Chapter 6 - THE BOOSTER CLUB
The booster money looked worse than it was.
At first.
Greg Mason’s company donated heavily.
So did three other families.
The school needed equipment.
Blake helped recruit support.
Nothing wrong with that.
Then Rachel Pierce noticed donor children had unusually high “leadership” and “program fit” scores.
Subjective categories.
Perfect for favoritism.
Still not proof of quid pro quo.
Then one email:
BLAKE:
If we lose Mason support, we lose summer travel.
Assistant Coach:
Then pick the best kids and fundraise somewhere else.
BLAKE:
That’s not how programs survive.
There.
Not “buy Tyler a spot.”
Something more common.
More believable.
Institutional compromise.
Blake convinced himself donor stability justified roster preferences.
He was protecting the program.
That was his argument.
Then Greg Mason testified.
He denied buying anything.
“I donated because my son plays.”
“Did Coach Blake promise Tyler a roster spot?”
“He said Tyler was core.”
“Before tryouts?”
“Yes.”
“Did you consider that unusual?”
“No. Tyler’s good.”
True.
Tyler was good.
This was not a talentless rich kid.
That made favoritism harder to untangle.
Then Greg produced texts from Ethan.
Years earlier, after a middle-school fundraiser:
ETHAN:
If Blake ever asks me for money to decide Noah’s minutes, we’re done.
Rachel looked at Ethan.
“You suspected this?”
“No. I was joking.”
Blake’s attorney said Ethan had preconceived hostility.
Maybe.
Then an old volunteer treasurer came forward.
Name:
Susan Hale.
She had resigned two years earlier.
Why?
Blake asked her to move one donor contribution from “general athletics” into a basketball-controlled discretionary account.
She refused.
He pressured her.
She kept emails.
One said:
DON’T GET SELF-RIGHTEOUS. PARENTS PAY BECAUSE THEY WANT THEIR KIDS TAKEN CARE OF.
That sentence hurt.
Blake’s lawyer argued “taken care of” meant program support.
Again.
Ambiguous.
Then Susan said something stronger.
After one donor’s child was cut, the donor stopped contributing.
Blake told Susan:
“This is exactly why you don’t surprise people who keep the lights on.”
There.
Program survival tied to roster predictability.
Not necessarily criminal.
Ethically rotten.
Then Noah asked Ethan:
“If I make the team because Blake gets suspended, does it count?”
Ethan looked at him.
“You made it because you were ranked sixth by people who didn’t know your last name.”
“But what if everyone thinks—”
“Everyone thinks lots of things.”
Noah looked away.
Ethan continued:
“Your job is not to control their story.”
That was easy advice from adults.
Hard at thirteen.
Then at first practice, a boy whispered:
“Daddy got coach fired.”
Noah heard.
So did Tyler.
Tyler said:
“Shut up.”
Noah stared at him.
Tyler shrugged.
“I hate you. Doesn’t mean he’s right.”
For the first time, Noah laughed around him.
May you like
Not friends.
Not yet.
