After taking over the Boston Celtics and becoming the new owner, the first thing Lin Qi did in his executive office was to thoroughly examine all the team's accounts and original contracts from the past five years.
As he turned to the last page, his expression grew increasingly grim.
Sixteen championship banners hang overhead, the deepest heritage in the entire league, the most enthusiastic market in Boston...
But the Celtics ' financial statements are as weak as a malnourished stick.
Core revenue simply can't keep up, and the team's own ability to generate revenue is even more absurd.
Despite winning sixty games in the regular season, the team's net profit was pitifully small after deducting player salaries and daily expenses.
Lin Qi slammed the accounts on the table and traced the deficits along the entire flow of funds, eventually discovering that the root of the problem pointed to the same place... the FleetCenter, the new home arena where the team played every day, but which didn't actually belong to the Celtics.
The story begins three years ago.
In 1995, the Old Boston Garden, which had been a part of the Boston Celtics for half a century and carried countless championships and the legend of the Cardinal, was officially demolished. In its place stood the brand-new and modern FleetCenter Arena, built right next to it.
The new arena is indeed modern and impressive, with more seats and more luxury suites. But the problem is, this place doesn't belong to the Celtics.
The arena is owned by a large sports and entertainment franchise called Delaware North, and the Celtics are, at best, tenants in this new building who pay hefty usage fees.
The person who signed the contract back then was none other than his former boss, Chris Paul Gaston. Looking at that contract from three years ago, Lin Qi could picture Gaston's petty, self-righteous, and mercenary face as he signed it.
In the mid-1990s, how much would it cost to build a top-of-the-line, modern stadium with a capacity of nearly 20,000 people? The Answer is $160 million. This is an astronomical figure that would make any stingy boss lose sleep over it.
Gaston was unwilling to pay the construction costs out of his own pocket, so he made a decision that was called "zero-cost freebie" at the time, but was actually short-sighted and foolish: he made the Delaware North Company fully fund the construction of the stadium, while the Celtics moved in on an extremely long-term lease.
In a ostensible exchange, the Boston Celtics could use the arena for games "without basic rent." But Gaston gave away all the real cash cows in the arena... the catering franchises for all games, the revenue from selling over a hundred luxury VIP boxes to Boston's wealthy elites, the premium on courtside VIP seats, the arena naming rights, and the revenue from all electronic advertising boards within the arena.
All of this influx of cash flow had absolutely nothing to do with the Celtics Club; it all went straight into the pocket of Jerry Jacobs, the owner of Delaware North Company.
Gaston did save a huge amount of money on building the arena in 1995, but he also personally gave away the most lucrative part of the Celtics' future earnings from their home court.
"That idiot Gaston..." Lin Qi rubbed his temples, looking at the bloodsucking contract that was practically a "ceding of territory and payment of reparations," and couldn't help but complain, "No wonder you're always complaining about being poor in the media, you really know how to live frugally."
By saving a small amount of money in the short term, they essentially sold off the team's financial future for the next twenty years. The better the Boston Celtics ' players played on the court, the higher the attendance, and the larger slice of the profit from every beer, hot dog, and luxury box booked by fans went straight to the arena owners. The Celtics were like tenants living under someone else's roof, forced to watch helplessly as the wealth that should have been theirs flowed into someone else's pocket.
Now, the first thing Lin Qi Qiteng does is to take back this flesh and blood that his predecessor gave up from Delaware North.
He wants to buy the stadium outright.
Initially, Delaware North Company took a very tough stance. This was to be expected; a top-tier arena located in the heart of Boston, home to two professional sports giants, the Celtics (NBA) and the Bruins (NHL, Bruins Team ), could rake in huge amounts of franchise fees and advertising revenue every year without lifting a finger—it was practically a money-printing machine that didn't need fuel.
Who would have the time to sell their own money-printing machine?
Jerry Jacobs, the owner of Delaware North, was a ruthless character. He kicked the negotiator Lin Qi sent out of his office. "Go back and tell your young Asian president that this arena is not for sale by Delaware North. No matter how much money he offers, I won't sell it."
After hearing his secretary's report, Lin Qi simply sat in his swivel chair and smiled faintly.
He wasn't in a hurry at all, because he knew that a terrible natural disaster sweeping across the entire American sports world was gradually wearing down Jacobs's toughness.
That thing is called a major shutdown.
Summer of 1998 passed day by day, July, August, September...
The NBA's labor negotiations have not only failed to make any progress, but have also fallen into a bottomless pit due to the stubbornness of both sides. The regular season has been postponed indefinitely, and the entire basketball world is in a state of utter silence.
As the shutdown continued, the FleetCenter, once a money-printing machine, began to depreciate rapidly.
No games mean no visitors. Not only were all Celtics games suspended, but due to panic in the US sports market, even attendance at the Bruins Team ' hockey games plummeted. Expensive food and beverage franchises in the arena were empty, luxury boxes were gathering dust and deserted, and advertisers were demanding to withdraw their funding.
Every day when I open my eyes, the exorbitant maintenance, cleaning, and labor costs of the stadium alone are astronomical figures. That money-printing machine that used to roar day and night has started to lose money drastically and has completely shut down.
Delaware North Company was starting to crumble. The most agonizing part was that the lockout seemed endless, and nobody knew when free agency would begin. If the entire 1998-1999 season was cancelled, or even dragged on into next year, the arena's cash flow would completely dry up.
Jerry Jacobs finally couldn't sit still any longer.
In late September, for the first time, Delaware North Company proactively lowered its arrogant stance and sent a cautiously worded fax to the Celtics ' president's office.
"Mr. Jacobs meant," the other party's business representative said very carefully on the phone, "That perhaps we could sit down and have a frank negotiation regarding the redistribution of partial ownership and future revenue of FleetCenter Arena."
From the defiant "I won't sell for any price" two months ago to the current "Maybe we can talk," the Great Shutdown didn't even require Lin Qi to say a word; it simply pried open the tightly closed iron gates of Delaware North for him.
But Lin Qi remained calm and composed after receiving the call, showing no sign of urgency.
His instructions to the negotiation team were simply three words: "Wait a little longer."