The Sneaker Kings Read online

  “Yeah, that and a few other things,” said Brandon. “We wanted to see the basketball phenom, David Terry, at the Regional AAU basketball games in Durham. Then we’re heading to a J. Cole concert in Raleigh.”

  The Foot Locker manager nodded. “Yeah, David Terry, I’ve heard about him. He’s from Rocky Mount, right?”

  “Yeah, he’s the next Kyrie Irving and Stephen Curry wrapped up in one,” Leon interjected. “We saw some of his game tapes on YouTube.”

  “Well, have a good time with it. So, what are you guys interested in buying today? I hear you have a FLC card.”

  Brandon pulled it from his wallet and handed it over. The manager held the striped card up and read his name aloud: “Brandon Jenkins!” He felt as if he had a celebrity in the store.

  “Okay, let me see what I can do for ya. What shoes were you interested in?”

  The guys ran down their list—in size ten and eleven—and the manager nodded to Priscilla to collect them all from the back.

  “Let’s do the deal,” the manager perked, walking back toward the register.

  As Brandon and his guys walked over to the front counter to pay for their shoes, all eyes were on them. They received a generous discount for the five pairs that totaled just over seven hundred dollars. Priscilla smiled from ear to ear, delighted by the needed commission. She and her manager even asked to take pictures with the guys.

  “No problem.” Brandon, Leon and Simba gathered at the front counter as customers also snapped pictures of them on cell phones.

  Brandon’s uncle walked in just in time to witness the excitement.

  “Are you guys a music group or something?” a young mother asked The Beast Team sheepishly. Her ten-year-old son was staring at the guys in awe. He had never seen anyone buy five pairs of sneakers at once, and expensive ones to boot. So they had to be something special.

  “Nah, we’re just The Beast Team of sneakerheads,” Simba told the kid’s mom. “It’s all about the shoes.”

  She nodded and said, “Oh, so you guys just buy and promote new shoes?”

  “Yup, that’s about it,” Simba confirmed.

  “Yeah, these guys had their own ESPN special all about sneakers. You believe that?” the manager informed her. “They’ll probably have their own shoes one day,” he boasted.

  The guys laughed it off but didn’t deny it.

  “Well, if you guys don’t mind, could you sign my son’s shoes for him?” the young mother asked.

  Brandon looked back at his team. They had never been asked to sign shoes before. “Umm, sure, why not? You have a permanent marker back there?” he asked the store manager.

  Paul overheard it all and shook his head. This is unbelievable.

  The kid pulled out his white on black Jordan 13s.

  “Oh, these are from the He Got Game movie,” Leon mentioned. “I like these.”

  “Well, just sign your initials on the side. We don’t want to mess his shoes all up. And be neat too,” Brandon warned.

  Simba smirked. “You need to tell that to yourself. My penmanship is the best.”

  “Whatever,” Leon argued.

  “What’s your name, kid?” Brandon asked the green-eyed dirty blond.

  “Joshua.”

  Brandon shook his small hand. “Don’t you mess your shoes up, Joshua. Walk lightly in them, and use your old shoes to play in. All right? These are now your first pair of styling shoes.”

  “You can say that again,” his mother spoke up and laughed.

  “Yeah, they’ll be worth something one day if you keep them in good shape,” Simba boasted. “That’s how we all got started years ago.”

  “And you can follow us on Twitter @TheBeastTeam101,” Leon added.

  >>>

  By the time they left the store with their boxes of shoes, the guys were geeked.

  “You believe that, Three-P? We just signed our first autographs,” Brandon bragged to his uncle.

  Paul grinned. “Don’t let it go to your heads, guys. It’s only ink.”

  “Yeah, but that one special on ESPN is bigger than what we thought,” Leon commented.

  “Yeah, I know,” Simba agreed with him for a change.

  “Dude, it was on ESPN,” Brandon said. “I mean, that’s only the number one sports channel in the world. And they show everything several times on what, four or five different stations? Of course it’s big. We can make it even bigger now.”

  Brandon was already thinking of new ideas to build on. And as they climbed back into the rented vehicle and took off, Paul began to worry about his nephew’s aspirations.

  KICKS AND BASKETBALL

  ON THE DRIVE up to Durham, the guys listened to the new J. Cole album and decided they didn’t like it as much as his first one.

  Leon shook his head from the backseat. “Man, why does every hip-hop artist try to go R&B once they’re established?”

  “He wants to get more girls to buy it,” Brandon said from the front. “That’s obvious. It’s all about the sales, man. That’s why his release was number one again.”

  “Yeah, but he already had a lot of girls who liked the first album,” Leon argued.

  Simba looked surprised. “What, Leon is complaining about getting more girls?”

  “Shut up, you know nothing about it,” Leon snapped. “Girls always want a little edge in their guys. J. Cole had that on the first album, but I don’t know about this one.”

  Brandon laughed. “He’ll just make a harder album next time. He already said he’s gonna start using other producers.”

  “Yeah, but then he’ll be trying to win us back,” Leon insisted.

  “How? He’s still number one,” Brandon reminded him.

  “Only because Jay-Z’s and Kanye’s albums didn’t come out yet,” Simba argued.

  Brandon grimaced. “He’s not gonna compete with them anyway. They’re both like, living legends. J. Cole is only on his second album. Give him a break.”

  Brandon’s uncle listened to them in silence as they ranted, and he could no longer hold his tongue. He turned the music down to share his own thoughts.

  “Speaking of a second album, you guys are pretty new to this television fame. So I feel like I really need to talk to you guys about that before it all goes to your head.”

  The guys read the tone in his voice and realized that he was a serious.

  “I’ve known too many people who start off just like this, where everything is fun and exciting in the beginning, but then it became crazy,” Paul cautioned them. “And the next thing you know, no one has any idea how to control it. And it just creates these monsters that get all out of hand.”

  Brandon piped up, “But we’re talking about sneakers. We don’t even run ball. Nobody cares about us like that. We’ll probably never get another interview in our lives. You’re exaggerating, Uncle P. I mean, just let us have our fun while it lasts, and it’ll all blow over. The ESPN special was only a few weeks ago. But everyone will forget about it by next month.”

  Paul eyed his nephew and knew better. Brandon was a walking, talking calculator and a budding hype artist. His Generation Y peer group had become experts at it. So Brandon was set to milk their ESPN special for as long as he could—Paul was certain of it. His nephew had learned from following the best, and he and his friends had already amassed thousands of followers on their social media accounts. In fact, Leon and Simba were both tweeting and updating Instagram pictures on their smartphones as they spoke.

  Paul kept his cool. “Brandon, the last time I checked, the basketball shoe industry was a billion-dollar business. And I don’t believe it’s lost anything over the past few years since I’ve been out of the NBA. If anything, the sneaker business has gotten stronger. They didn’t have all of these Sneaker Con conventions and things when I was coming up in Minnesota.”

  “Yeah, because it was Minne-sota,” Brandon jabbed. “They don’t have anything there but a big mall and the Skyway.”

  Leon and Simba smiled but re
mained speechless.

  “Yeah, and you would have been right there in Minnesota yourself if I hadn’t been drafted by the Suns,” Paul reminded his nephew.

  Brandon countered, “You would have been drafted somewhere. We could have ended up in Miami or New York.”

  “And what if the Timberwolves had drafted me?” Paul suggested.

  That rendered Brandon speechless long enough for his uncle to redirect the conversation.

  “Anyway, we’re getting off of the subject here. What I’m trying to tell you guys is that all of the gold, the glitter and the noise doesn’t last long, but bad habits do. And if you guys get into a habit of believing that you’re bigger than what you really are, it can be a hard thing to come down from. I know guys who literally won’t take a job because they believe that they’re somehow bigger than jobs. And they’re still looking for that next big contract.”

  Leon probed. “But what if we get promotion jobs in the sneaker industry? I can do that forever—free kicks, new designs, marketing ideas, sales pitches, travel. I would love that.”

  “Yeah, right up until your managers tell you they need you to sell a hundred thousand units per month of a shoe that no one likes,” Paul countered. “And sure, it’s easy for you guys to hype up and trade shoes that everyone likes already, but they’re not gonna hire you to promote the new Jordans. They don’t need you for that. They’re gonna hire you to promote the ugliest new shoes on the market, and if you can’t do it, you’re out of a job. That’s how the real world works, not what you’re doing. So I just want you guys to understand that. It’s not as easy as you think.”

  Simba and Leon heeded his wisdom and sat silently, but Brandon was still thinking it over.

  “Well, if that’s what we have to do, then that’s what we have to do. And we’ll eventually make more money if we have to introduce a new brand, right?” Brandon said. “You always make money when something new explodes.”

  Paul grimaced. “Not necessarily. You’ll make whatever you agree to.”

  “Then I would agree to a salary and a sales percentage,” Brandon argued.

  “If they allow you to do that.”

  Brandon wanted the last word. “Well, I would only work at a company that gave us the best deal.”

  Simba scoffed, “What if it’s an old, dated brand, like Pony?”

  “Then we’ll make Pony hot,” Brandon answered with no hesitation.

  Leon laughed. “Not me. I’m not wearing those.”

  “We can design some new ones,” Brandon said. “What if Pony paid us a million dollars to work for them?”

  Paul shook his head. “See, that’s just what I’m talking about, Brandon. No one’s gonna pay you a million dollars to design and sell shoes unless you’re a phenom with an endorsement deal.”

  Brandon shrugged. “You don’t know. It could happen.”

  “Yeah, I do know, Brandon,” Paul snapped. “That’s the kind of irrational thinking I’m talking about. Get that nonsense out of your head. There’s no sense in you even dreaming of something like that. It’s not gonna happen.”

  “Why not? You dreamed of going to the NBA and made it.”

  “Yeah, and I was six foot four as a freshman in high school.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been making thousands of dollars selling shoes since my sophomore year of high school, and now I’m five times better at it. So if you’re a phenom on the court, then why can’t I be a phenom in selling sneakers?”

  Paul thought about it and paused before he spoke. He didn’t want to discourage his nephew’s dreams; he just felt a need to reel him in a bit. “I’m not saying you can’t be; I’m just telling you not to get so full of yourself over shoes.”

  “Well, you’re the one who started buying them for me,” Brandon reminded him. “I wasn’t into sneakers as much as a kid. But once I started wearing new shoes to school every week, I got popular … fast.”

  Paul felt a touch hypocritical. “Yeah, well, I was wrong to do that. I’ll be the first to admit it.”

  Brandon rubbed it in. “It’s too late for that now. I know how crazy people can get over shoes. It’s like the new addiction, and it’s legal. We’re making all kinds of money now. Shoes are gonna pay my tuition to college. So why would you want me to stop?”

  The kid was a shark who had already been accepted to New York University for that fall. He wanted to attend school in the marketing capital of America—Manhattan. He had talked Simba and Leon into going there with him. “We’re all just regular guys, Uncle P. We’re seniors, getting ready for graduation like anyone else,” Brandon said. “We’re just excited, that’s all. So don’t worry about us. We’ll be all right.”

  Paul remained skeptical. This kid is already a hype artist, he thought.

  >>>

  Dozens of basketball scouts from college and the pros were at the Durham Recreation Center for the Southeast Regional AAU basketball tournament that Saturday afternoon. They were there to see the best up-and-coming high school players in the seventeen-and-under division, including David Terry, an athletic combo guard.

  Paul walked in slowly behind the guys and headed for the tall bleachers on the left. He wanted to sit up at the top and out of the way, while trying his best to remain incognito. That’s what he always did. It was his nephew’s turn to shine.

  As Brandon and his guys stood near the shiny hardwood court and waited for the next teams to walk out from the locker rooms to the right, the VA Hoops squad sprinted out in gold, white and blue uniforms and looked like high school giants.

  Leon’s eyes stretched in surprise. He was stunned by the players’ size. The underclassmen on the Virginia-based AAU team made him feel small.

  “Wow, they’re big,” he commented.

  “Yeah, they’re representing the whole state of Virginia,” said Simba. “They probably recruited some of Virginia’s top high-school players.”

  Brandon was too occupied in his mission to meet David Terry. So he didn’t pay the VA Hoops team any mind. A number of the basketball scouts sat near the bottom of the bleachers, awaiting David Terry’s game as well. And when the Rocky Mountain Heat finally jogged on to the court in their black, red and white uniforms, David was third in line.

  Standing six foot three with golden-brown skin and low-cut hair, he was loose with confidence. David, with his boyish good looks, had a natural superstar air about him though he didn’t appear to have any street edge.

  This guy looks like the kid next door selling Boy Scout cookies, thought Brandon. David looked even younger in person than he did on YouTube—and slimmer.

  “He don’t look like he can bang with the big boys, do he? But once he starts balling, he plays hard,” Leon said.

  Brandon smiled. “That makes him more likable to young people. That’s why they compare him to Steph Curry and Kyrie Irving. They both have those kid looks, but they’re killers on the court.”

  “Yeah,” Simba agreed, nodding. “Steph Curry still looks like a teenager, and he dropped fifty-four points on the Knicks at the Garden. That was amazing.”

  Then they looked down at the Rocky Mountain Heat’s sneakers. The whole team wore a pair of black, red and white Air Jordan Jumpmans with red soles.

  “Those black and red Jordan’s look hot with their uniforms,” Leon noted.

  But Virginia team players all wore different sneaker brands and models.

  “Well, I guess we see who the Jordan sponsors are with,” Brandon scoffed. While Leon and Simba stood there and laughed, Brandon launched into action. He walked up the court to get David Terry’s attention as he warmed up.

  “Hey, David Terry,” Brandon spoke with bravado. With an uncle who had played professionally, he was used to talking to NBA stars, including Steve Nash, Amar’e Stoudemire, Shawn Marion, Chris Paul and others. He even knew some of them personally, so he had no anxiety speaking to a high schooler.

  When the long and athletic kid turned to look, Brandon said, “I like your game, man.” Then h
e pointed at his light-blue T-shirt. “Beast Team. I’m Brandon.”

  David stopped in his tracks. “Oh, from ESPN; the sneakerhead kids? Hey, what’s up, man? Ain’t you from Arizona?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “We saw you on YouTube and came to see you ball,” Brandon told him. “I want you to sign some of my sneakers too.”

  David looked genuinely surprised. “Oh, word?”

  “Yeah, after your game. We’ll talk.”

  Brandon ended their brief conversation right as David’s AAU coach stopped their practice to call him out.

  “David, we’re here to play a basketball game, not to socialize.”

  The kid burst to the rim for a layup drill with his long stride as if nothing had happened. With his left hand, he laid the basketball off the backboard and through the net, light as a feather.

  “Nice,” Simba marveled as he and Leon joined Brandon at the half-court area in front of the bleachers.

  “You told him you wanted him to sign some of our new shoes?” Leon asked in a lower tone. He had overheard Brandon’s comment and was confused by it. David Terry was a phenom, but he was still a nobody in the sneaker world. He wouldn’t be able to market any shoes until after college. The strict student-athlete rules of the NCAA wouldn’t allow him to make a dime from shoes.

  “I got this, man. I’ll explain it to you later,” Brandon said. “Just make sure you and Simba run back and get the shoes from the car at halftime.”

  As Brandon and his guys watched David Terry and the AAU basketball teams, the scouts and sneaker reps watched The Beast Team. They all wondered who the kids were and how they were able to get David Terry’s attention so easily.

  As they continued to watch the game, Brandon, Leon and Simba sat up close to the action near the floor while marketing their Beast Team brand to everyone who sat behind them. And the sneakerheads around them began to notice.

  “That’s them guys from TV who trade and sell sneakers,” a teenager mentioned to another.

  “Yeah, The Beast Team.”