I've been wondering why the NBA doesn't do this for a while. It seems to me that the league is behind the times with cable as its only viewing method. Every time I wonder about this publicly, I get the answer "they make billions from cable company X, Google can bid for them just like everyone else." submitted by
But is the stuck up, "everyone else can bid for my time" mindset a bit too outdated-tradition oriented? I'm open to being wrong, but it seems like the benefits to livestreaming and archiving games on YouTube far outweigh the benefits you get from cable broadcast. I'll lay out a few basic points here, and keep in mind, I'm open to being wrong, so downvote to Oblivion if you feel like it. I just think it's time we got the conversation started since I'm fucking tired of not being able to watch full games if I'm not staring at a TV in one location at a specific three hour chunk of time.
Here we go.
First, I want to address the most common argument against this: more people watch shows on TV than on YouTube. I've seen the numbers behind this, and I don't understand the argument-- YouTube doesn't make good shows. YouTube isn't about making shows at all, really. Why do we care at all? YouTube never made a Game of Thrones. It doesn't want to. Why would it? It makes billions off of the periphery Game of Thrones content that people look up surrounding the show. I believe the NBA is a savvy enough organization to take this approach and run with it. If you don't, it's for reasons you should post in the comments. Seriously, tell me if I'm wrong.
The second argument I hear all the time is "YouTube as opposed to a live game? Yeah right. Not nearly as exciting."
This one makes no sense unless you assume that the person making the argument has no idea that live streams are a thing. YouTube has the capacity to broadcast live, and does it frequently. So I'm disregarding this completely. It is in fact easier to watch something live on YouTube from anywhere, for free mind you, than it is to pay for cable to watch it from a living room. Don't argue it, I don't buy it.
So on to some key points to add to my case.
Like I've said before, accessibility is clutch. I can't count the number of times I've missed a Warriors game on the East coast because I've had to stay late on a shift, or the number of times I've heard people complaining about how late they have to stay up to watch a game on the West Coast. Some people solve this by recording the game but damn, some nights you just fuck up and don't get to see it. If every game was livestreamed and archived on YouTube, not only would I get the benefit of being able to watch part of it on break without paying for an NBA TV subscription, I would be able to watch it in full later on in the comfort of my own home. From a fan perspective, I don't think there is a cogent argument that this is a bad thing for the viewer, in any respect.
Further, if every game's livestream was archived, I could go back and rewatch games like GSW/OKC WCF 7 any time I wanted to, and you best believe me I would be pulling it up frequently when drunk in party situations because I'm a special person. Imagine being able to watch entire MJ Bulls series in their entirety, with the option of having the live reactions from fans watching on YouTube flashing on every time Pippen blocks a shot or MJ throws down a monster dunk. From a fan standpoint, that's exciting. From an NBA standpoint, you want your fans to have that excitement. Still with me? Think it would be cool to watch games wherever, whenever, with generations of people in decades to come able to do the same for the games you're watching and seeing YOUR personal reaction when LeBron stares Giannis down in the finals? Yeah, me too.
There is really no argument against it as a fan. Everyone and their grandpa has a smartphone AT LEAST, and there is nobody on the planet that doesn't know how to access Youtube. This is why the NBA has an app that grants you access to every live game as it is happening, and allows you to rewatch every game in the season(and only the current season in all practicality, something I'm down on). The NBA gets all the profit from this, minus what the device manufacturers make from whatever you're watching on. However, the NBA is limited in reach and thus revenue compared to YouTube, and I'm wanting to explore this. Now let's get to why the NBA should want to expand beyond their current app to reach a broader audience and make more money (in case it isn't already obvious).
The primary concern here is money. I've heard it stated that there is no way the NBA recovers the 20+Billion it makes from cable networks through YouTube ads. Here's why I disagree, VERY hard.
If you are Adam Silver, and not you or me, you have the ability to walk into a room with YouTube execs and negotiate terms. Currently, YouTube makes more money off your views on YouTube than you do. BUT, you and I aren't a global network with mass influence and appeal like the NBA is. You and I can't strike better agreements. The NBA can, and I guarantee you YouTube is looking for a way into the Sports network world. A partnership is mutually beneficial to the web traffic YouTube gets and the reach the NBA gets, and mutually beneficial terms of broadcast that slightly favor the NBA still give YouTube billions in revenue. It can happen.
Here's why the NBA should go for it: reach. YouTube is accessible in almost every country in the world, and is the website with the highest usage rate in the world in almost every one of those countries (only competing with Facebook). If the basketball is the sport YouTube bets the farm on, you can bet the farm that they will drop as many ads in as many different languages as they can to increase their revenue in as many different places as they can. The NBA wants this because it can bring the idea of basketball to literal billions of people that don't get regular exposure to the sport. This A) increases viewer base and B) increases number of people deciding to play basketball, which long term increases number of good players from different countries in the NBA, which in turn increases viewership from different countries in the NBA, WHICH IN TURN INCREASES NBA PROFITS, PERMANENTLY.
If you want stats of YouTube saturation per country, it's just a Google search away my friends. Spoiler: it's much higher than cable networks.
Next, let's talk about the livestreams themselves as revenue generators. To put it simply, you allow YouTube to run ad banners on your broadcast and gain targeted revenue off those ads and also run your own ads during timeouts and half time, just like you would a normal broadcast. Except this time, ad companies bid for time WITH THE NBA ITSELF instead of bidding with the networks broadcasting the shows. Instantly, the NBA makes more ad money, and because YouTube has a huge reach and hyper-advanced view tracking stats to determine audience, the right companies would almost certainly be paying exponentially more for ad space in these broadcasts than they normally would, and the NBA would be receiving ALL the profit instead of networks. Taking advertising into its own hands and becoming its own media company seems like a logical next step for the NBA in the era of streaming and online content.
Next, let's talk about the data they can gather from those views and the dollar amount they can sell that data for. Actually, let's not talk about it, it goes without saying that Facebook is one of the most valuable companies IN EXISTENCE just from doing exactly this. There's your hot money-making tip, NBA, you're welcome.
And that's just the livestreams. Now let's talk about archived games.
If you are a network, one thing ad companies take into account when bidding for your network is "how many people will see this," obviously. Now imagine that every fan of every NBA team would be able to go and watch every game ever played because it was saved for them on YouTube. Your guarantee that a fan of a team will see your ad increases a LOT if the fans can watch it whenever they want. In fact, they can watch it whenever they want, however many times they want, so if you have an ad close to or during an exciting moment of the specific game, you get many times the views and exposure you would otherwise get. Now imagine companies being able to bid for ad space on NBA reposts of classic games, like the aforementioned Warriors Thunder Game 7 or Kobe's 81 point game that are absolute locks to be rewatched for generations. That's a lot of money the NBA makes simply by keeping a game on YouTube (which costs them zero dollars). Now do this for EVERY game, with viewership expanded across every developed country, suddenly $20 billion is a drop in the bucket. This isn't taking into account basic revenue accrued from YouTube views.
So you do the Livestreams. And you do the archived games with paid ads. Next, you do what you're already doing with postgame shows, but on YouTube instead of ESPN. And you take channels like FreeDawkins, and BBALL BREAKDOWN (shouts to Coach Nick) and all the others, and you sponsor their content making in exchange for your own sponsors' ad space on their channels, and you have a media empire. On top of the ad revenue, you have the advanced statistics to see which kinds of periphery shows REALLY do the best, and promote accordingly. Further, it would be easier to find new talent for NBA reporting because you could track basic stats like YouTube views to find your next anchor. You could have unlimited NBA sponsored spin off shows for a small, small amount of money, because there would be no restrictions based on scheduling. Your NBA-centric shows would not be competing with each other for time on a cable schedule, so you wouldn't have to cancel anything unless you were going into the red on it. As long as a few bucks are coming in, it's just more revenue and exposure for your company. You also don't have to find international talent for this, IT COMES TO YOU! It takes so much of the work out of the NBA's hands while giving them more control than if they were running through cable networks as they can't currently decide to stop sponsoring a network's show because they don't pay them to begin with.
If this concept is pushed far enough, I don't think it's a stretch to say it could reach the same heights that Soccer has reached worldwide. We're all on this sub because at some point in ours lives, we saw basketball and realized it was a very exciting sport. Many people never have that chance because it's such an American centric sport, even if they understand it exists. I would go so far as to say (and I know I'll get downvotes for this) it could supplant football and baseball as the iconic American passtime if pushed the right way. Neigh, it could become the iconic INTERNATIONAL passtime. There are many European and Asian leagues specifically that would love in on the profit and worldwide attention, and collaboration with/perceived competition with the NBA for this would go a long way to sell seats in arenas and increase revenue worldwide. I see no reason that in today's economy, the NBA couldn't become the IBA (International Basketball Association) in a conglomerate with the other leagues around the world.
Now give me your feedback. I'm not looking for praise, I'm not fishing for devil's advocates. People from the NBA scan Reddit, it's known fact. Maybe this thread helps them get feedback in advance. Let me know why this idea would/wouldn't work for YOU, because the NBA already knows whether or not it works for THEM, and they aren't looking for your perspective on their best interest.
TLDR: increased viewership across all continents brings a new viewer base that the NBA has been striving for since the Stern era. Targeted ads on YouTube will bring in money, and since the NBA could accept its own bids for ads on its own broadcasts, it could take in all the ad money that Networks would be paid instead (which is the money they use to pay the NBA it's 20+ billion to begin with). Companies could pay for repeat views on classic games with the assuredness that they would have not just close to 100% fan viewership but repeat viewership as well. The NBA could make further money with zero effort by sponsoring existing NBA related YouTube channels, making money off of content that is ranked by views and as such is likely to be better content. As a viewer, you get more flexibility in time and place of viewing and you can show your kids the same streams you watched with ease.
Summer Stories 1: Wearing Black https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/3s22kx/summer_stories_1_wearing_black/
Summer Stories 2: The Bonfire Girls https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4c32rq/summer_stories_2_the_bonfire_girls/
Summer Stories 3: The Silent Treatment https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4ouo0t/summer_stories_3_the_silent_treatment/
Summer Stories 4: Eating the Machine https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/4p0gdh/summer_stories_4_eating_the_machine/
Summer Stories 5: The Forever Family: https://wh.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/5a1zgv/summer_stories_5_the_forever_family/
Summer Stories 6: Cape Matador https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/5avtih/summer_stories_6_cape_matado
I hit the incline at fifty miles per hour. This is crazy
, I thought, leaning into the turn at the base of the hill, bringing the bike so low that I felt the cuff of my blue jeans scrape the ground. Just stop and fight
But that would be suicide, and I knew it. Driving a street bike on a dirt road at night without a helmet—and in the rain—well, that was close to suicide, too, but it was the only chance I had.
I could hear him over the engine. His cries rode the current of the storm, otherworldly and terrible, yet gradually diminishing with distance. I didn’t think he was gaining on me.
Coming out of the turn, the engine screeched in protest. The back of the bike pitched right, churning mud, then left. The whole thing nearly spun out from under me before I could get it back under control—and then I gunned the engine again. The front wheel threatened to come up in a wheelie. On the open road, I might have let it. Not here, though, not under a canopy of trees where the rain pummeled me in torrents and then suddenly vanished, only to douse me again a quarter of a mile later. I leaned forward and forced the wheel back down. I shook thin red tendrils of hair out of my eyes, squinting, lowering my head.
Even tied back in a tail, my hair could be a pain in the ass. I couldn’t spare my hands to stop my stupid bangs from whipping all over the place—long hair really does get in the way of things—but on the straightaway, thankfully, wind plastered it against the sides of my head and forced it to behave itself.
Going steadily uphill in this slippery mess made it difficult to accelerate. I didn’t look back. I’d made enough mistakes for one day. This was a trap
, I said to myself. Summer, you’re an idiot
The shocks only absorbed so much. The motorcycle was brand new—a Triumph T-120 Bonneville, silver trimmed with electric blue, very pretty—but it hadn’t been made for terrain like this. My arms, bent ninety degrees, took half the force of the shuddering thuds against wet, uneven ground. My elbows felt like wishbones about to break. My hands almost slipped on the grips. The headlamp was half-smeared with mud. In the tunnel of the trees, even the lightning was dulled and muted. I could hardly see through the storm, yet I didn’t dare wipe my eyes. Should’ve brought the car
, I scolded myself. A god damned roof and some windshield wipers would be nice
But again, no. If I had come here in the Chevy, I would have wrecked for sure. The road, sluiced with rainwater and flanked by twin walls of trees, couldn’t have been an inch wider that seven feet. This could be over at any second. I’m dead
, I thought. I am so, so dead. If only Casper could see me now
His brother had been ready for me. The others had doubtless destroyed Casper already. It was too bad. I might have grieved for him, given a little more time. And I sure could have used his help right about now.
But it didn’t do to dwell on what I didn’t have. What I did
have was a destination, if only I could make it there—a “safe house” for human beings.
It wouldn’t be the first time I had been there.
St. Christopher’s Catholic Church and Preparatory School stood at the top of a long, winding rise halfway through the Catskill Mountains of New York. Only yesterday, I’d driven the Chevy there and gotten a look at the place. It consisted of a modest white walled chapel with stained glass windows and two long brick and mortar wings, presumably the classrooms. One of these connected the chapel to a larger building. There was a statue of Mary in the courtyard out front, and before that, a sign proclaimed: Parking Lot is for Church and School ONLY. Violators will be BAPTIZED
Clear, perfect asphalt led up to the place. Less than fifty yards away, I could see where the descending dirt avenue through the trees branched off from the main road.
I pulled in, parked, and checked my watch. It was three in the afternoon. The lot was almost empty. From a manila envelope, I drew out the copy of the East Haven Gazette
Casper had mailed to me along with the map of the Catskills. Tucked into the folds of the map was an uncharacteristically brief letter: Dearest Summer, Time is short. I’ve been asked to accompany Angus on a “sabbatical” out west. While I’m away, I’ll be unable to keep a check on my other brothers. Their names are Louis, Silas, and Absalom. I am uneasy. They know of your existence. The one nearest to you has taken up residence in the mountains, of all places. A great lover of animals is dear old Louis, and I would imagine he has several prowling the grounds during the day. If so, they’re to be avoided. Louis is tall, slender of build, dark of hair. I don’t know who keeps the property under the light of the sun, but he will not be alone. Expect his guardian to be female. They always are. Be safe, my little tempest, Casper
I double checked the location six miles from here that Casper had circled on the map, noting again the winding, descending trail off the main road that must lead to it. He’d circled the church as well. Underneath it, he’d written: If you have to run for it, run here
The prospect made me uncomfortable. It wasn’t that churches bothered me, per se. Up until the age of eleven, at the insistence of my father, I’d been brought up Evangelical Protestant. It’s all stories
, my mother had once whispered to me during services. It’s all lies. Don’t believe a word of it
So I hadn’t—and that’s where the problem was. If churches had real power against Casper and his brothers, then maybe my mother had been wrong and Daddy had been right. Maybe God was real. If so, I was probably in for some serious shit after I died. Stay alive, then
, I thought, shaking my head back to the present. It was Monday, July 24, 1961. Make it two more years, and you’re clear
A bright blue banner on the front lawn called for volunteers to help manage a lock-in for teenagers all through the night of the 25th. Apparently, that was the feast day of St. Christopher, patron saint of children and travelers—whatever a “feast day” was. Had Casper known about this?
I reached out to him in my mind, and as usual got nothing. I wasn’t surprised. The return address on the manila envelope read Portland, Oregon, which was almost as far away as he could get without leaving the country. Why do I have to do this again?
I couldn’t help but wonder. Why can’t you handle your own family bullshit?
I unfolded the newspaper that had come with the map and re-read the small headline Casper had drawn a box around on one of the interior pages: Brothers’ Funeral Services Closes after 25 Years, Financial Insolvency Cited. Sure,
I thought. Like people had suddenly stopped dying in eastern Connecticut.
In the margin, he’d scrawled: Things are changing, Summer. Angus knows nothing for certain, but he’d be a fool not to suspect us. You need to move again, as soon as you can manage it. I’ll find you.
The penmanship was sloppy. Rushed. Ordinary black ink. It wasn’t like his at all. Don’t be paranoid,
I thought, frowning at it. Casper can take care of himself.
Either way, if he was referring to “us” being responsible for the death of Phineas—which wasn’t really fair, since I’d done all the work—that had been more than a year ago. Ancient history. Why would it have suddenly become a problem now?
I didn’t want to move. I’d settled into my New York City apartment rather comfortably over the past six months. And while manning the checkout counter at one of the city libraries might not have been the most exciting job in the world, it beat waiting tables. What was he afraid of? Did he think Angus or his other brothers would come after me? If so, moving was pointless. If he could find me, they could find me. Worrying about it wouldn’t accomplish anything.
I tucked the map and the newspaper back into the envelope and got out of the car, scanning the parking lot again. The only other car here probably belonged to whatever priest ran this joint. He’d be somewhere inside the building, I guessed, praying or polishing statues or ironing his robes or doing whatever the hell else Catholic priests did on a Monday when the kids were on summer break.
I popped the trunk, sifted through the various treasures and protections I’d acquired over the past year. This included two boxes of projectile fireworks, several guns of varying descriptions, and a pair of well-sharpened and lacquered mahogany knives. But the best thing, my most prized possession, I kept hidden in a long leather sheath under a mat at the bottom of everything else: a compound bow, laminated maple and rosewood, with a thirty-two pound draw accurate at up to one hundred and fifty yards. Half of the arrows, too, were rosewood—even the broadhead tips—twenty-eight inches long, 300 grain, with turkey feather fletching and dusted with true silver. All I had to do was take Louis by surprise.
Surveying the path, I knew I’d have to either walk it for six miles or try it by motorcycle. I’d need to bring my jacket. Oh, well,
I said to myself. That’s tomorrow’s problem.
I shut the trunk and hustled over to the trees, glancing once more over my shoulder to confirm no one was watching. It was a wrench, leaving the bow in the woods, even carefully concealed, even if only for a day—but possessions could be replaced. If I’d learned anything in the past couple years, it was that if you wanted something, you took it. Life really is that simple.
Anyway, I didn’t think riding the bike on the open highway with a hunting bow strapped over my back was the best idea, either.
I was glad I had that jacket now, much as I hated wearing black as a general rule. The leather was the best protection I could have asked for against the storm—and against the cold that came with it, even at the ass end of July.
I couldn’t hear the pursuit behind me anymore, but I didn’t slow down. Maybe he’d given up, and maybe he hadn’t. I wasn’t taking anything for granted. I didn’t allow myself to relax even when I made it back to the short stretch of open road that led directly to the church, the ground levelling, the bike accelerating more easily. I’d take all the lead I could get until I was inside the place. Keep going, Summer,
I thought. Just drive all the way back to the apartment, back home.
But I fought that temptation down. I could do it, I knew—I could make it for the night—but my hand was played. Louis had seen me. He knew who I was. I needed to draw him in and finish this. If I didn’t, the next time we met would be on his terms, and that wouldn’t do at all.
I laid off the accelerator, allowing the bike to simply glide up the smooth, wet asphalt that led back into the church parking lot. The steeple lights were on, but the chapel underneath it was dim. The larger building was alight, however. From out in the rain, I couldn’t hear anything of what might be going on inside, but I could see the shadows of people through the windows. Kids.
I parked under the steeple lights, unslinging the leather sheath that contained my bow and arrows, then tossing it behind the hedge line that flanked the front porch, just under one of the unadorned front windows. On the steps I stopped. I listened.
Nothing. Only the rain, the occasional lightning flash and fading mutter of thunder. I was soaked. My hands were shaking.
But I was here. I’d made it. I didn’t know if it was only the building that would provide the protection I needed while I came up with some kind of plan, or if the entire property counted as “holy ground.” I grasped the door knob. It’s a lock-in,
I said to myself. It’s going to be locked.
Instead, the door opened easily, and I stepped inside. Before sizing up the inside of the place, I checked the inside handle for locks and didn’t find any. It doesn’t matter, Summer,
I reminded myself. He can’t get in here. You’re safe.
My hands were still trembling when I fumbled around my outer pockets for my Zippo and cigarettes. I looked the place over. The cement porch had given way to oak floors in the entryway and the vestibule, where there was a holy water font in the shape of an angel clutching a chalice. There was a closed door to my left labeled “Office,” and another that opened on my right into a dimly-lit reception area leading to a darkened hallway. Straight ahead was the chapel, where I could only make out the first few rows of pews before it, too, disappeared into dim orange lighting.
I’d hardly lit my smoke before I heard footsteps coming my way from the hall beyond the vestibule. I didn’t think it likely that he had heard me coming in. No, it was just bad timing, just my typical rotten luck. Regretfully, I dropped the cigarette into the holy water and waved away the smoke.
“Father Manny,” I greeted him without looking his way. “Bet you didn’t expect to see me again.”
He called out to me just as I emerged from the woods. And, I must admit, he caught me completely unawares.
“Hey,” he said, grinning, jogging down the porch steps, heading in my direction. “If you needed to use the bathroom, all you had to do was come in and ask.”
It was polite of him, providing me with an excuse. “Oh, my gosh,” I said, affecting supreme embarrassment, along with my library checkout girl voice. “I’m so sorry. I was just …” I made as though fumbling for some other reason, something not having to do with taking a piss, and settled on pointing at the parking lot sign. “I … I didn’t think I was allowed to come in.”
He waved it off, stopping in front of me. “Father Manny Mulroney,” he introduced himself, shaking my hand. Then he tilted his head back to the sign. “Just Father Manny for short. You’re not from around here, are you? We don’t get many visitors.”
Father Manny looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He was wearing a white, short-sleeved button down shirt and blue jeans—nothing at all that might identify him as a priest. He sounded kind, trusting. And he was looking at me from the neck up, which was a welcome change from what I was used to.
“Summer Lynn Michaels,” I said. “From Woodstock, just passing through. Listen, I feel like I kind of want to die right now. I’ll just be going—”
“You Catholic?” he cut in. I could almost see an idea taking shape behind his eyes. I had no clue what that idea was, but it seemed the good father had been suddenly inspired. My mind raced. If I said ‘Yes,’ it wouldn’t be hard for him to test me, to uncover the lie.
I sighed. “Not very,” I said. “It’s been a long time, Father.”
“Can’t be that long,” he said. “What are you, eighteen? Nineteen tops?”
I was twenty-two. “Eighteen,” I said. “Nineteen in December.”
“I knew it. God sent you, Miss Michaels.” And he winked at me. His tone was lighthearted, almost joking. “Maybe I can invite you inside?”
I didn’t go inside. Not then. Instead, I spoke to him by the side of the Chevy, relieved I hadn’t left the trunk open. Evidently, he was the resident “DRE,” or “Director of Religious Education,” and tomorrow’s lock-in was his baby.
There had been a fundraiser. The lock-in was the consolation prize for the kids who hadn’t sold enough to be included in the trip to Hershey Park. The sisters were chaperoning that trip. Parent volunteers were simply not to be found for an all-night lock-in on a weekday, especially when many of the kids hadn’t even committed to coming yet. Worst case scenario, there might be as many as twenty of them, all between thirteen and sixteen years old. Might I be interested in helping out?
It wasn’t too an unusual of a request, given the circumstances. It was 1961. It was rural upstate New York, and as far as Father Manny knew, I was hardly more than a kid myself. Everything was already planned out. I wouldn’t have to think of a thing, just follow the program. It would go from six at night until eight the next morning.
“There’ll be food,” he said. “Much as you can eat, and you can take the leftovers with you. I’m bringing in enough sandwiches from Joe’s to feed a small army.”
He might have thought I was a charity case—the Chevy did need a bit of a wash—and I was tempted to laugh at him. I had plenty of money these days, not even counting the emergency fund I kept under the two-round Mississippi Derringer in the glovebox. I had other things on my schedule. But I never took a tone with him. He was just a simple dumbass who’d gotten himself into a situation he couldn’t get out of. Pathetic.
“I don’t know, Father Manny …”
Something told me, pure intuition, not to rule it out. Don’t say yes,
that little voice said to me, but don’t rule it out.
“They’re good kids,” he said. “They won’t be any trouble. Please think about it. Otherwise I’ll be running this thing solo, and somebody’s got to have at least half an eye on the chapel at all times. Never know when someone might pop in for a surprise confession.”
That was supposed to be funny, so I favored him with a smile. I was glad he didn’t offer to take my
confession. It would have taken a while.
“You have a place to stay tonight? I know the guy who keeps the Wayside Motel just west of Fishkill, and I could probably get him to put you up for—”
“Thanks,” I said, still smiling softly at him. “I have an older brother expecting me in the Hudson. But I’ll think about it, Father Manny. I promise. Can’t do much else until I check in with big bro, you know?”
“Fair enough,” he said, sounding resigned. “I know I’m not offering much, Miss Michaels,” he said. “Sometimes, doing a good deed is its own reward.”
“Call me Summer,” I said, opening the driver’s side door of the Chevy. I turned the key in the ignition. “See you tomorrow, maybe.”
I couldn’t read minds, but the look on his face clearly said, I doubt that.
“You’re three hours late,” he now greeted me, sounding frazzled. “But better late than never. I’m glad you’re here. Happy St. Christopher’s Day.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I answered, turning toward him, clenching my hands into fists, willing the shaking to stop. Even with the door shut, I trained my ears toward the outside, expecting at any minute to hear that horrible howling that was not the wind. Expecting to hear Louis.
“Oh, now, just look at you,” he said, “You’re soaked. Come on.”
He led me past the office and the ladies room to the western wing, which contained the residences. There I was able to, more or less, dry off in his own bathroom. I declined his offer to take my jacket. “Let’s meet the kids,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic at the prospect. “I’ll be fine.”
He led me back past the foyer and the chapel. I couldn’t help but glance at the door uneasily. It’s a church,
I reminded myself. Nothing to worry about.
“We’re never locked,” he said, as though I’d spoken the thought aloud. “Not the chapel, anyway. Someone’s always here.”
I let it go and followed him through the western wing of classrooms to a set of double doors. The windows here were clear—no stained glass outside of the chapel—and so when the lightning flickered again, I had no trouble at all seeing the shadow in the parking lot. Not a man. Not strigoi. The thing it was most like was a dog, but that’s not exactly right, either. It wasn’t moving. It was looking through the same window I was, from the other side, right at me. Shit,
I thought. That better not be what I think it is.
Father Manny didn’t even notice. He opened the door, and with a half-bow waved me into the gymnasium. There, I found a circle of several chairs, all pointing inward as though for a discussion group, currently empty. There was a projector and a roll-down screen, currently not in use. There was a crafts table. I also saw a table of sandwiches, presumably from “Joes.” There was a punchbowl, a partially-filled trash can—and only four kids.
Two boys, probably sixteen years old or so, were playing a game of Horse at the basketball hoop. The only girl, twelve or thirteen at a glance, sat busily at work at the crafts table. The last one, a boy just slightly younger than the ones playing Horse, was sitting in the corner nearest to me, back to the wall. He looked up from the book he was reading and lazily called out, “Drop everything. Babysitter’s here at last.”
The girl looked up and waved. She held up a series of beads on a string, probably soon to become a bracelet or something. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Emily.” Then she lowered her head and got right back to it, mumbling to herself as she worked.
The basketballers eyed me the way teenage boys usually do—kind of seems to transcend religion, this tendency—but only for a moment. One of them said, “Shooting while standing on one leg.”
Which he did, and then passed the ball off to the other boy, who missed. That earned him the letter “R,” two fails away from spelling “horse” and losing the game. Their names, I gathered through trash talk, were Vernon and Terrance. It was Terrance’s turn to call the challenge, which was to shoot tossing the ball with only one hand. And again, he missed, even on his own challenge. The ball went back to Vernon. They’d already forgotten I was there.
“This is Miss Summer,” Father Manny called out to them, placing his hand on my shoulder without asking. “Come on over and introduce yourselves properly.” Reluctantly, three of them did. As they made their way over to us, he said in a low voice, “Guess most of the kids had better things to do than to spend the night locked up in church with just me for company.” Them and me both,
I thought, still straining my ears for a hint of what was lurking outside, hearing nothing more than the rain.
The boy with the book—who hadn’t moved an inch, and whose name I still didn’t know—said, “You should have seen this place earlier when we were celebrating dear old St. Chris and doing Mass and stuff. It was completely packed. We got to watch the rest of the kids go off in that stupid bus for Hershey Park. Fun.”
I shook hands with the others. I tried to play the part. But all the while, my mind kept returning to the shadow dog in the parking lot, the one whose eyes seemed to have found me before I found him, as though he could smell me from ten yards away, as though he had sucked my scent out clean through the closed window and identified me. Where,
I wondered, is Louis right now? Why isn’t he still screaming at me?
If he was, I knew we’d all be able to hear it.
The anonymous boy with the book didn’t look up, but he said, “Miss Summer—you sound … distracted.”
“That’s Philip,” Father Manny said, waving at him as though in dismissal. “And he’s in one of his moods.”
I went to him. Stood over him without looking at him. “I was just thinking …” I started.
That actually got his attention. He glanced up at me. “What?”
I scanned the gym for windows. There were two of them. They were huge. In a normal house, they would have been wall size. These kids going to die tonight,
I thought. Maybe we all will. So sad.
What I said was, “Nothing. Never mind. What are you reading?”
I started smart. I’ll give myself that much credit. A mile before I reached the place, I killed the motorcycle’s engine and started walking the bike instead. The sun was already going down. The clouds were moving in. It was impossible to guess when, exactly, it would be safe for Louis to step outside of his house—or his hut or cave or castle, whatever it turned out to be.
A hot July afternoon cooled to a pre-storm July dusk. I hoped this would all be over before the rain started. Maybe I’d get lucky for once.
When the canopy of trees and the path opened out onto a clearing, I saw how Louis made his living. It brought me up short. I heard them before I saw them, before I realized what they were. The first of the “animals” that he kept lived in what looked like a series of six tall white birdhouses. But it was the sound, easily heard from twenty yards away, which gave up what really lived in them.
Louis kept bees, and he ran a honey business. Where the path ended inside the wrought-iron fence gate, there was a truck with a flatbed parked in the grass. The lettering on the door read: Midnight Honey Farm, Est. 1946.
The same lettering was on a white sign on the gate, along with very specific hours of operation: New Batches Available Saturday ONLY, 6 PM – 12 AM. And, Available Daily at The Handy Dandy Market.
The house beyond that was low to the ground, all stonework and bricks, like the one Phineas had occupied by the lighthouse in South Carolina. Within the fenced-off property was a roofed-over kennel, its door shut and barred on the outside. From within, I heard the barking of dogs.
I climbed halfway up one of the trees at the opening of the clearing, unpacked the bow from its sheath, strung it, and waited. As the sun set, the barking of the dogs turned to howling. I could hear them scrabbling at the door. I yawned, wondering how many of them there were. I wondered what Louis fed them.
The front door to the house opened even as the rain began to fall.
* “To Kill a Mockingbird,”
Philip answered me. “Heard of it?”
I shook my head. “Must be new.”
“Well, it is,
but …” He trailed off, snorted to himself. “Can’t believe you haven’t heard of it. It’s famous.”
I shrugged, ambled over to the basketball players. Terrance was about to lose the game of “Horse.” Vernon had called the shot—quarter quart back, from the knees—and actually made it. For the life of me, I could not understand what possessed Terrance to play a game in which he was so obviously outmatched.
But, “Na, you win,” he said, resigned, letting the ball drop from his hands. Letting it roll.
I picked it up, took a knee at the quarter quart, and positioned my hands to shoot. Vernon cocked an eyebrow. I winked at him, then tried to concentrate. You’ve got more important things to think about,
I told myself. But I’d grown up playing with boys, and I thought I had a fair shot at this.
I almost missed. The ball rolled around the rim before going in. The boys clapped, as if this feat were somehow more impressive coming from a woman.
I went to Emily, stopping at the punchbowl first and grabbing half a sandwich. “Looks like I got here late,” I said, sitting next to her, trying to appear interested. “What’s that?”
“Rosary beads,” she said. “I’m making chains for everyone. Something to pass the time till we watch the movie.”
“Yeah? What movie?” And what the hell’s a rosary?
I didn’t add.
She shrugged. “King Kong,”
Father Manny said with a chuckle. “Original film reel, with all the scary stuff they took out for theaters still in it. I figured it’d be mostly boys tonight. Looks like you’ve got this covered, Miss Summer. I’m going to check up front.”
Emily, meanwhile, slid a string and some beads my way. “Want to help?”
I sighed. Then, Why not?
I thought, leaned over, and whispered to her, “I have no idea what you’re doing. I’m not actually Catholic.”
Her eyes widened—but then she smiled, positively scandalized.
“Don’t tell,” I said, looking at the beads, idly curious.
* Tall, slender of build, dark of hair.
A little older-looking than I might have expected, but the man who emerged from the house fit Casper’s description of Louis perfectly. He was in range from the moment he stepped outside, but a kill shot from this distance was asking too much. Not until he ambled over to the door of the kennel did I feel reasonably confident I could get him in a single shot.
The rain was coming down hard now. I was spared the worst of it under the shelter of the tree, but it was still annoying. Still distracting.
I nocked one of the rosewoods. He was about to lift the bar over the kennel doors. He was about to turn, making a heart shot impossible.
I lined him up, a stationary target, and let the arrow fly. The first shot took him in the shoulder. He cried out, loudly and wordlessly. I had another arrow to the string in seconds—nagged by the thought that the second shot was almost never as good as the first shot—and fired again.
And, wouldn’t you know it, I got lucky. This one took him high in the center of his ribcage, straight through and shaft deep. He went down to his knees, clutching the second arrow, his cries silenced. He seemed to die right there in the kneeling position.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t like Phineas. Casper’s other brother had dematerialized in death, scattering like rags of incarnate darkness thrown to the wind. But this one was still there. I watched him roll onto his side. Lifeless, but still there.
The barking and braying of the dogs grew suddenly louder, angry and desperate. I could hear them clawing against the enclosure from all the way up here. And the bees in their little white houses started to flow out, started to swarm, circling their wood-ensconced honeycombs as though being stirred by an invisible hand.
The next person to emerge from the house was a woman with a rifle. She was middle aged, heavyset and frumpy. She saw the body right away. She ran to him. Wailed.
“Damn it,” I sighed. And shot her dead right there with a single arrow right through the mouth. I didn’t waste another one of the rosewoods. I had already given up two of those, and now I only had four left. Come out, Louis,
I thought, steeling myself, even as the bar on the kennel door crackled and started to splinter. Get what’s coming to you …
How the hell was I supposed to have known that Louis had more than one
day guardian? Thanks, Casper. Thanks a lot.
Louis didn’t come outside as a man. He didn’t come out as anything I could kill with a bow. He spilled out the front door as a slithering river of rattlesnakes. The bees retreated back to their honeycombs—but the bar over the kennel door broke in two. This is bullshit,
I thought, going down the tree with reckless speed, no grace at all. I tumbled the last seven feet, slipping on a wet branch, and landed face down next to the bike. I didn’t bother checking myself for cuts and bruises.
I looked back once. The dogs were huge. Even on all fours, they would have come up to my shoulders. I couldn’t make out anything else, other than their number. There were three of them.
It was time to beat a fast fucking retreat.
And here I now was, watching and listening to a thirteen year old girl chanting Hail Marys and the occasional Our Father over a string of rosary beads—in actual Latin—all while waiting for Louis to make the next move. I strung a few of the beads myself. When we finished one, knowing what was outside, I asked Emily if I could keep it. She smiled and said, “Sure. Won’t do you much good if you don’t know what to do with it, though.”
It was bracelet sized. I slid it over my right wrist. “I know a few devils in the world,” I told her. “Couldn’t hurt.”
I got to work on the next one with her, this one necklace-size. We sat side by side, as though she were my little sister. She muttered Latin incantations. I remembered Sally Mathers and smiled at her.
And then I heard him, right in my head, interrupting the last moment of peace I would have for some time: When next I see you, you better not be wearing any of that garbage.
Casper. I thought you were dead,
I answered in my mind, stringing another bead, letting Emily pray over it. Not yet,
he said. You need to listen, Summer. This is another trial, but it is not one of mine. Whose, then?
I asked, taking a sip of my punch, accepting Emily’s correction on the order of the rosary beads. Is it Angus? Tell him I said hi.
From Casper: He sends his regards. We’re watching you, Summer. All of us.
I made an attempt to repeat some of what Emily was saying over the beads, just to maintain the façade as I responded: How is that possible? You’re on the other side of the country. I’m in a fucking church.
From Casper: There is deep magic here, powers that are beyond me away from this place. I have been brought here to answer for Phineas. You have been placed in an arena. It doesn’t matter if it is a church. You are not yet strigoi. What’s coming for you is not strigoi.
I asked, What is it then? Dragons or something?
Casper pressed on: It’s a wager, Summer, and I’m betting on you. Survive one hour. That’s all. There are no other rules. If you do, the Cabal will … think better of us. And if I don’t,
I finished for him, it won’t matter anyway. Business as usual. Got it. You probably have a fancier way of putting it, though. No,
Casper said with a small chuckle. Actually I don’t. Good luck, Summer.
If I hadn’t been listening for it just then, I don’t think I would have heard it. It didn’t seem anyone else had. Either the storm outside had picked up, or the howling outside wasn’t just the wind. Casper’s brothers had an hour to kill me, and his extended family would watch the game unfold like a god damned TV show—live, like most shows were back then.
I wondered how a person unlocked the magic of rosary beads. I wanted to know if crosses or holy water had any power over hellhounds—because I was pretty sure that’s what I had seen, and now heard, outside. I didn’t think they did. Crosses and holy water would be useless.
Nor would holy ground offer me any protection against them.
Emily lined up her last bead, said her little prayer.
And then it started.
Summer Stories 8: And in the Hour of Our Death https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/6pvg67/summer_stories_8_and_in_the_hour_of_our_death/ MD
The company Haalo Technology wants to transform the sport digitally and earn money with it. Tens of thousands of crypto investors and the SG 09 Wattenscheid as a flagship project are meant to support this venture. With the help of a million-dollar investment and technology, the SportsTech start-up wants to lead the fourth division football club into the Bundesliga and make it the most digital club in Europe. Is this just crazy or one of the most exciting sports business cases in Germany?
The DNA of Haalo Technology GmbH
lies somewhere between Hawaii, Hamburg, Wattenscheid and the wide, difficult-to-grasp world of crypto currencies. The following story shows how this all fits together, which could become one of the most exciting SportsTech cases in this country.
The name Haalo is originally from Hawaii and means sport. The tech company Haalo
Technology was founded in Hamburg by Peter Jaeger his three co-founders. The computer scientist and business economist worked in various management positions for IT and technology companies during his career, including Hewlett-Packard (HP), IBM and most recently for Microsoft for six years. As a member of the executive board of Microsoft Germany he helped to build up the sports business for Microsoft. Partnerships with various Bundesliga clubs were concluded under his leadership, one of them with Hamburger SV.
Jaeger is not only an IT expert and business economist, he is also a football fan and has a season ticket for HSV, whose home games he regularly visits with his two sons. He knows the Volksparkstadion and he knows what works in German Bundesliga stadiums — and what does not.
Like so many digital managers in his profession, Jaeger is “convinced that sport is becoming more and more entertainment”. And in his opinion you should not have to queue at a sausage stand or at the security check for minutes before the game. Likewise, he cannot understand that decision-makers of football clubs want to ban beer runners or wifi in the stadium, because they fear that the actual product — football — could be in danger. For the former Microsoft man, the competitors of a Bundesliga club are not the other clubs in the league, but Netflix, Xbox or Sky. He says, “This way of thinking is better internalized in the US. Here in Germany it is often a bit dreamy. “
Four digital business fields
Jaeger is convinced that technology and digitization can fundamentally change sports. But he also knows that “the sport is only at the beginning of digitization”, and that’s exactly what he wants to use for his business. Haalo
has set itself the goal of supporting sports institutions, i.e. clubs, associations, but also sponsors holistically in the digital transformation. The agency concentrates on four business areas, two of them being “Fans” and “Venues”. For example, the questions include: How can sport be made tangible for fans on the ground, but also for people who are not in the stadium? How can comfort be improved in order to attract new target groups? For women and children for example, there are not a lot of reasons to go to the stadium with their husbands or fathers anymore.
Jaeger believes that digital products can help solve these problems. “Nowadays, the fan always gets the same information and advertising messages,” he says. “Whether he comes by car, public transport, by bike or on foot to the stadium. Whether he is an away or a home fan or whether he is watching the game at home on the couch on Sky or on the ‘sports show’. “At this point, Haalo wants to start. Instead of communicating the same message to all fans via LED boards, cam carpet or commercials, clubs and their marketers will be able to send personalized messages and offers to their target groups using data-driven marketing.
In a healthy digital world of football, a club knows that the fan sitting in block B, row 5, seat 12 has just became a dad and is therefore planning to buy a new car. Due to this knowledge the club presents this fan the right offer of the respective car partner of his club on his smartphone. The same thing works not only with a fan in the stadium, but also one in front of the TV — at home, as well as abroad.
“Gainchanger” is the name of this product, which is also the first technology the start-up has previously programmed. When applied, Haalo
benefits from a marketing share of sales that the customer achieves through technology.
Similar to “Gainchanger”, Haalo’s other business units (“Team”, “Venue” and “Clubs”) are based on Big Data, data that has been collected over a long period of time, used intelligently and individually displayed.
In the “Venue” area, for example, Haalo wants to bring (permanent) cardholders, who always have the same travelling habits for home games, to their place with the help of an app for the optimal, most convenient route to the stadium and through the arena. Because a club knows the individual consumption behavior of a single fan through the collected data, it can ask him before the game or in the half-time break by push message, if he wants to place the same order as in the past five home games. If the customer agrees, the next catering station will be assigned to him and the exact pick-up time will be communicated.
Haalo’s reasoning: Because the food and beverage order has already been paid for via the app, it does not only reduce the waiting time of the fans and thereby increase customer satisfaction, but it can also increase the catering revenue of a club. Many fans do not have a drink or a sausage in the half-time break because of a lack of time and because of long queues.
The examples can be continued in many areas: Regarding the “Team” area, Haalo promises to improve the performance of players or an entire team by using performance data (speed, run or pass data). Thanks to a corresponding application, transfer and personnel decisions should also be data-supported and thus made easier.
This product is called “Haalo Scout”, which is based on the fact that over a long observation period, data is being collected from the club´s own youth players as well as information about a large number of external players. Haalo
also wants to work with streaming services such as Sporttotal.tv, using artificial intelligence to analyze the moving images and collect millions of performance data.
Jaeger explains: “A scout cannot be at all pitches. If a machine automatically collects relevant data for the scout, then that is a business model.” The computer scientist is convinced. “The longer the observation periods, the better the information. And as a result, a club has to rely less on their gut when they make decisions. The question mark gets smaller. “
Crypto financing: million-dollar ICO Haalo
wants to finance itself in the first year as a classic start-up. It had a capital increase of approximately half a million euros, due to various entrepreneurs who acquired shares in the new company. Among other things, this basic financing will cover technology, personnel and other operating costs.
Compared to the main funding, the startup financing is a joke. Haalo
intends to raise a total of between 25 and 100 million euros from the crypto market, primarily within the Asian and American tech communities, through a global initial coin offering (ICO). At first, this amount sounds astronomical. But if you look a bit more closely at this financing option, the plan becomes more realistic, for example, when you consider that the last large ICO in Germany (Savedroid) had around 50 000 small investors contributing almost 40 million euros.
In principle, an ICO works like a normal IPO. The company defines its currency and the number of its coins for sale. Investors who find a business idea — here by Haalo — lucrative, buy one or more coins and thus real money flows into the account of the company. As in the venture capital market, there are also coin exchanges and exchange rates in the crypto market. An investor can also sell his coin and trade with it.
The biggest difference to a traditional stock exchange: no company shares are traded. Or to put it another way: none of the Haalo Coin investors own shares in Haalo. Basically, in a mirrored, virtual market, bets are made on a company’s ability to succeed. Be it through functioning products like “Gainchanger” or through other applications.
Jaeger says, “The successful companies are the ones that will add value to their coin. Many companies cannot do that. If I cannot do anything else with my coin, then it will be useless.” So a coin must also be applicable to other things. The more applications there are for the coin and the more attractive these are, the more the coin is worth.
A field of application can be, for example, a football tip game that Haalo
wants to launch on the market — exclusively for cryptocurrencies. If a user wants to participate, he has to buy a Haalo Coin. Another thought is to finance the development of a player who today still plays in the youth of Wattenscheid 09 for example, but should become a professional player in the long run. This development can also be financed by crypto investors. Any investor who invests a portion of his or her coins in the player will benefit from him becoming a professional, be it by a share part of his transfer proceeds or a share of his salary.
The new Wattenscheid 09
Haalo intends to launch its ICO in the third quarter of 2018 and it is expected to be completed by the end of December. Until then, Haalo
and Wattenscheid 09 are working on a common organizational structure. At the center of it is the Haalo Technology Holding
, a limited liability company of which SG 09 Wattenscheid e. V. holds 13.5 percent through an investment company. The remaining shares of 86.5 percent are held by the four Haalo founders and external investors.
The basis for bringing the project to life and investing money in the club is, however, a spin-off of the licensed player division of Wattenscheid 09. There is already a resolution by the supervisory board for the spin-off. In order to found the new “09 Soccer GmbH”, however, 75 percent of the club members have to vote for a spin-off within the framework of a general assembly. This should happen when the ICO has been successfully implemented. Jaeger leaves no doubt that the spin-off will work. He says: “At the general assembly of all club members in July 2018 we received a tremendous positive response to the joint project.”
Haalo Holding intends to acquire 25.1 percent of the voting and financial rights of the 09 Soccer GmbH and, in return, intends to spend two million euros initially. In addition to this initial investment, Haalo plans to contribute another million euros annually — regardless of the league the club plays in — to help 09 to become successful again.
This plan is not unrealistic — at least until the 2nd Bundesliga. In comparison: The total budget of the two Regionalliga-promoted clubs RW Oberhausen and Energie Cottbus in the 2017/18 season was just over one million euros. Even the players’ budgets of ambitious traditional clubs such as Karlsruher SC or 1. FC Kaiserslautern in the 3rd league are not higher than five million euros.
The new money should not only be invested into players. In Wattenscheid great things are to be created and various subsidiaries are to be founded for this purpose.
• For example, a new youth academy will be built. The newly founded Campus 09 Building GmbH
is responsible for the construction together with Cree GmbH (by Rhomberg). The construction company will finance the project, which will cost around twelve million euros, and then rent it out to Campus 09 Building GmbH. A sustainable construction is planned, including wood and renewable fuels and passive ventilation systems.
• In addition, Wattenscheid 09 could benefit from a project by the city of Wattenscheid and the state of North Rhine-Westphalia. The plan is to modernize the existing home ground (Lohrheidestadion) for around 20 million euros. In order for the site to retain its status as the Olympic training center for athletics, it is intended, among other things, to build multi-storey car parks and VIP grandstands, which could then also be used by the new campus for its own purposes.
• Upon completion, the new 5000 to 6000 square meter campus will be home to all youth players of Wattenscheid 09 and all eSport teams. The new Campus 09 GmbH
will include a boarding school as well as a school offer, which will include not only classical schooling and tutoring but also digital topics, entrepreneurship and values. An important role is played by Wolf-Dieter Hasenclever. The founding member of the German party “the Greens” advises Haalo as an educational politician and develops a pedagogical concept.
• It is also planned to set up a dedicated eSport team, which will be integrated into the new subsidiary eSports 09 GmbH
. Teams will be built for the most popular eSports games “Counter-Strike”, “Fortnite”, “League of Legends”, “Dota 2” and “FIFA”.
• Haalo Tech GmbH
serves as an investment company and incubator, a kind of Rocket Internet for SportsTech. In this venture, all ideas, applications and products developed by Haalo will be gathered.
Europe’s most digital club
In order for the SG 09 Wattenscheid to become a best practice example for Haalo, the Hamburg start-up wants to use all its products at Wattenscheid 09: in the stadium, in the youth academy, in the training of the first team, within the eSports teams and throughout the office. Similar to the sporting as well as the financial goals, Haalo pursues a noble goal: “Within the next five years we want to make Wattenscheid 09 the most digital club in Europe”, says Jaeger and adds: “We want to have a bigger digital reach than the FC Barcelona.”
How ambitious — critics would say unrealistic — the goal is, the numbers show: FC Barcelona has a cumulative reach of over 170 million followers on the social media platforms Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and Youtube. By comparison, Wattenscheid 09 currently has 5,800 fans on Facebook, just under 200 followers on Twitter and just under 1,600 subscribers on Instagram.
Nevertheless, Jaeger does not want to be diverted from his plan. He says: “If one assumes 60,000 people invest in an ICO, then Wattenscheid 09 has 60,000 new followers in one instance. And this range will continue to spread virally. “A great leverage in his view is the eSport with the help of which he promises “fast worldwide reach”.
Digitally the most innovative club in Europe or not — Haalo’s approach is unique in the sports business: a start-up financed by a cryptocurrency trying to push a low-class club in a digital and athletic way so that it can be used as an example to get their own business up and running.
So far, Haalo
is just beginning. For the business model to work, some barriers have to be overcome in the first instance. For example, the financing of an ICO, but also the spin-off at Wattenscheid 09. Above all, Haalo
has to convince the first football clubs and win them as customers. If this succeeds, it could become a success story. A success story because software like “Gainchanger” is not only applicable in football but also in motorsport, basketball or tennis and therefore the company’s products can scale. And maybe Wattenscheid will play in one of Germany’s highest football leagues. Hier findest du den Originalartikel von Sponsors.
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