“You don’t say.”
“Hmm, but it was a rather unusual donation.”
“In what way?”
“For one thing, it was made in cash. Hundred-dollar bills deposited directly into the foundation’s account.”
“Huh.”
“Anonymously.”
“Huh.”
“And the bank handling the deposit said the donor insisted on remaining anonymous.”
Griff kept his expression impassive.
“I respect him for keeping such a generous donation private,” Laura said. “I only hope he knows how much his gift is appreciated.”
“I’m sure he does.”
After what seemed to Griff an endless suspension in conversation, she relented with a gentle smile and changed the subject. “You’ve been staying busy, too.”
“You heard about the program?”
“I saw you interviewed about it on TV.”
“It’s catching on, working out really well.”
“You sound surprised,” she remarked.
“I am. It just sorta dropped into my lap.”
Upon his discharge from the hospital, he had appeared in court and pleaded guilty to the assault charges. Jim McAlister got him released on bail and at his sentencing hearing argued brilliantly on his behalf. His arguments were supported by Laura Speakman’s deposition, presented in her absence by her attorney, as well as by the testimony of Internal Affairs officers who had been investigating Stanley Rodarte.
Griff received a stern reprimand from the judge and had a year of probation tacked onto the ones he was already serving. Jerry Arnold remained his probation officer. McAlister and Glen Hunnicutt, who had proved to be a true friend, took Griff out for dinner to celebrate what they considered a victory.
Shortly after that, Bolly Rich had surprised him by inviting him for lunch. He apologized for refusing to listen when Griff tried to warn him about Rodarte. He said he was sorry for refusing to give Griff aid when he most needed it, but mostly for not giving him the benefit of the doubt. “It was two weeks before Jason would speak to me again.”
Griff waved off the apology. “Don’t worry about it, Bolly.”
“You’re letting me off the hook too easily.”
“I’ve been let off easily, too.”
Then Bolly told him of a program he and other sportswriters across the country had been discussing for a long while. They felt the time had come to implement it. “We’re tired of the negativity surrounding sports, college and professional. As much as we write about slam dunks, touchdowns, and home runs, we’re forced to report on drug abuse, steroid use, guns and violent behavior, rape—”
“Gambling,” Griff said.
“Gambling. We’re sick of all that crap. We want to turn it around, put honor and the ideals of good sportsmanship back into sports. But we’re just a bunch of wordsmiths, and I’m the most colorful of the group, if that gives you any idea. What we need is a spokesperson.” Uneasily, he added, “And somebody who is squeaky clean wouldn’t have much impact.”
“You need a poster boy with a catchy slogan like ‘Don’t fuck up like I did.’”
Bolly grinned. “That sorta captures the gist of our thinking.”
“They needed a bad boy like me to talk to young athletes,” he explained to Laura now. “With the voice of experience, I warn them against common pitfalls. Bolly and his colleagues rounded up some corporate sp
onsors to fund the program. The NCAA has lent its full-fledged support. Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Alumni organizations. Sports associations all over the country have scheduled me to speak.” He shrugged. “Maybe the talks I give are doing some good.”