Now is not the perfect time to buy at the bottom.
As long as the shutdown continues, the arena's valuation is plummeting at an alarming rate every day.
The more money Delaware North lost, the easier it was for Jacobs's psychological defenses to crumble.
Meanwhile, Lin Qi was tightly clutching a massive amount of cash—enough to kill someone—pledged from internet stocks. In this lockout winter where the entire league was short of money and all investors were panicking, those holding cash were hunters wielding butcher knives. He would wait until Jacobs was completely worn down by this endless lockout and ready to sell off his assets at a loss before reaping the benefits.
While Lin Qi patiently waited for arena prices to plummet, like a crocodile, a tense, closed-door meeting was taking place in a high-level conference room at the Sheraton Hotel in Manhattan, New York Manhattan. The meeting would determine the future of the entire league.
On one side of the long table sat Commissioner David Stern and dozens of team owners with somber expressions, while on the other side sat more than a hundred core members of the Players Association, representing the players' interests.
The atmosphere inside was extremely oppressive. The shutdown had dragged on for almost three months, and both sides' cash flow was on the verge of running out.
When negotiations stalled, union leaders were the first to resort to emotional appeals, attempting to plead poverty in front of the media.
Players Association president Patrick Ewing stepped forward. The then-superstar center, earning over ten million dollars a year, angrily complained to the owners, "Do you think we players had it easy during the lockout? We need to live too! We have huge daily expenses; we have mortgages to pay, gas to pay for our cars, and families to support! If this continues, many of our lower-ranking brothers won't even be able to pay next month's rent!"
Several fringe players on the verge of bankruptcy nearby also loudly echoed, complaining about the inhumane treatment by the investors.
The business owners across the long table listened to this "millionaire's lament" with strange expressions. A group of superstars who usually drive supercars, live in manor villas, and earn salaries that ordinary people couldn't earn in a lifetime were sitting here crying to them that "life is unbearable". It sounded absurd with a dark humor.
At this moment, Abby Pollin, the owner of the Washington Wizards, finally couldn't hold back any longer. This gray-haired, Redd elder in the league slowly took off his glasses, sighed, and spoke in a helpless tone, like an elder advising a younger generation.
"Kids, the cost and pressure of running a professional team are far greater than you imagine. If you feel that playing in this league is really not profitable and life is so difficult..." Pollin paused, his tone very sincere, "Then you can actually sell your mansions and supercars."
This was originally a very ordinary and straightforward statement about the capital market, even carrying a tone of appeasement and conciliatory remarks.
But the very next second after those words were spoken, a burly black man sitting next to Patrick Ewing suddenly stood up without warning, bracing himself against the table.
The entire conference room fell into a deathly silence; even David Stern instinctively shut his mouth. The man who had stood up was Michael Jordan.
That man who had just completed his second three-peat and now held god-like authority in the basketball world.
Jordan straightened up, his eyes, which had once dominated the court, now as cold as ice. He looked down at the gray-haired owner, raised his right hand, and pointed his index finger directly at Abby Pollin's nose.
"If you think running a team isn't profitable..." Jordan emphasized each word, his voice echoing throughout the hall, making everyone's ears ring, "Then you old dog should fucking sell your team! Get someone more capable to run it!"
With a loud bang, the entire conference room erupted into chaos.
The bosses' blood pressure spiked, and Abby Pollin was so angry he was trembling and almost had a heart attack on the spot.
Jordan's slap was devastating. He used the most blunt logic to publicly refute the owners' months-long charade of "the team is struggling financially, so they have to squeeze rookie and player salaries." You say you can't run the team? That's your own incompetence. If you can't make money, why are you still occupying a position on the team? Just sell them and get out!
An employee who plays golf pointed his finger at the boss, whose assets are worth over 100 million, during a closed-door meeting and demanded that he sell his assets. This secret negotiation ultimately broke down completely, and the two sides parted on bad terms.
When the news that shocked the entire United States reached Boston, Lin Qi was holding a cup of hot coffee, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, looking at the street scene outside.
Listening to his assistant gesticulating wildly as he relayed Jordan's famous quote, "Sell your mother's team," Lin Qi shook his head and couldn't help but laugh out loud, "No wonder he's Michael; he's the only one in the entire league who dares to speak such blunt truths at a time like this."
However, no one understood the historical significance behind those words better than Lin Qi, the time traveler.
Jordan's words were like a fuse, igniting the last vestige of warmth between labor and management. But this is also the cruelest the Truth of this lockout winter... In the capital market, those who can't make money should voluntarily leave.
And this is exactly what Lin Qi is doing to Delaware North Company and Jerry Jacobs.
The arena that Jacobs once owned, once the envy of many, is now bleeding money every day. Since you can't make money this summer, according to Jordan's logic, you should obediently sell it.
The acquisition of FleetCenter Arena was quietly pushed to the final asset assessment. After enduring a bottomless pit of losses for half a season and watching helplessly as his credit rating was about to collapse, Jerry Jacobs' trembling hand finally brought down his pen on the asset buyout contract.
170 million, sold.
The lockout stalemate lasted until January 1999. At the last moment, when both sides were almost completely ruining the entire season, a new collective bargaining agreement, with each side taking a step back, was finally reached late at Late Night.
With the lockout over, the league has finally been unlocked. A new season, shortened to a mere fifty regular season games, is about to begin.
However, before fans and general managers across the United States could breathe a sigh of relief, a world-renowned press conference at the United Center in Chicago on January 13, 1999, threw another bombshell into the newly revived league.
Wearing a sharp suit, Michael Jordan calmly announced in front of the camera that he would officially end his professional career and begin his second retirement.
That god who pointed his finger at the boss and berated him in a closed-door meeting, that basketball god who dominated the entire 1990s and achieved two three-peats, that insurmountable red Mountain that loomed over Boston and every team in the league...
On the eve of the start of the new season in 1999, he stepped down from his pedestal.
With the collapse of the Chicago Bulls dynasty, a new era of fierce competition, full of unpredictable changes and ambitions, the " Jordan era" has begun.
The Boston Celtics, a super team pieced together brick by brick by Lin Qi using information asymmetry, are quietly standing at the best juncture of this new era.
Lin Qi stood by the office window, watching the television broadcast of Jordan's calm exit and the reporters in tears. His face showed no sign of relief; instead, a deeper solemnity flashed across it.
The collapse of the old sacred mountain only means that countless new, even more violent peaks will rise wildly from this ruin.
In the Western Conference, the Los Angeles Lakers, with Big Shark O'Neal already displaying terrifying dominance and the increasingly obsessive Kobe Brian sharpening his knives; in San Antonio, the Spurs, with their Twin Towers of Tim Duncan and Robinson baring their fangs; in the Eastern Conference, the Pacers and Heat, every powerhouse is eyeing the empty throne left by the Chicago Bulls.
" Kevin, and Doc," Lin Qi murmured, looking out the window at the overcast, snow-covered Boston sky in January, finishing the last sip of his coffee, "Your battlefield has only just begun."
He put down his cup, his eyes filled with cold decisiveness.
Garnett's maximum guaranteed salary under the new rules is about to be submitted to the league for filing.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ocean, Miller, the chubby guy who had fully developed his core strength and lost twenty pounds in Europe, was also pulling his suitcase toward the airport.
The true golden age of the Boston Celtics began with the ringing of the bells marking the end of the 1999 lockout and the departure of Michael Jordan.
Step by step, it has come forward unstoppably.