball out of the air.
            “Sort of.  They’ll keep us alive for a while, that’s a given.”
            “What do you mean, ‘a while’?”  Dan asked.
            “They’ll infuse the company with cash, they’ll keep the team together, they won’t move us out of New York.  But they won’t guarantee that any of it will last.”  Jeremy’s voice darkened toward the end.
            Casey looked at Jeremy, and lobbed the football back to Dan.  “Excuse me?”
            Jeremy lowered his voice, and leaned closer to them. “I was just chatting on-line with a friend of mine who worked for a regional sports channel Stratosphere bought about four years ago.  She was telling me about the change in attitude the ownership had after the ratings didn’t grow.  Simply said, they gutted the staff, including on-air talent and their best producers, replaced only the most essential employees, then cut budgets to the bone.  And when that didn’t work, they shut the channel down and sold it off, piece by piece.”
            “So they’re scavengers?”  Dan asked, passing the ball over to Casey again.
            “Sounds like it,” Casey said, sending the ball to Jeremy.
            Jeremy seemed surprised to be playing receiver, and not unhappy about it.  But his pleasure at being included in the game dissolved rather quickly.  “Any way you look at it, this is the last hurrah for us.  If CSC doesn’t fly for Stratosphere, it won’t fly for anyone,” Jeremy said.
            Dan spread his hands, indicating that he was wide open.  Jeremy sent the ball in his direction.  As he plucked the ball from over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll just start hating them now.”
   
            By five after three, the bullpen was abuzz with the news.  Dana had to fight her way through a maze of questioning staffers and production assistants and technicians to reach the conference room, where most of her Sports Night crew were sitting, quiet, but not docile.  Natalie was next to Casey and Dan, ostensibly showing them research notes for a story they’d been writing, but as soon as the showrunner was through the door, they lost all interest.  She dropped her show folder on the table, and sat down.  “How’s the show look tonight?” was all she had to say before the room exploded in voices.
            “Stratosphere fire us yet?” Dave asked.
            “I heard that the staff’s being cut by twenty percent,” Kim said. “Is that true, Dana?”
            “Twenty?  Try thirty,” Tony muttered.
            “Are they honoring QV contracts?”
            “Are they honoring QV health insurance?”
            “What happens to the West Coast Update?”  
            “Who’s in charge?”  
            “What are we going to do?”
             As the voices crescendoed, Dana stuck a thumb and forefinger in her mouth and whistled for quiet.  It was an old trick that usually never accomplished anything, just added more noise to talk over.  
             Except this time.    
             The room fell to a hushed silence.  Natalie looked over at her boss and gave her an approving nod, and Dana took the floor.  “I know we’re back at square one, and for the second time in less than two years.  I know that everyone’s on edge.  I know that this is something we thought we’d never have to do again.”  Dana looked from face to face around the table.  “I don’t have any real answers for you, or for myself.  I only know that Isaac says we’re still open, and he’s absolutely right.  We have a show to do tonight.  And probably tomorrow, and the night after that.  We need to stay focused on our jobs right now, and put the things we don’t control aside for the moment.  In this room, and in the studio, Sports Night is all that matters.”  Dana took a breath and exhaled.  “So, once more, how’s the show look tonight?”  

              Casey watched Dana work the room like she always did – the show mattered to her, sometimes even more than it seemed to matter to anyone else.  It was amazing to him how cool she could remain when skirmishes broke out.  All business, a true pro.  
              And easy on the eyes, too, a little voice whispered mischieviously in his ear.  Always liked that white blouse.  And that skirt just shows off those legs –
              Damn.  He blinked hard to clear that burst of reverie from his mind.
              Dan was looking at him.  “You okay?” he asked, under his breath.
              Casey nodded.  Of course he was.
              “’Cause you were staring at Dana again.”  Dan’s voice was pure junior-high mockery.
              Casey tried his best to sound perturbed.  “No, I wasn’t.”
              “You sure?”
              “Danny, I’m trying to pay attention here.”
              “Yeah, to Dana.”
              “Danny….”
              “Casey….”
              “Hey, guys,” Dana said. “If you don’t mind, we’re trying to have a meeting here, unless you’ve got something to share with the class.”
              “It’s nothing,” Dan said. “Casey’s just hungry again.”
              Casey shook his head.  “I’m fine.  What did Dan make me miss?”
              Dana didn’t miss a beat.  “Okay, so can we switch Cleveland to the forties, and move Dallas up to the twenties?”
              “That’ll work,” Casey said, which earned him more confused looks from the room.
              “Thanks for your approval, Mr. Co-Anchor,” Dana said.
              Dan stifled a chuckle.  
              Casey stood up.  “I think I’ll get a sandwich.  Anyone else want anything?”
              The voices rose as one.  “No.”
              Casey forced a smile.  As he started for the door, he flicked a finger against the back of Dan’s neck, and bolted from the room.
              “What was that all about, Danny?” Dana asked, after he’d gone.
               Dan smiled.  “I don’t have the faintest idea.”  He tsk-tsked.  “Casey’s such a bad influence on me.”
 
                Isaac heard the knuckles rapping on his door.  It was the classic knock-knock-knock, polite and professional, so he knew he was about to have a visitor who didn’t work in this office. “Come in,” he said.
                The visitor walked in, and closed the door behind himself.  “Isaac Jaffee?”
                “That’s me,” Isaac replied.  He looked up from his paperwork again to see who owned the voice.
                It belonged to a younger man in a tailored suit.  Isaac didn’t even have to hear him say it to know this was another corporate drone.  “Brian O’Rourke, from Stratosphere.  We spoke this morning,” the drone said in that same smooth manner they all had.
                “Of course,” Isaac lied.  In the back of his mind, though, he knew he’d heard that name before.  Where he’d heard it, he couldn’t remember.  He rose from his desk chair, and indicated the chairs positioned across from him. “Have a seat, please.”
                “Thank you, Mr. Jaffee.”  O’Rourke settled on the chair off to Isaac’s left.  “Or may I call you Isaac?”
                “Either is fine,” Isaac said, his tone polite.
                “Isaac, then.”  O’Rourke offered a smile.
                Isaac returned the affectation.  Somehow, the older man knew the drone would begin their working relationship like that.  They were all pretty much the same.  It had to be in their nature.  Either that, or it was a college seminar that counted toward their MBAs.
               “First off, I have to tell you how excited all of us at Stratosphere are about this acquisition.  Your channel has a lot of fans over at Corporate.  When we had a chance to bring it into the fold, no one had to think twice about making an offer.  We firmly believe that Quo Vadimus blew every chance they had with this channel, and we don’t intend to make the same mistakes.”
               “That’s good to hear.”  
               O’ Rourke smoothed some imaginary wrinkles in his pant leg.  “Anyway, the reason I’m here.  We terminated Bob Epperson as of today.”
               Isaac felt the hairs on the back of his neck shoot up.  “Our executive producer?”
               O’Rourke nodded.  “Creative differences.  Stratosphere wants to build CSC into the powerhouse of sports television.  Bob didn’t feel the same.”
              “I see.”  Gee, Isaac thought, so Bob was just pretending to sweat blood over the tiniest programming details.  “Who’s going to fill the slot?”
               The drone smiled his best fake smile, like he’d heard what enthusiasm was supposed to look like, but hadn’t practiced it.  “Chris Murphy,” he said.
               Isaac chuckled humorlessly.  “Him?  You’re joking.”
               The drone had an answer at the ready.  “Not at all.  Chris joined Stratosphere eighteen months ago as a programming consultant, and when the CSC deal was in its early stages, he stated quite clearly that he wanted the executive producer post, should it become available.”
              “And then it did.”  Isaac was out of his chair again, this time over to a window.
              “We couldn’t help it that Bob wouldn’t work with us to determine Stratosphere’s long-term plan for CSC.”
               Isaac couldn’t believe his ears.  “You forced Bob out, which will almost certainly throw my people for a loop, and now you want to dump gasoline onto the fire by replacing him with an unstable element like Chris Murphy?”  The older man frowned, and his voice turned icy.  “No.”
               The smile was gone from the younger man’s face as well.  O’Rourke’s brow furrowed.  “Excuse me, Isaac?  No?”
               “You heard me right.  And it’s Mr. Jaffee, if you please.”
               “Fine.  Mr. Jaffee.”  O’Rourke’s plastic friendliness vanished, replaced by a cruel calm.  “Stratosphere is looking to keep the CSC team intact, so we can move forward with our grand plan.”
                Isaac set his jaw.  “And keeping the team intact means firing Bob Epperson, an award-winning, twenty-year veteran of cable sports.”
                O’Rourke shrugged.  “We at Stratosphere have a vision for this channel.  Bob didn’t share that.  Chris Murphy does.  We hope the remaining employees of CSC will stand with Chris.”  He stood up, and re-buttoned his coat.  “It would be a shame to lose any of them.  Especially you, Mr. Jaffee.”  The last words were pitch-black and each syllable stung.  
                 Isaac turned and his dark eyes met O’Rourke’s light ones.  It was then he remembered hearing the man’s name.  For the first time in their conversation, Isaac believed he wasn’t talking to just another suit who tossed around company lines like a middle-manager pretending to be a big shot.  O’Rourke was the big shot: the newly-minted president of CSC.  Isaac finally broke eye contact, turning back to the window.  
               The younger man looked at his watch.  “I’m late for an appointment.  Chris will be coming by to meet with you and your people at five.  Welcome him.”  At that, he turned and walked out.
               Isaac felt a shiver in his bones, but he stifled it until O’Rourke was long-gone.  He sat in his chair once again, but had no urge to get back to his paperwork.  The message was clear: CSC’s new owners were only interested in the sound of their people falling into lockstep.  That idea chilled him much more.

              Dana’s phone rang.  That wasn’t unusual, especially after four on a weekday.
               It also wasn’t unusual that Isaac was calling her to his office; he usually wanted to know how the three o’clock meeting went.
              But today, his voice was weak, just like it was right after his stroke, and hearing that weakness scared Dana to the deepest part of her soul.
              “Are you all right?” she asked him, barely aware of what he was saying. “Do you need a doctor?”
              “No,” he replied.  “Just you, Dan, and Casey, in my office, right now.”
               “What’s wrong?” she asked.
               “I’ll tell you when you get here,” he replied.  

               Dana rapped on Dan and Casey’s door, which drew Casey’s attention away from his computer.                           
               Casey caught a flash of her pale expression and motioned her in.  “What is it?  Are you sick?”  
               Dana looked at him blankly. “What?  No.  Isaac wants us in his office right now.  Where’s Dan?”
               Casey cocked his head at her.  “Dan’s cutting footage in Edit Bay 2.  What’s going on?”
               “I don’t know, Casey.  Just go get him, and I’ll meet you both at Isaac’s.”  With that, Dana walked out, and Casey set off for the editing room.

                When the men arrived at the office, they found Dana and Isaac huddled behind his desk, speaking in hushed tones.  Dan cleared his throat.  “Excuse me, you two, but nobody like whisperers,” he said.
                 Isaac looked up, but not Dana.  She looked a bit stunned.  “Close the door, Danny,” Isaac said.
                Dan did as he was asked, then sat next to Casey on the couch.  “What’s the hubbub?” Dan asked.  
                “I’ve already told Dana what I’m going to tell you.  Bob Epperson is out as executive producer of CSC,” Isaac said.
                Casey frowned.  “No way.  He was fired?”
                “He might say fired, they definitely say resigned – but it’s all the same.  Bob’s out as of today.”
                “Who did they pick to replace him?”  Dan asked.
                It took some effort for Isaac to say the name.  “Chris Murphy.”
                The color drained from Dan’s face.  “Murphy?” he fairly shouted. “You tore me away from cutting my marathon runner piece to tell me that we’re getting stuck with Murphy?”
                “Shouting at Isaac isn’t going to change anything, Dan,” Dana said.
                Dan leaned toward Isaac’s desk.  “Just tell me that you’re fighting them on this, Isaac.  Tell me that we’re going to dig in against this horrible decision, and that we’re going to work to keep that train wreck from plowing into us,” Dan said.
                Isaac shook his head.  “I met with the new network president today.  He’s made it abundantly clear that Stratosphere has a plan for us, and that Chris Murphy is the man for the job.”
                “This is such – Isaac, he’ll ruin us.  We all know that,” Dan said.
                Casey spoke up, but his voice was soft.  “No, we don’t.”
                The other three were speechless.  Especially Dan.
                 Isaac found his voice first.  “Casey?  You can’t be serious.”
                “I am.  I think Chris is a good choice.”  
                “Based on what, Casey?” Isaac asked.
                “Based on the fact he’s a hell of a producer, a great judge of talent, and he fights for his people when he believes they’re right.”
                “And he bullies them the rest of the time,” Dana said.
                “When he isn’t hitting on every body in a skirt, or leaving his staff high-and-dry while he disappears on a bender,” Dan said.  “Don’t forget, I worked with that jerk at Pacific Sports for seven months, and the day he left was the happiest day of my life.”  Dan frowned at his friend.
                “I also remember that he went to the mat for you when Pacific Sports said you didn’t have the on-camera presence, or the off-camera skills, to be an anchor,” Casey countered.
                “One good turn doesn’t erase all the nonsense I had to put up with,” Dan muttered.
                “That was also more than ten years ago,” Casey said.  “Didn’t he get married and have a kid?”
                “Guys like Chris Murphy don’t settle down,” Dan replied.  “They just find other excuses to get loaded and screw other people over.”  He looked away from Casey again.
                “Regardless, he hasn’t produced or executive-produced anything in five years.  That’s my official line of complaint,” Dana said. “Is Stratosphere serious about bringing him in?”
                “They’ve already hired him,” Isaac said. “I tried to voice concerns with O’Rourke – that’s the new head of our channel – and he basically said that if anyone had a problem with Murphy being hired, then those people wouldn’t have to work at CSC anymore.”
                There was another long silence.
                 It was Dan who finally broke it.  “So we just have to take it?” Dan asked. “Except for his best friend Casey, that is.”
                 Casey snorted.
                 Isaac took a note of that, but then turned his attention back to Dan.  “This is not a time for us to be fighting.  Right now, being supportive of each other is the name of the game.  And we need to keep our personal prejudices about the new boss to ourselves.”  Isaac looked at the other three.  “Unless, of course, you plan on explaining to everyone why they shouldn’t want to keep their jobs.”
                 Dan’s eyes softened, and found the floor.  “Right.”
                 “When does he take over?” Casey asked.
                 “As of five o’clock today.  He’s going to come in, introduce himself.  I don’t know what his plans are beyond that.”  Isaac smiled sadly.  “So everyone buck up.  Get back to work, put on your best smiles, and burn these words into your minds: we’re still open.  No matter who the boss is.”  At that, he returned to his work.  “Get going,” he said.
                 Dana was the first to go, with Casey right behind her.  Dana was oddly quiet as she left.  Casey shook his head at his partner as he walked out.  Dan noticed it, and felt his stomach fall a bit.  He looked at Isaac again.  “Sorry, Isaac.”
                 “Don’t worry about it.  Now go save your piece,” the older man replied.
                 “We’re still open,” Dan said.
                 “There you go,” Isaac said.
                 Dan pulled up the corners of his mouth, forming something like a smile, and walked out.
                 When he was sure he was alone again, Isaac’s demeanor deteriorated.  “We’re still open,” he said again, trying to sound pleased, but not sure that he’d succeeded.



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