He rubbed his temples, feeling as though he was heading not to a fishing trip, but to an auction—and he was the item up for sale.
Did you two plan this together? One would fly me there, and the other would come along?
Of course, he understood what lay behind their offers.
Two of the league's most prestigious franchises had both extended olive branches to him.
"Mr. Dolan, thank you very much for your kindness."
Phil switched back to Kupchak's call and said a few more words before addressing Dolan again. "And Mr. Kupchak, thank you for the Lakers' invitation as well. But I can hardly split myself in two and board both your planes at once, can I?"
His voice carried a hint of the Zen Master's characteristic teasing humor and composure.
"I'd like some peace and quiet on my own during this vacation. So thank you for your kindness, but I'll take a commercial flight there myself. Goodbye."
With that, he decisively hung up, shutting out the clamor of the outside world.
Yet several hours later, when his commercial flight landed at Gallatin Field Airport in Bozeman, Montana, he realized he had still been far too naive.
He had barely emerged from the passenger corridor when he saw a scene he would never forget.
Two groups occupied the little airport exit, with a clear divide between them.
On the left stood the Los Angeles Lakers' star-studded contingent. At its head was Jerry West, "The Logo," his expression stern and his eyes as sharp as an eagle's, as though he might swoop down on his prey at any moment.
Beside him stood the suave Dr. Jerry Buss, wearing a casual suit and sunglasses, with a businessman's confident smile on his face. Behind them was Mitch Kupchak, looking every inch