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Chapter 174 The Rodman Moment
Chapter 174 The Rodman Moment (14000/50000)
Washington, D.C., West Wing of the White House.
Today is a big day.
The Boston Celtics, fresh off their NBA championship win, will visit the White House in an hour.
This should have been a political show that everyone could have a good time with.
The president will meet these giants in the Rose Garden, receive a jersey with his name on it bearing the number 1, tell a few jokes about team spirit, and then everyone will take a few perfect group photos in front of the camera before going home.
But today is different.
The team's star player, the new generation leader who averaged 38 points per game in the Finals, has spoken out on X because of his dissatisfaction with the government's recent silence on certain social fairness issues.
He threatened that if the president did not give him a satisfactory answer, he would protest in the Oval Office in front of the whole world.
This would be a disaster.
The White House Chief of Staff's office was closed.
David Stern sat behind his desk, his tie askew.
There were three flashing telephones in front of him, and he was also holding a cell phone in his hand.
Listen, Mark!
Stern yelled into the phone, his voice filled with hysterical anger.
"I don't care what that damn agent says! This is the White House! Not their locker room!"
"Tell that center that if he's not wearing a suit and he's not taking off that politically themed T-shirt, he can forget about stepping foot in the West Wing!"
"What? Freedom of speech? To hell with freedom of speech! Here, there's only etiquette! Only rules!"
Stern hung up the phone and threw it on the table.
He rubbed his temples, feeling a splitting headache.
Not only does he have to deal with this group of difficult athletes, but he also has several urgent briefings on the debt ceiling negotiations piled up on his desk. If he doesn't sign them, the federal government will shut down next week.
At that moment, there was a knock on the office door.
"Go in!" Stern shouted impatiently.
The door was pushed open a crack, and his administrative secretary poked her head in, looking troubled.
"Boss, Senator Sanders is here."
"Who?" Stern frowned. "Daniel Sanders? What's he doing here? He's not on my schedule today."
"He said there was an urgent bill that needed to be discussed," the secretary whispered. "He used his privilege as vice chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee to request an immediate meeting with you."
Tell him he's busy!
Stern waved his hand, as if shooing away flies.
"Tell him I'm handling matters of national importance! If it's about his wealth tax that will never pass, tell him to go to the Ministry of Finance! I don't have a minute here!"
"I've arrived, David."
An aged but powerful voice came from behind the secretary.
Daniel Sanders pushed open the door, ignoring his secretary's panicked attempts to stop him, and strode into the office.
He was wearing that slightly oversized old suit, and still had that blue folder tucked between his fingers.
"Daniel!"
Stern stood up from his chair.
"My old friend, do you know what the charges are for forcibly entering the White House Chief of Staff's office?"
"Trespassing."
Sanders walked to his desk, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
"However, compared to the midterm elections you're botching, this is nothing."
Stern's smile froze for a moment.
He waved for his secretary to leave and closed the door.
"Okay, Daniel."
Stern sat down again and glanced at his watch.
You have five minutes.
"In five minutes, I'll be going to the Rose Garden to babysit those millionaire basketball players."
"Tell me, what do you want? If it's about that minimum wage bill, I can tell you right now, no way."
The Republicans are deadlocked in the Senate, and there's nothing I can do.
"It's not wages, nor is it a wealth tax."
Sanders placed the blue folder on the table and pushed it in front of Stern.
"It was to save lives."
"Whose life are we saving?" Stern picked up the document and flipped through it casually.
"Save the Democratic Party's life."
Sanders' voice turned low.
"David, I'd like to talk to you about Pennsylvania."
Upon hearing the place name, Stern paused for a moment.
As the White House chief of staff, he was extremely sensitive to this name.
Pennsylvania?
Stern looked at Sanders.
"What happened there? Wasn't Murphy already prepared to take over?"
Sanders pointed to the folder.
"Take a look at that list, David."
"Let me see what you've brought me."
"7
Sanders opened the folder.
The first page prominently featured that list.
Ron Smith, Mayor of Erie.
Joe Byers, Mayor of Scranton.
And then there's that long list of officials from small towns deep in the Appalachian Mountains, whose names sound like they're made of coal dust.
Stern picked up the list.
His gaze swept quickly over the names.
As White House Chief of Staff, he has a detailed map of all American political figures in his mind.
He doesn't need to consult the files to accurately retrieve these people's background information.
Less than ten seconds.
Stern threw the list back onto the table.
"Daniel, are you serious?"
Stern's face showed disbelief.
"Is this your plan?"
"You want the president to hug these people?"
Stern pointed at the paper, pressing his finger firmly on it.
"These people are political garbage."
He stood up, placed his hands on the table, and stared intently at Sanders.
"If the president stands with this group of people."
"If the White House accepts this so-called blue-collar caucus."
"Do you know what the newspaper will say tomorrow morning?"
"The New York Times will publish an editorial condemning us for betraying our values."
"Environmental groups will go on a hunger strike in front of the White House."
"Women's rights groups and minority groups will keep calling us non-stop."
"Our base will explode, and the left-wing media will kill us."
Stern shook his head, his tone resolute.
"That's impossible."
"I'd rather lose Pennsylvania than let the president be tainted with this stench."
"This is a matter of principle."
Sanders listened quietly to Stern's roar.
He simply turned around, his gaze sweeping over Stern's lavishly decorated office.
Finally, his self-illumination stopped on a photograph.
The photo was placed in the most prominent position on the bookshelf, set in an exquisite silver frame.
That's an old photo from many years ago.
The photo shows a group photo of the Chicago Bulls, right here in the White House, on the lawn of the Rose Garden.
The president at the time was standing in the middle, holding a jersey with the number 23 printed on it, and smiling broadly.
And standing next to the president was the basketball legend, Michael Jordan.
But at the edge of the line was a man with brightly colored hair, covered in tattoos, and wearing a nose ring.
Dennis Rodman.
He tilted his head, his expression defiant, maintaining that scoundrel-like demeanor even in front of the president.
Sanders walked over.
He stretched out his finger and tapped the colorful head through the glass.
"David, you know basketball."
Sanders, with his back to Stern, spoke slowly.
"This is a good photo."
"The Bulls dynasty, with a record of 72 wins and 10 losses, was the greatest season in basketball history."
Stern paused for a moment.
He didn't understand why Sanders suddenly brought up basketball.
"That's my hometown team," Stern replied, somewhat dazed. "I'm from Chicago, and I was there that year."
"very good."
Sanders turned around.
"Then tell me, why were the Bulls able to win?"
"Because they have Jordan," Stern answered matter-of-factly. "Jordan is a god. He can score, he can hit game-winning shots. He's perfect."
"Yes, Jordan is perfect."
Sanders nodded.
"Jordan was elegant, technically superb, a media darling, and an idol worldwide."
"He's like our president."
Sanders pointed to the office that symbolized supreme power.
"Perfect image, impressive resume, speaking the most correct and eloquent words, representing the dignity of this country."
"But Jordan alone isn't enough to win a championship."
"When the game goes into the fourth quarter, when the opponents start to fight physically, when the referees' whistles become lax, when every offensive possession comes at a bloody price."
"You need someone else."
Sanders' finger struck the tattooed man in the photo again, pressing down hard.
"You need Dennis Rodman."
Stern looked at the photo and fell silent.
"Ron Smith, Joe Byers, and those rude union leaders."
Sanders' voice has a power that penetrates the heart.
"They are our Rodman."
"They're dirty."
"They don't follow the rules."
"They swear all the time, and they don't even look at the tactics board."
"They make respectable people uncomfortable and disgust the media."
"but."
Sanders walked back to his desk and looked Stern straight in the eye.
"They can grab rebounds."
"In this damn political game, Pennsylvania's votes, the support of those rusty workers, are like a basketball bouncing on the rim."
"Jordan wouldn't dive for the ball on the floor."
"Only Rodman will go."
"Only these political scum in your eyes, these mud-covered mayors, would be willing to jump into the crowd, elbow, shove, and use the most savage methods to snatch that damn ball back and pass it to us."
"You can't win a game without rebounds."
"You can't win Pennsylvania without these people's votes."
"This is reality."
The office was quiet except for the slight hum of the central air conditioning vents.
Stern sat in his chair, his gaze shifting back and forth between the list and the Bulls' group photo.
He was a shrewd politician, and he understood Sanders' analogy.
The Democratic Party is too elitist now.
They occupied the moral high ground, but lost control of the ground.
They won every debate on X, but lost every swing state at the ballot box.
Because nobody wanted to befriend those oil-stained workers, nobody wanted to understand those working-class white people who had nothing but guns and Bibles.
And now, that young man from Pittsburgh has sent them a group of people willing to do dirty work.
A group of real Rodmans.
"But----"
Stern was still hesitant.
"The price is too high, Daniel."
"If we accept them, the president's image will be damaged. The midterm elections are not just about seats, but also about the wind direction. If we are labeled as shifting to the right, voter turnout from our base will drop."
"Image?"
Sanders let out a cold laugh.
"David, haven't you grasped the situation yet?"
"If we lose the midterm elections, if the Senate falls into Republican hands."
"The president's problems in the last two years of his term will go beyond just a damaged image."
Sanders emphasized his words.
"The Republicans will launch endless investigations and hearings."
"They will paralyze the entire government."
"At that point, the president will have to consider the Republicans' opinions even when changing the carpet in his own office."
1
"Is that the outcome you want?"
Tell me, David.
"Which is more important, saving face or power?"
Stern is calculating.
Calculate the risk-reward ratio of this political deal.
Accepting this group would offend the radical left within the party and draw criticism from the media.
But if they can win against Pennsylvania, they can retain the Senate.
Preserving the Senate means preserving the power to appoint judges, the power to approve the budget, and the president's political legacy.
This is an obvious account.
However, this is a very dirty story.
It was so dirty that even he, the chief of staff who always championed "progress and inclusivity," found it hard to swallow.
"That Pittsburgh kid—"
Stern suddenly changed the subject.
"Leo Wallace".
"Can he really control this group of people?"
"Dennis Rodman may be a jerk, but he listens to Phil Jackson and Jordan."
"But these mayors, these people who are used to being local tyrants, would they listen to a young man in his twenties?"
"If they get in and get out of control, then we're not fighting for rebounds, we're letting the wolf into the house."
Sanders laughed.
"You can rest assured about that."
"Leo Wallace, he's more than just the team's coach."
"He's the one who pays Rodman's salary."
Sanders pointed to the documents on the table.
"Leo used the chains of self-interest to firmly bind these beasts to his chariot."
"They can't live without him."
"As long as the Pittsburgh machine keeps turning, as long as that coalition keeps operating, this group will be more obedient than any loyal party member."
"Because that's their livelihood."
"And Leo is a smart man."
Sanders added.
"He knows his limits."
"He won't let this group of people appear on the White House lawn, nor will he let them interfere with the party's core agenda."
"All he needs is for them to vote for Murphy in Pennsylvania, in that corner we can't reach."
"He can do dirty work very well."
"Just like he did in Pittsburgh."
Stern looked into Sanders's eyes, which were full of fighting spirit.
He suddenly realized that this old senator, who always talked about ideals and justice, was actually more pragmatic than anyone else at heart.
To win, Sanders is willing to make a deal with the devil.
To win, Sanders can temporarily set aside his principles.
That's what a mature politician is like.
"All right."
Stern let out a sigh of relief and sat back down at his desk.
He picked up a pen and tapped on the list.
"Daniel, I can agree to this plan."
"But we must draw a clear line."
Stern's eyes sharpened.
"The president will not go to Pennsylvania at this time, nor will he publicly shake hands with these people. At least until the election is over, the White House will keep its distance from them."
"We cannot give the media an excuse to say that the president is siding with a group of right-wingers who are against environmental protection and gun control in order to win votes."
"This will hurt our base in California and New York."
Sanders nodded.
He had anticipated this.
"I understand," Sanders said. "We don't need the president's hug, we just need his acquiescence."
"It's not just tacit approval."
Stern opened the drawer, took out a notepad, and quickly scribbled something on it.
"I will put in a good word with the Democratic National Committee."
"Let them give this group the green light, a special political channel."
"Allow them to form an independent caucus within the Pennsylvania Democratic Party."
Stern looked up and said the name.
"Democratic Blue-Collar Caucus".
"This group will have a special status."
"We will leave them a backdoor in the implementation of the party platform."
Stern wrote a phrase on the paper: "Conscience Clause".
"A clause based on conscience."
"This means that on sensitive cultural issues such as gun control, shale gas extraction, and religious beliefs, they can disregard the party's unified stance."
"They can vote according to their conscience."
"They can continue to support gun ownership in Erie and continue to support fossil fuel extraction in Scranton."
C
"We want to tell the outside world that this is a manifestation of the Democratic Party's inclusivity and that we respect local traditions."
Stern's tone suddenly turned sinister.
"But at crucial mobilization moments involving statewide elections, when presidential or Senate candidates need local endorsements, and in key personnel votes at the Pennsylvania party headquarters."
"They must obey the command of the party whip."
"This is the bottom line."
"If you hold a Democratic Party membership card, you must serve the power of the Democratic Party."
"If they want to stay in this big tent, they have to pay this protection fee."
"A fair trade."
Sanders agreed.
"Murphy will handle them. These mayors only care about getting the money to repair the roads. As long as they're not forced to participate in rainbow marches, they'll be happy to vote in favor of the budget."
"I'm not worried about Murphy."
Stern put down his pen and stared intently at Sanders.
"I'm worried about someone else."
"That Pittsburgh kid."
"Leo Wallace".
Stern's brow furrowed deeply at the mention of that name.
"Daniel, you need to keep an eye on him."
"He came up with this plan, and he formed this alliance. That's good; it proves he has brains."
"But he's too wild."
"What he did in Pittsburgh—suing the government, inciting strikes, and I even heard he was involved in some kind of credit certificate scheme."
.
"This is like walking a tightrope."
"Now we've opened the door and let his men in."
"What if he messes it up?"
"What if Leo Wallace gets involved in some racist scandal someday in the future?"
"What if those newly elected Republican mayors said something they shouldn't have in front of the media, such as attacking the president's immigration policies?"
"If this happens, who will the media blame?"
Stern's fingers tapped heavily on the table.
"They will say it's a failure of the White House and a decline of the Democratic Party."
"So, Daniel."
"You are his guarantor."
"You must keep an eye on him."
"Put a bridle on him."
"Tell him if he makes any news in Pennsylvania that embarrasses the president, or causes the party to lose face nationally."
"I'll hold you accountable for this."
"When the time comes, don't blame me for being heartless and cutting off all the resources of your so-called progressive party."
Sanders showed no fear in the face of Stern's threats.
Instead, he laughed.
His smile held a cunning, confident, and commanding air.
"Don't worry, David."
Sanders stood up and straightened his suit jacket.
"That kid is much smarter than you think."
"He knows his limits."
"Since he can fool these Republican mayors, he knows how to maintain the dignity of this coalition."
"What he wants is to win, not chaos."
"make a deal."
Sanders extended his hand.
Stern looked at the hand, hesitated for a second, and finally took it.
"make a deal."
Sanders withdrew his hand, picked up the blue folder on the table, and turned to walk towards the door.
Halfway there, he seemed to suddenly remember something and stopped.
"By the way, David."
Sanders turned around.
"I have a suggestion about that center," Sanders said.
Stern rubbed his temples; this trouble was clearly giving him a headache.
"Do you have a way to get him to wear a suit?"
"No, it would be news if we didn't let him wear it."
Sanders smiled.
Let him wear the clothes he wants.
Even a T-shirt with a slogan printed on it.
"However, you can have your press secretary issue a statement."
"The reason this star player doesn't wear expensive custom-made suits is because he donates the money he would have spent on suits to a fund for underprivileged children in his hometown."
"This is his special way of paying tribute to the people at the bottom of society."
"The president highly praised him, calling him a champion with heart."
Stern was stunned.
He looked at Sanders, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes.
This is an effective public relations solution.
It not only defused the White House's embarrassment, but also transformed the athletes' protests into a positive charitable narrative, and incidentally helped the president gain some popularity and a more approachable image.
If that star player heard this explanation, he probably wouldn't have the nerve to say anything more and would just have to go along with it.
"You old fox."
Stern couldn't help but laugh and curse.
"You're still so good at turning bad things into good things."
"That's politics, David."
Sanders shrugged.
"The right to interpret is always more important than the facts."
"Just like we did in Pennsylvania."
"They weren't a bunch of opportunistic politicians; they were the awakened power of blue-collar workers."
"If you tell a good story, even trash can be turned into gold."
After saying that, Sanders pushed open the door and strode out.
Stern stood in his office, watching Sanders' disappearing figure.
He glanced again at the Bulls' group photo on the table.
Rodman is still tilting his head in the photo.
"They're all troublemakers."
Stern shook his head helplessly.
He picked up the phone and dialed the press secretary's extension.
"Listen, I have a new explanation for that center's attire—"
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