Year/Job
Chudley Cannons Chaser
"Don't ask me for my autograph, ask me about the rage inside me." |
Travis
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Post by Sam Spade on Apr 24, 2024 12:21:18 GMT -8
Most players hated media day. To sit down at the long table and be grilled by members of the magical press could be a long and grueling process. Most weeks, Sam was the only player who was made available to the media, but with the Cannons quickly climbing the table it was important to team leadership that everyone participate.
The press had their favorite players, and the kinds of questions they asked depended on who they were speaking to. Kyle, for example, Sam’s costar in the chaser core, gave a long response to “what’s your perfect date?”
“A weekend in Tuscany,” he flashed a smile. “I bought this little villa with my first big paycheck here. On those long summer days you can sit out on the deck overlooking the pool and watch the sun’s rays ripple over the water as it sets, sipping a smooth glass of Turner Vino.”
For Eros, it was all about his recent decision to do all of his press conferences in English without the help of an interpreter. The press was especially interested in the essay he had published in the Hungarian Quidditch Players Association quarterly publication Repülési. In the essay, written in the style of a narrative poem, Eros contemplates the nature of duality in Quidditch, particularly in relation to his position as a beater and the role acting as both protector and destroyer.
“I’m particularly interested in your description of an opponent as a ‘collection of contradictions,’” One reporter said. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”
Eros thought about the question for a minute and the spoke into his wand, “I hit ball hard. Make strong man cry.”
Meanwhile, Sam was always a press conference darling because of his broad knowledge of Quidditch and willingness to break its most complicated concepts down into simple terms. There were more questions these days than ever about his relationship with Stella, but his widely documented date night meltdown had been a simple twenty-four hour news cycle thing that cooled off the moment everyone realized that Sam had played them. With the season so close to its conclusion, reporters were more interested in how Sam had rallied the team after a difficult stretch in January to fight their way back into the top four just as they were rounding the finish. Suddenly they had a real shot at winning the whole damn thing.
“You were very candid about DJ Jones’ sudden dismissal from the team this year after some poor performances. Would you say that he’s surprised you with his recent keeper of the month award now playing with the Tornados?”
“Well,” Sam couldn’t help but smile. “We knew him as Dan when he played here, but maybe he just needed a name change. To tell you the truth I always saw that player in him, and I knew if he found the right motivator, that push, that he would put it together. Michael Jordan was cut from his middle school Goldsnatcher team, you know. Sometimes that’s all the motivation you need. It’s not enough for Tutshill this season, but with hands like Dan’s I can see them really contending next year. Ultimately I think it’s worked out for both of us. Noah’s great, he’s really come along a lot faster than expected, and I think we’re in good shape looking forward.”
When time expired, Sam hopped up from his seat and gave a friendly wave to the reporters as he exited back into the Cannons locker room. A small voice stopped him on his way through tunnel though.
“Excuse me, Mr. Spade.”
Sam turned around to find a young woman standing behind him, bouncing on her heels.
“Have time for an exclusive with a student reporter?”
Sam looked back toward the press room. Seeker was up next and he wondered how long Stella could stomach the attention. He at least had enough to field a couple questions from a fan.
“What the heck?” he said. “Come on, clubhouse is this way.”
Cerise Tremaine
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Post by Cerise Tremaine on Apr 24, 2024 21:29:54 GMT -8
Cerise Tremaine was a bona fide journalist. Her press pass said so! It hung around her neck, displaying her picture (she wore a bright smile, a wink and a peace sign) and her title below:
Cerise Tremaine Hogwarts Express Student Journalist
The student led newspaper at Hogwarts was still rebranding - the name was ever changing depending on who the editor was at the time- but they had an amazing opportunity. Of course, the opportunity was handed to Magnolia Carter because her father was the one pulling the strings to get them into the very exclusive press days held by the league in the following week. Everyone in the club was jealous. They rarely had the chance to leave the castle during the school year and now this girl was given permission to go see Quiddditch players. She was so lucky!
It really was a shame when she came down with the flu a couple days before media day. Next on the list for Magnolia’s replacement was a Ravenclaw who abruptly had to be sent to the Hospital Wing with a bad case of Dragon Pox. Then one by one, the rest of the club members fell away, leaving Cerise standing. She was in her own corner of the club room, the wall near her desk was plastered with pictures of her friends, cut outs of her gossip column ‘Hogwash’ and Sam Spade’s posters. He was flashing that charming smile of his while she worked on ‘Ask CeeCee’ her new anonymous advice column. She was in the middle of responding to a desperate soul who had identified himself as ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’, she advising him to give up on his Slytherin crush when Professor Quintana dropped the press pass on her desk. She looked up at him with wide eyes and her cherry pink lips opened to release a soft gasp.
Did Cerise know anything about Quidditch? Heck no! But she knew everything about Sam Spade. She knew all about his time at Midwest Academy, his career at Magic Standford, what kind of girls he dated (typically blondes with artistic souls who didn’t have anything to do with the sport - remind you of anyone?), his favorite foods, his favorite color, what kind of polish he used for his broom. Heck, she even knew all about this future ex-girlfriend, Stella Quinn, for good measure. Know your enemy and all that, you know?
Thankfully, she was only there to observe. It was a good opportunity for someone seriously considering sports journalism to see how it all worked. Cerise was not looking for that kind of career path. The whole time Sam Spade answered questions, her blue eyes stayed glued to him, big with wonder and admiration. She practically had little hearts in them. Once his time was up, Cerise slipped out of the conference room. It was easy getting past security, they saw her press pass and she made an excuse about needing to find a restroom. No one ever suspected cute, young girls.
“Excuse me, Mr. Spade,” she called after him and omigosh!! her heart almost stopped when he turned to look at her. She kept talking but honestly she couldn’t even remember what she said to him. It all felt like a dream, each step she took was like jumping on little soft clouds.
When they entered the room, Cerise bounced right in and stopped in the middle of the room. She made a full turn in order to look at every detail in the room, her bright eyes still wide from amazement, and then she came to a stop right in front of Sam. The Sam Spade. She knew she had to play it cool, this was the most important moment of her entire life. He motioned for her to take a seat on one of the couches and she quickly moved. There was a small, Ravenclaw cardigan draped over the arm of the couch, it could only belong to one person on this team and Cerise made sure to accidentally drop it on the ground when she pulled out her quill and parchment from her school bag.
After some brief, friendly small talk, she got right to it. Professor Quintana had given her some prompt questions just in case she had a chance to participate in the press conference but no one really expected her to do anything but observe today. She glanced down the list and randomly picked one.
“Is there a coach or athlete that you look up to as a role model and why?”
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Year/Job
Chudley Cannons Chaser
"Don't ask me for my autograph, ask me about the rage inside me." |
Travis
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Post by Sam Spade on Apr 25, 2024 8:34:32 GMT -8
That morning Sam had been going through his stack of fanmail at the breakfast bar when he picked up a particularly fat envelope. When he tore open the flap, a glistening shower of orange and black glitter spilled out onto the bar. Buried inside the envelope was a pink card with a neatly scrawled poem, which Sam read while he sipped his coffee,
Monsieur Spade, In my dreams you are a Viking And I the village damsel But in my darkest secrets, my truest truths I would burn the fucking village for you -Ceecee
As Sam read the poem, the glitter on the countertop began to swirl and bob like a shining ocean wave until two figures emerged: one was a rough approximation of a dainty little woman, and the other a strong, tall man in a viking helmet. The figures embraced and spun around in the glitter together, little sparkly hearts popping out around their heads as they twirled. Their little dance collapsed quickly back into an ordinary pile of glitter when Sam looked up to find Stella standing there with her hands on her hips. Sam was smiling.
“What?” he said. “It’s cute!”
Would Sam have accepted an interview from the young Hogwarts Express writer if he had known that she was also his most pestering fangirl? To be honest, yeah, probably. He led Cerise through the stadium corridors and into the clubhouse which had quickly emptied out as players departed from their interviews.
“Oh, I’ve got that,” Sam said, reaching for Stella’s cardigan and tossing into her equipment cubby. “She’s always leaving her stuff everywhere,” Sam laughed.
Cerise took her seat and Sam offered her a bottle of chilled pumpkin juice from his cubby, which had warmed since he picked it up from the cafeteria that morning, but he chilled with his wand before passing it to her. He grabbed a folding chair from a corner and set it up in front of Cerise so that he could face her for the interview.
“Alight,” Sam smiled, spreading his hands out as if to say come at me. “Where do you want to start?”
“Is there a coach or athlete that you look up to as a role model and why?”
“Um,” Sam tilted his head. “Definitely my parents. My dad never played past division two in college, but he knows this sport better than anyone I’ve ever met. I’m still learning from him every day,” he laughed. “And my mom, of course, I don’t know if she’s ever been on a broom. But she’s the smartest person I’ve ever known and the most competitive too. The joke’s always been that she’s the athlete of the family. That’s a great question,” Sam paused to read the badge around the young girl’s neck, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t introduced herself in her starstruck greeting. “Miss Tremaine.”
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Post by Cerise Tremaine on Apr 26, 2024 16:02:07 GMT -8
Sam Spade was Cerise’s soulmate. She knew it the first time she saw his picture in Spellbound a mere months after he crossed the Atlantic ocean to join the Chudley Cannons. That in and of itself was enough to prove that she was right. Sam was born a continent away but something had pulled him to the United Kingdom. Love was so powerful. She followed his career, dove into his past, and dreamt about their future together.
And then she showed up in his life.
“She’s always leaving her stuff everywhere.” Sam laughed as he picked up Stella’s navy blue cardigan and Cerise knew, deep inside, that he was hurting. Stella was so selfish!! You win two Hogwarts Quidditch titles, get signed onto a professional team, get on the cover of Wizard Sports, set a record to push your team up the standings and suddenly you think you can do whatever you want? Nepotism was a hell of a drug.
Sam should be focusing on winning the cup so he can provide for Cerise and their three children (Samuel Philip Spade V, Cerise Junior, and Golden Snitch - Goldie for short) and two dogs and four cats once she graduated from Hogwarts. Not looking after a spoiled selfish girl who didn’t deserve him.
That’s why Cerise stopped studying for her OWLs and was now focusing on curating the perfect schedule so she could constantly send him fan mail. Nothing crazy, just some poems and locks of her hair and a few love potions to keep his spirits up through the rest of the season.
As Sam gave her a very well thought out answer to her question, Cerise feverishly scribbled on her parchment: A very realistic portrait of Sam’s face surrounded by a halo of hearts that would float above his head and pop into little heart confetti around him.
“Cerise,” she put her quill down and perked up, moving a strand of her long golden hair behind her ear. “You can call me Miss Tremaine or my siblings call me Reese’s Pieces or just Reese. My friends call me Cherry. You can call me whatever you want, actually.”
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Year/Job
Chudley Cannons Chaser
"Don't ask me for my autograph, ask me about the rage inside me." |
Travis
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Post by Sam Spade on Apr 26, 2024 20:13:32 GMT -8
Sam wasn’t just hyping Cerise up to make her feel good about herself. It was honestly a really good question. Not to be stereotypical or anything, but most Teen Beat-style reporters weren’t asking Sam questions about Quidditch. So role models wasn’t the most inside Quidditch question, but it was better than the softballs he’d been getting about Stella since their relationship became public.
Ceecee’s letter’s were somewhat of a constant in Sam’s life, as regular as rolling over in the early morning to find Stella lying next to him in bed, or the aches in his ribs at the end of a long day of training. Her letters were more creative than some of the other fangirls’. While many simply sent pictures, signed their names ‘Future Mrs. Spade,’ etc. Ceecee would tell stories in her love letters that were always delightful to read, or they would come with little surprises like the glitter dance. He was also pretty sure that she was sending him love potions in mini pumpkin juice bottles. The first thing you learn with stardom is to never consume the things that fans give you.
“Cerise,” Sam smiled again, still not making the connection. “That’s almost as many nicknames as I’ve got.” Fans had given Sam a number of nicknames over his first few years in the league. Sam Speed, Sammy Quidditch, Samuel Sprrrrr, whatever that last one meant. “How about I call you whatever you want?” he asked.
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