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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.]

 
[ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMERS:  Time Warner Cable is a service mark of AOL Time Warner.
 AP and Associated Press are trademarks of the Associated Press.  
The team names “Baltimore Colts” and “Arizona Cardinals” are trademarks of the National Football League. 
The team name “St. Louis Cardinals” is a trademark of Major League Baseball.]


SPORTS NIGHT

INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES



Chapter Three

Enter . . . Stage Left


              Twenty-five minutes to pre-show, Dana was nowhere to be seen.  Normally, she would be lingering in the bullpen, or checking the wires, or jousting with Dan or Casey or Isaac about one thing or another.  But she wasn’t doing any of those things.  And Natalie needed to find her.  A friend from her college days who worked for the Associated Press had called Natalie about the Stratosphere news - they were about to break the story nationwide.
              “Is it true?” her friend had asked.  “They’re taking possession immediately?”
              “I can’t confirm anything, Jeff,” Natalie replied.  “That’s not my department.”
              “Jesus, Natalie, we’re off the record,” he said, doing his best impression of taking offense.
              “When it comes to CSC business, I’ve learned the hard way that ‘off the record’ doesn’t exist.”
              Jeff exhaled into the phone.  “Fine.  I just thought you’d want to know.  The AP is flashing it across the business and sports wires at six o’clock Eastern time, with or without your confirmation.”
              Natalie frowned.  “Why then?  Why not wait to send it until after we’ve made an announcement?”
              He paused, then said, “It’s a scoop, Natalie.  You remember what those are, right?”
              She could almost see his smirk.  It was time to see how strong the friendship was.  “Jeff, you’ve got to let us unleash this.  The last time we were beaten to the punch about our own fate, it was more than embarrassing – we were humiliated, and on our own turf.”  She decided to add something that might satiate him.  “I saw them writing the piece earlier today, for broadcast at the top of the prime-time edition.”
              “So an announcement is coming?”
              “Yeah,” Natalie lied. “At the open of the show.”
              Jeff was quiet for a moment.  “I’ll talk to my boss.  We might be able to push the alert back a half-hour.  Maybe.  But Nat, if I don’t see it, I don’t know exactly what I’ll be writing about in the follow-up.”
              She caught his drift.  So Natalie needed to talk to Dana.  
              She found Dana in her office, oddly enough, parked behind her desk, working rather furiously at pushing papers into folders, dotting old I’s and crossing new T’s.  “Uh, you’re working?  Now?  Before pre-show?”  Natalie asked.
              Dana didn’t look up.  “That’s what I do, Nat.  I work here.  And I want to continue to work here.  So I’d better look like I belong in the regime.”
              Natalie shut the door behind herself.  “The Associated Press knows.  Somebody told them.”
              “Somebody told them?”
              “He asked me for confirmation.”
              “He?”
              “Jeff.  He’s a friend of mine from college.”  
              “Boyfriend?”
              “No.  Well, not really.”
              “Oh.  Was he the short guy with the round head?”
              “No, Jeff’s tall.  Remember, I brought him to the Christmas party?”
              Dana frowned.  “Which party?”
              “Christmas, this last one.”
              “And he’s tall?  I can’t picture him.”
              “Dana, he wanted confirmation.”
              “About Stratosphere?”
              “No, about you hating Casey’s girlfriend,” Natalie said off-handedly.  
              Dana stopped shuffling, and locked her blue eyes onto Natalie’s brown ones.  “I don’t hate Sheri.  I don’t.”  Dana shook her head.  “Hate’s not a strong enough word.  And where did that come from anyway?”
              “I hadn’t mentioned it yet today.  So what are we going to do?”
              “About Sheri?  Dangle her off a bridge, maybe.”
              “Not funny.”
              “Yes, it is.”  Dana tried not to savor the image forming in her mind, and found the best way: getting back to business.  “I guess we’ll make an announcement.  Did your friend give you a clue regarding time?”  
              “Six-thirty, Eastern, at the latest.”
              “So I guess we’ll get to prevent a scoop.  Have Dan or Casey write something up for the open.  Nothing too involved, just the basics.”
              “Yeah, something like CSC’s in the hands of another large corporate entity, please enjoy us while we last.”  Natalie frowned, hard.
              Dana offered a wry smile in response.  “Hey, hey, still open, remember?”
              Natalie forced the corners of her mouths up again.  “Right.  A brave face and all that.  Now I’m off to spread good cheer.”  And then she was.
              Dana shook off her smile after Natalie was gone, and went back to work.

              The sunlight was fading nicely now, and The Big Apple was beginning to earn its reputation once again.  Little by little, lights flickered to life on street corners and through building windows, and grew brighter and livelier as the seconds passed.  The people on the streets were moving away from the workplaces, and toward the places where they could rest.
              Chris watched it all from his new office, letting the changing mood out there change his in here.  She would have loved this view of the city, Chris decided.  No, he wasn’t sitting above the clouds, looking down upon the masses scuttling from one steel and glass structure to another, heady with authority and position, and that’s precisely why she would have loved it.  “You’ve got a lot to be proud of,” he could almost hear her say, “but not that much.”  Then she would have smiled, and that would have melted him.  Looking into the gathering dark of the night sky, he could practically see that sweet expression.  
              But not quite.

              Dan was grinning from ear to ear as he strode to Bob Epperson’s former office.  Tomorrow, it would be Chris Murphy’s, but for tonight, it was unoccupied, except for boxed-up memories, memoranda, and the tapes Bob had acquired for Dan.  Bob had the tapes, and he kept them.  Dan would’ve put a year’s pay on it.  Granted, he didn’t have much time to find them right now, maybe twenty minutes, tops, then it was time for pre-show, and then the show, but after all that?  All the time in the world.
              Of course, Dan reasoned, if Bob’s office was in disarray, or if he’d packed them in a box that was buried under a billion others, they’d take a lot longer to find.  But Bob Epperson had the tapes, and he hadn’t turned them over to anyone else yet, Dan was sure of that.
              He reached for the doorknob.

              Chris heard his cell phone ring.  He plucked it from his coat pocket.  “This is Murphy,” he said.
               “Chris,” a familiar voice said.  “You’re actually there?”
              “I hope so, Brian,” Chris replied.  “Checking in on me, huh?”
              O’Rourke chuckled.  There was a crackle of static.  “You didn’t expect this call?”
              Chris frowned.  Of course, Brian called.  He always did.  It’s called tradition.  It’s also called keeping the reins tight.  Chris lost the frown before he replied, replacing it with a half-smile. “I would hope by now that you would trust me to be on site, on time, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and all that jazz.”
              “Known you too long for that, Chris.” O’Rourke sounded bored.  “So how’s CSC treating you so far?”
              “As well as I could have expected.”
              “No rough patches yet?”
              “Lots of eyeballs, no run-ins.”  Chris re-thought his words, then added, “Well, nothing I can’t handle.”
              O’Rourke was quiet for a moment, then said, rather coolly, “I told Isaac Jaffee to welcome you.  Did he?”
              Chris tried to keep his voice light.  “Very graciously.”
              “A creditable effort on that lie,” O’Rourke said.
              Chris groaned.  “Fine. He made it clear that I’m not invited over to dinner anytime soon.  And he’s also sure that I’m going to break the damn channel.  History being what it is, I can’t say I blame him,” Chris said.  “But I am hopeful that we can –  ”
              “ – settle into a stable and positive working relationship?”  There was the boredom again.
              Chris shrugged.  “Sure, that’s as good as anything I could have come up with.”  He noticed the lights in the office across the way snapping off.   “Still haven’t talked with Rydell yet.”
              “Wow,” O’Rourke said.  “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

              Dan had heard the ring tone.  It had stopped his hand an inch from the doorknob.  Then there was that voice, unchanged after all these years.  Dan craned his neck closer to the door, just to be sure he wasn’t imagining things.  
              He wasn’t.  
              That was Chris Murphy’s voice.  He was talking to someone important, Dan could tell.  His tone was that of a pure sycophant.  Dan recognized that in particular.  It was something Murphy excelled at – probably because he’d practiced it so often – and it made Dan nauseous.
              And then Dan heard his last name.  The way Murphy said it, like a picky seven-year old talking about broccoli.  Dan frowned harder.
              “The thing about it is,” Dan believed Murphy was saying, “I don’t have a clue what to say.”
              Then Murphy’s yes-man voice was quiet for a minute.
              Then a laugh.  “I don’t think I could say that,” Murphy said.
              “Asshole,” Dan hissed.
              The videotapes would have to wait until later, he decided.  The wardrobe ladies were going to get an early visit instead, and then he’d give his copy a quick once-over, maybe even find a sandwich.  With time to spare, he thought.  
              As Dan found his way back to the elevator, he felt his mood lighten a little more.  He didn’t feel like having to deal with Murphy today, and by leaving now, he wouldn’t have to worry about receiving memos from Corporate about not killing the new boss.   

              Chris paused in mid-laugh.  Was there somebody at his door?  Dan, maybe?  He thought he might have heard someone, and he began crossing the room to check  –
               “Why so quiet?  Paranoia flashback?” O’Rourke asked.  
               - and that brought Chris back.  “No,” he said.  “Just thought someone was knocking.”  Chris decided to talk business.  It would keep him from having to deal with the Dan issue for the moment.  “How’d the meeting with Time Warner Cable go?”
              O’Rourke’s voice found a distinctly different pitch.  “Meh.  Hard to read them.  They say they’re willing to strike a deal, and I tend to believe them, but we’re still miles apart on pricing.  And QV’s blood, still being in the water and all, means we’re probably going to have to give a lot more leeway, fee structure-wise, than we’d like.”  O’Rourke seemed to pause for dramatic effect.   “Any way you slice it, until CSC is the toast of cable television, and Stratosphere’s channel free-and-clear, the operators are going to have the muscle at the bargaining table.”  O’Rourke’s voice darkened.  “The board’s going to love hearing that.”
             The board.  Chris had almost forgot.  “The meeting’s at ten tomorrow, right?”
             “Ten in Denver.  Noon in New York.  So dial in around quarter-to, that way you can make your report first thing – and avoid embarrassing your boss.”
             “Last thing I’d want to do, Brian.”
             “Remember that.”  Then O’Rourke was gone.
             Chris slid the phone back into his pocket.  He went back to the door and opened it wide.  Nobody in the hall, and it didn’t look like anybody had been there.  Chris shut the door again.  He probably was being paranoid.  First night jitters, sure, he thought.  He also thought that he could use a good, stiff drink right now.
             Thank God there isn’t one around, he mused.

             Natalie caught up to Dan as he was stepping off the elevator.  “Hey, Nat,” he said, giving her a disinterested smile, not stopping for anything more.
             She took to his pace.  “Dan, would you do something for me?”
             “Virtually anything.  Name it.”
             “We’re making the announcement at the top of the show.”
             Dan stopped in his tracks.  “The announcement?  About Stratosphere?”  His voice was tight.
             “Yeah,” Natalie replied.
             “Wasn’t that supposed to happen tomorrow?  A press conference, lots of whoop-dee-doo, all that?”
             “Yes.  They’re still doing the press conference, but we’re first out of the gate.”
             “Why now?”  
            “Remember Jeff?”
            “The non-ex-boyfriend who’s an AP writer?”
            “That’s the guy.  Dana didn’t remember him.”
            “I do.  He passed out in my office.  What about him?”
            “He called me trying to get confirmation.  Apparently, somebody leaked it to them, along with some details.  He told me that he’d try to hold it back from the wires until we had a chance to break it ourselves, but he’s not going to give us long.”
             “So she needs someone to read a statement.”
             “That’s exactly it.  Sort of.”
             “Sort of?”
             “She needs it written first.  Then read.”
             Dan shook his head.  “Why ask me?”
             Natalie tried her best ‘offended’ voice.  “Because you’re the best writer in the business, and more than that, when our viewers hear it from you, they’ll believe that we’ll be okay, even if we don’t feel that way.”
             After pretending to consider this, Dan grimaced.  “You couldn’t find Casey, huh?”
             Natalie shook her head.  “He must have slipped past the guard dogs.”  
            
             Isaac peeked into Dana’s office, and found her busy on some housekeeping – namely, reshuffling pages in her show book.  She seemed to be sweating over them, trying to put them into an order that other people could comprehend.  It made him smile a bit, until he realized that she was probably doing it for Chris Murphy’s benefit, and she shouldn’t have to do that.  The smile was gone as he rapped gently on her door, just as she raised her eyes.  “Excuse me, Dana, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he said, “but I just wanted to say good night.”
             She took off her reading glasses, and set them on the desk.  “You’re going now?  Before pre-show?”
             “Yes,” he said.  “It’s been a long day, and what I need right now is not here.  No offense.”
             “None taken,” Dana replied.  Then, carefully, she added,  “I heard a little of the – nastiness – from outside your office.”
             Isaac shook his head sadly.  “Sorry about that.  Murphy and I, we don’t have a good past.  He asked something of a flippant question relating to that, and...” Isaac’s words drifted away as he noticed the look on Dana’s face.  There was no need to involve her in his feud, he decided, continuing,  “...and I don’t really feel like dwelling on it.  It’s too late, and I’m too tired.”
              “So you’re heading home?” Dana asked, reaching for her glasses again.
              “Not right away.  I called an old friend; we’re meeting for dinner.  After that, I’ll be at home.”  Isaac paused.  “And tomorrow too, I think.”
              Dana froze.  “Are you feeling all right, Isaac?”
              Isaac smiled at the question.  “My health is fine.  My emotions, though, they’re a little out of sorts. I just need a long weekend.  I’ll be better on Monday.”
              That seemed to satisfy her for the moment.  Still she started to ask,  “But the show –  ”
              He was ready to block that maneuver.  “ – is in good hands,” he interrupted, and added,  “Trusted hands.”  He emphasized ‘trusted.’  “So have a good show, and call me if there’s an emergency.”  Isaac started out the door.
              “We’re making the announcement.  Apparently, the AP is about send a flash over the wires,” Dana said.
              “At least we got a heads-up this time.  Do what you have to do.”
              “What about Murphy?” Dana asked, stopping him.
              Isaac didn’t turn around at first.  “Tell him I’m taking some vacation days, and you’re able to speak for me on all show-related issues.  Again, good, trusted hands.”  And then he turned back to meet her eyes.  “Dana, dear, we’re in the early rounds yet.  Nobody’s throwing in the towel.”  Then he was out the door, saying quite clearly,  “Especially me.”

              Natalie looked over at Jeremy, who was at his seat in the booth, sifting through some paperwork of his own.  It was all research: a handful of NFL trade histories, a three-season statistical overview of the Cleveland bullpen, the last five winners at Daytona and their best lap times, plus a few other mind-twisters that only the hardest of the hardcore sports junkies would even want to know.  He was glancing at the sheets, then setting them aside when he seemed satisfied that he’d absorbed the most pertinent information.
              She knew his routine.  He did this when he was ticked off at someone, specifically her.  The last time they broke up – for the absolute, once-and-for-all, final time, she added – he spent five full days committing the complete statistical history of the Baltimore Colts to memory.  She knew this because every time she passed his desk, his nose was buried in some yellowing text, and she could hear him whispering Johnny Unitas’s game-to-game completion-to-touchdown ratio over and over to himself.
              Time to warm the air between them.  “Jeremy,” she started, “I apologize for this afternoon.”
              He didn’t look over at her.  “Forget it.”
              Still icy, she thought.  “No, I won’t,” she said, trying her best to sound chastened.  “I’m sorry you were embarrassed.  We shouldn’t have been spying; you were right.”
              Jeremy stopped reading his research, but he still didn’t turn his eyes to her.  “Fine.  I accept your apology.  Now, can we bury this topic?”
              Okay, the conciliatory approach wasn’t working.  “I don’t want you to be mad at me.  We have to work together and keep the show going and if we can’t be civil to each other –  ”
              His head turned at that.  “Civility?  You want civility?  Then stop talking to me, dammit.”  His words had a stinging snap to them.
              Natalie frowned as she watched him climb from his chair and leave the booth.  He passed Dana at the door.  She gave him a confused look, to which he replied, “I left something at my desk.”
              Natalie noted Dana’s attention shifting to her, followed by a furtive headshake.  Natalie sighed.  Jeremy was probably heading for his jai-alai archives.
 
              Dana watched as the techs moved about the studio, adjusting light levels on the set and the background, re-marking fixed camera positions, and running a few lengths of cable out of camera shot.  Pre-show had two stated – and necessary – purposes, Dana knew, both of them technical: it was a good, dry run for cue calls in the booth, and it allowed for repairs, big or small.  
               The side benefit?  It brought everyone together and focused their attention, which was something desperately needed, tonight of all nights.  She watched as Casey and Dan walked up to the desk and found their chairs.  They were going through their parts like always, reading ins and outs off the Teleprompter, occasionally interrupted by the director, who was running them from cue to cue.  
                Everything was normal, Dana told herself.  Still doing Sports Night, still working at CSC.  Still here, she thought.
                Except Isaac.  Isaac had taken his leave of them.  Abandoned them, even.
                Dana shook her head at that thought, and tried to breathe easy.  She’d been in charge of the show a bunch of times, and when Isaac’s condition was gravest, she’d had to make some extremely tough choices without any input from him.
                Isaac wasn’t abandoning anyone, she thought, trying to convince herself of something she couldn’t guarantee.
                An opening line from the studio reminded her to break in to the machine-like precision of the rehearsal.  “Casey?” she said into her headset. “We’re going to push the Cincinnati - Baltimore trade into the thirties, so maybe put together a tease for the opening and at the first break.”
                Over the monitors, she watched Casey nod.  Not a problem, he was saying.  The director continued the cue call, and Dana resumed her fretting.  She was remembering her first glimpse of Chris Murphy, trying to compose himself in a hallway, and not doing it very well.  Maybe he wouldn’t show up.  She could always hope for that.

                “We’re out.  Two minutes back,” the director’s voice called over the studio P.A.  Casey swiveled around in his seat, taking a sip from his water bottle, while one of the wardrobe assistants showed him the jacket for the early show.
              Dan leaned over to his friend.  “Did you see that piece on the Cardinals that Jeremy did?”
              “Arizona or St. Louis?”  Casey asked.
              “St. Louis.  They’ve got a fight on their hands at second base come Spring Training.”
              “Yeah, the kid from the Triple-A club, he’s something.  Good hands, great bat.  I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t get a serious look,” Casey said.  
              “Yeah,” Dan said, as the wardrobe people finished up.  As they were laying out a selection of ties for him, he said quietly, “Listen, Case, could you do something for me?”
                “So we weren’t just making chit-chat,” Casey said with a small smile.  “Could I?  Yes.  Will I?  That’s another question.”
                Dan lowered his voice.  “Natalie asked me to make the announcement.”
                “The announcement?  The Stratosphere one?”  
                “Can you think of another announcement we’d be making?”
                “I thought that was happening tomorrow morning.”
                “We’re about to be scooped,” Dan said sadly.  “That is, we will be, if we don’t put it out there first.”
                Casey shook his head.  “Well, we can’t let that happen again, can we?”
                “Would you do it?”
                “Me?” Casey asked.  He gave Dan a half-smirk. “Why?  You don’t want to do it?”
                Dan frowned.  “I’m not the right voice for corporate duties.  I mean, that’s not to say that you’re a yes-man or anything, it’s just that I - ”
                “Yeah, yeah, sure,” Casey said.  “I’ll do it.  But you’ll have to stand in for me the next time they want autographs signed at the up-fronts.”
                Dan grinned.  “You’ve spent that nickel.”
                “Fine, then I want a favor to be named later.”
                “Done.”  

                Chris was off the elevator and heading for the studio.  No need to put it off any longer.  He figured that if pre-show had started on time – and the odds were good that it had – he would have a very brief window for his introduction.  He went over his words once more as he rounded the corner toward the booth.
                The staff was hard at work when he arrived, and he could feel the butterflies once again flapping in his belly.  It wasn’t a nervous reaction, though, but one of a producer who’d been out of the game long enough to forget the excitement surrounding showtime.  The crew looked tight, like a great band.  They were ready for a show now, and they’d be that way afterward, too.  And for the first time since – well, since he couldn’t really remember – Chris Murphy felt like he was about to be something more than just a conglomerate’s hired gun.  He felt like he was going to be part of something good.  And he wanted that more than anything.
                He tapped on the glass door, and watched the faces in the booth turn to him.
                Enter stage left, he thought.

                The restaurant, Jerry’s of Manhattan, had been Isaac’s choice, as it usually was.  He hadn’t set foot inside in some time, but nothing had changed.  The lights were dim, the air was thick with the smell of grilled beef steaks, and the wait staff sharply uniformed, down to the pressed button-down collars and polished shoes.  Isaac smiled to himself, glad he had picked it for their meeting.  He’d huddled there with various associates on more than one occasion, some glad, some not, and usually not because of the food.  That wasn’t to say Jerry’s meals weren’t edible - the menu featured good, if basic, choices from a couple of the major food groups - but this was one of those restaurants where the atmosphere was just right for conversation.  You were afforded your privacy here, and the better you tipped, the more privacy you had.  Isaac was led to the corner table by a tall, elegant hostess; a woman that recognized Isaac, but wasn’t remembered in return.
                 “I have one of those faces, I suppose,” she said as she walked.
                 Isaac tried to apologize.  “No, ma’am.  I’m just distracted.”
                 The hostess indicated a chair.  “Is there anything I can do for you?”
                 Isaac lowered himself into the seat.  “When Mr. DiPaolo arrives, bring him over right away.  And send the wine steward now.”

                 Dana saw Chris Murphy up close for the first time – saw him wave, saw him try to smile.  He wasn’t hiding, and he didn’t look angry.  He was simply dropping in, like a friendly neighbor, or a close relative.
                 Or the quiet loner who lived next door, she added.
                Almost immediately, she hated herself for thinking that.  It wasn’t fair to him.  First impressions being what they are, he might not think that much of her, either.  So it might be best to extend the first olive branch.  She opened the door for him, and said, perhaps too loudly, “Hi!  Welcome to Sports Night!”  Her hand shot towards him.

               This had to be Dana Whitaker, Chris mused.  At least she was over-compensating in a positive direction.  He took her offered hand and shook it, feeling her nervous energy shooting squarely into him.  He loosened his grip before she did.  “Ms. Whitaker, right?” he asked, even though he was sure that’s who he was dealing with.
               “Yes, indeed, that’s me,” she said.  “And you’re the infamous Chris Murphy.”
               Infamous?  Already?  He ignored it.  “Good to finally meet you.”  
               “Yes.  You, too.”
               He leaned closer to her.  “Listen, I don’t want to get in the way tonight, but I did want to introduce myself to your people, if that’s alright with you.”
               Dana nodded, somewhat absently.  “Sure, that’d be – that’d be fine.”  She turned to the director.  “Could we call a five-minute break, and have everybody mingle in the studio?  Mr. Murphy wants to talk to the troops.”
                As the director called the break over the PA, and the booth began to empty, Chris said, “And if you could drop by my office after the show tonight, I’d appreciate it.”

                The request threw Dana for a loop.  She was still in a daze from his first request.  But she nodded in agreement again, just as involuntarily as before.  What did he want from her?
                Somehow, she took him by the elbow and led him to the studio.  She noticed Casey standing, she noticed Dan leaving, and quickly at that.  And while Casey’s expression was something of cipher, Dan’s was crystal-clear.                

                The various people of Sports Night stood in a semi-circle around Chris.  At least two members of the team were missing, namely Isaac and Dan, and he couldn’t say he was surprised.  Dan had bolted from the studio when he entered with Dana, giving them both dirty looks as he disappeared behind the set.  Chris guessed that Isaac had decided to take the evening off, and he thought that was just as well.  
                He could feel the tension, the distrust, and the uncertainty radiating from the people who stood before him.  He was intimately acquainted with those emotions.  He also knew that this was no time to feed those little demons.  He gave himself a breath, then began to speak, in his clearest tone.   “For the two or three of you who don’t know, my name is Chris Murphy and I’m the new executive producer here at CSC.  I’m not here to hold you up; I just wanted to drop in, introduce myself, and also tell you that I’m a fan.  Sports Night is one of the few shows on television that I watch regularly.  I’ve seen it from the beginning, in fact, and I gotta say, I’m constantly impressed.  You do great work here, all of you.”  
                Chris let the compliment settle, then said, “I know that many of you have questions and concerns about the future.  I can’t answer any of those yet.  But let me tell you about the now.  There are no changes planned for Sports Night.  Not one.  That is not to say that changes will not occur, but that they certainly will not be happening tonight.  Or tomorrow, or next week.  And when changes are going to be made - hell,  even when they are being considered - I won’t be making those choices alone.  Your input and continued dedication to this program are necessary for its growth, and the growth of CSC, now more than ever.  So for the time-being, I will simply observe your process.  You have Sports Night down to a science, and I’d be a fool if I didn’t let you do your jobs.”
                 At that, he looked at Dana.  “Thank you for your time.  Ms. Whitaker, do your show.”  Then he watched as the crowd began to disperse.
                 Dana looked at him.  “So.  After the show?”
                 “Bob Epperson’s old office,” Chris said.  He began to leave the studio, but not before he added, “And bring tonight’s book along.”



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