Post by ocwnewsline on May 29, 2016 17:11:25 GMT -5
Thad Washington impressed me more than he probably should have, definitely more than I anticipated. Truth be told, I was tempted to end the process right then and there. However, just as I’d never marry the first girl I slept with, I wouldn’t hire the first guy I interviewed.
Up next I was set to interview a man known only as Hombre. I had to know this guy’s last name. Not for W-2 purposes or anything legal, more so out of curiosity. Why would he drop the last name? Was it something horrible like taquito? Or was he a rogue member belonging to some rich, possibly infamous, Mexican family?
Regardless, the man held a stellar reputation in the sport of boxing, a true grinder from south of the border, the Hispanic version of Rocky.
Would he impress me more than Thad, vaulting ‘Hombre’ to #1 on the list? Or would he simply be another one of those Gypsies in the Palace? I was about to find out.
Perched atop Buffet’s right shoulder once more, the scene remained the same. It was a beautiful day at the beach on an island. The location was indefinite, perhaps the Caribbean, given the vibrant colors and tropical climate. Buffet sipped on a green margarita. He tapped the pad in his left hand with a pencil, gripped by his right, anxiously. A figure approached.
“Finally,” he picked up his drink, which was half full, “ordered this damn thing half an hour ago.”
The figure was a burly man, a frame that had been put to use. His arms, chest, shoulders, and legs were shaped. The man was not one to skip leg day at the gym. He carried something over his shoulder. He stepped under the tent, whipped the object in front of him and spread it apart. It was a chair. He took a seat and leaned forward, a bit aggressively.
Buffet noted on his pad ‘brought his own damned chair.’ We were not sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“Thanks for finally showing up, Hombre.” Hombre held silent. “Is that your full name, Hombre?”
“It’s all I’ve gone by since I was thirteen.”
“So, you don’t have, like, a real name?”
“You mean a last name?”
“Sure.”
“Guess.”
Buffet fidgeted as though he were agitated. He threw out his best guess, “Gonzalez?”
Hombre slammed his fist into the table. Buffet’s margarita swished around, the highest wave reaching the rim of the glass. “I guess every Mexican is supposed to be Gonzalez, eh?”
“You told me to guess, so I did.”
“Figures.”
“Why don’t you tell me what your last name is, then?”
“Rodriguez.”
They were silent for a moment. Buffet wrote ‘ridiculous’ on his notepad. “Alright, Mr. Rodriguez, how about you tell me your vision for OCW.”
“Boxing.”
“Okay, care to elaborate further?”
“I boxed, I coach boxing. Boxing is the world’s greatest combat sport. It’s been ruined with corruption. If OCW were to be a boxing based organization that was run with clean, legit, honest practices, I think it would quickly become one of the most profitable combat sport organizations in the world.”
“So, your vision is to make OCW a boxing organization.”
“Yes, we’d have to change the name, obviously.”
“The name is a brand in and of itself Mr. Hombre…changing it could severely hinder initial profits. It would take thousands, maybe millions to promote the new name whereas the old would sell itself.”
Hombre leaned back, “I’m aware of OCW and its legacy. I think a fresh start is the only way to go. Nobody cares about the name OCW. OCW has let them down too much in the past. They aren’t going to flock to an OCW sponsored event until it proves it’s here for good.”
Buffet listened to Hombre’s argument and notated ‘he has a point’.
Hombre leaned forward again, his hands nearly touching Buffet’s drink. “Give me your organization, let me run it the way I see fit and I will make you millions. Hell, maybe even billions. You’ve see the Fertittas and their UFC story. Bought the thing for two million and have the ability to sell it for 4 billion.”
Buffet wrote on his notepad that he ‘likes money’.
“So, what do you say?” Hombre was really pushing hard for the job.
“Well, I’m not going to make a decision right now. I’m still going to see the process through, but I have to say, Mr. Hombre, you have surprised me.” Hombre smiled. “About the workers, what is your opinion on their compensation and treatment?”
“Well, we would need a training facility. A place where the sport of boxing is taught and nurtured…we would want a steady stream of boxers, young and old, stepping into our ring. Contracts need to be worth the effort, generous compensation is a must to keep a boxer motivated.”
It was obvious that Hombre was ‘one of the boys’ so to speak. He was going to make sure everyone employed by his vision of OCW would be paid handsomely.
“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough,” Buffet moved to end the interview.
“I know you’re a man who looks at the bottom line. If money is what you seek, rest assured, I will make you a ton.” Hombre stood and folded his chair, giving Buffet his final hard sale. Buffet nodded.
Hombre left as Buffet flipped a page back and crossed Hombre off the list. His pencil now pointed at the next name, ‘The Booker’.
“What’s with these guys and their names, geez.”
Up next I was set to interview a man known only as Hombre. I had to know this guy’s last name. Not for W-2 purposes or anything legal, more so out of curiosity. Why would he drop the last name? Was it something horrible like taquito? Or was he a rogue member belonging to some rich, possibly infamous, Mexican family?
Regardless, the man held a stellar reputation in the sport of boxing, a true grinder from south of the border, the Hispanic version of Rocky.
Would he impress me more than Thad, vaulting ‘Hombre’ to #1 on the list? Or would he simply be another one of those Gypsies in the Palace? I was about to find out.
Perched atop Buffet’s right shoulder once more, the scene remained the same. It was a beautiful day at the beach on an island. The location was indefinite, perhaps the Caribbean, given the vibrant colors and tropical climate. Buffet sipped on a green margarita. He tapped the pad in his left hand with a pencil, gripped by his right, anxiously. A figure approached.
“Finally,” he picked up his drink, which was half full, “ordered this damn thing half an hour ago.”
The figure was a burly man, a frame that had been put to use. His arms, chest, shoulders, and legs were shaped. The man was not one to skip leg day at the gym. He carried something over his shoulder. He stepped under the tent, whipped the object in front of him and spread it apart. It was a chair. He took a seat and leaned forward, a bit aggressively.
Buffet noted on his pad ‘brought his own damned chair.’ We were not sure if that was a good or bad thing.
“Thanks for finally showing up, Hombre.” Hombre held silent. “Is that your full name, Hombre?”
“It’s all I’ve gone by since I was thirteen.”
“So, you don’t have, like, a real name?”
“You mean a last name?”
“Sure.”
“Guess.”
Buffet fidgeted as though he were agitated. He threw out his best guess, “Gonzalez?”
Hombre slammed his fist into the table. Buffet’s margarita swished around, the highest wave reaching the rim of the glass. “I guess every Mexican is supposed to be Gonzalez, eh?”
“You told me to guess, so I did.”
“Figures.”
“Why don’t you tell me what your last name is, then?”
“Rodriguez.”
They were silent for a moment. Buffet wrote ‘ridiculous’ on his notepad. “Alright, Mr. Rodriguez, how about you tell me your vision for OCW.”
“Boxing.”
“Okay, care to elaborate further?”
“I boxed, I coach boxing. Boxing is the world’s greatest combat sport. It’s been ruined with corruption. If OCW were to be a boxing based organization that was run with clean, legit, honest practices, I think it would quickly become one of the most profitable combat sport organizations in the world.”
“So, your vision is to make OCW a boxing organization.”
“Yes, we’d have to change the name, obviously.”
“The name is a brand in and of itself Mr. Hombre…changing it could severely hinder initial profits. It would take thousands, maybe millions to promote the new name whereas the old would sell itself.”
Hombre leaned back, “I’m aware of OCW and its legacy. I think a fresh start is the only way to go. Nobody cares about the name OCW. OCW has let them down too much in the past. They aren’t going to flock to an OCW sponsored event until it proves it’s here for good.”
Buffet listened to Hombre’s argument and notated ‘he has a point’.
Hombre leaned forward again, his hands nearly touching Buffet’s drink. “Give me your organization, let me run it the way I see fit and I will make you millions. Hell, maybe even billions. You’ve see the Fertittas and their UFC story. Bought the thing for two million and have the ability to sell it for 4 billion.”
Buffet wrote on his notepad that he ‘likes money’.
“So, what do you say?” Hombre was really pushing hard for the job.
“Well, I’m not going to make a decision right now. I’m still going to see the process through, but I have to say, Mr. Hombre, you have surprised me.” Hombre smiled. “About the workers, what is your opinion on their compensation and treatment?”
“Well, we would need a training facility. A place where the sport of boxing is taught and nurtured…we would want a steady stream of boxers, young and old, stepping into our ring. Contracts need to be worth the effort, generous compensation is a must to keep a boxer motivated.”
It was obvious that Hombre was ‘one of the boys’ so to speak. He was going to make sure everyone employed by his vision of OCW would be paid handsomely.
“Okay, I think I’ve heard enough,” Buffet moved to end the interview.
“I know you’re a man who looks at the bottom line. If money is what you seek, rest assured, I will make you a ton.” Hombre stood and folded his chair, giving Buffet his final hard sale. Buffet nodded.
Hombre left as Buffet flipped a page back and crossed Hombre off the list. His pencil now pointed at the next name, ‘The Booker’.
“What’s with these guys and their names, geez.”