While the rest of his teammates whooped it up on the dance floor, Moe sat at a table by himself, scowling into his bottle of beer. Noticing his teammates sour mood, Tobias Harris approached him and sat down. “Hey Moe, why so down? There’s enough girls here to lighten the heaviest of hearts.”
“I’ve been thinking about some stuff, man. Have you ever thought about why we’re called the ‘Magic’?”
Tobias pondered for a second. “It’s just the name of the team, I guess. I agree with you though, team names like ‘Heat’ and ‘Magic’ just don’t have the same punch as ‘Hornets’ and ‘Celtics’.”
“That’s not my point. Think about the corporate situation of the Orlando area.” Moe took a swig of beer while Tobias figured it out.
“I got it! Disney! But what would you be mad at Disney for?” Tobias asked. “They drive the local economy. Without them, Orlando would just be another podunk central-Floridian town.”
Putting his beer down, Moe exclaimed, “Corporations, man! We’re called the Magic to tie in with the rest of the Orlando tourism juggernaut, but the NBA and Disney are not affiliated entities. We’re effectively giving them free advertising with no compensation whatsoever. It’s not like the name draws more people, tourists or otherwise, to the games.”
Tobias nodded as Moe continued, “I feel like we’re heading down a slippery slope of corporatism. The league is only a few steps away from becoming the Philippines Basketball Association, where all the teams are named after local corporations and their products. We might as well be called the Orlando Disney Mickey Mouses.”
Attention slipping away, Tobias was making eyes at a cutie Latina swaying by herself to the music. “It was cool having this discussion with you, but I gotta take care of some other business. Try not to think about it too much, Moe.” With that, he slid off his chair and joined his new companion.
Moe drained his beer and got up to leave. He looked around at the nightclub, its existence entirely owed to the mega-corporation that ruled every facet of this city. And he gave it the finger. A few people glanced over at the tall black man apparently flipping off nobody, but Moe was mostly ignored.
“Tax breaks for corporations have decimated the American middle class, yet these companies continue to outsource their production to other countries with even more corrupt tax codes and labor regulations,” he announced to an unlistening club clientele. “The fat cats in charge are bloated with the succulent flavor of their immense power, willing to trample the lives of untold millions of innocent, hardworking people in order to further their own perverted agendas. And I will no longer support such folly.” His thoughts spoken, Moe retracted his fingers and exited the club into the warm Florida air.