Latest news with #JohnnyMotts
NBC Sports
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- NBC Sports
Get a signed book from the first box of Big Shield
It's out in only three days. And it's been a long road. I started writing Big Shield three years ago. Like the 10 or so other novels I've hunt-and-pecked to completion in the past five years, I started it, finished it, set it aside, and started on the next one. Eventually, we tried to find a home for Big Shield with one of the major book publishers. One in particular suggested a fairly important change. The three-storyline book had two that worked, and one that didn't quite fit. So I sawed off the third leg of the stool and built a new one. The end result was that a collateral figure — the bumbling mobster named Johnny Motts — became a central character. He's now arguably the main character in the story. (For a taste of his exploits and his mindset, here's a free chapter that was previously posted.) Unfortunately (or maybe, in time, fortunately), the change wasn't enough to get the publisher to bite. The common response went something like this: 'We love it, but sports novels don't sell.' Well, this one has been selling. The pre-orders have surprised me (in the good way). I'm grateful for that; it validates what I've been trying to do for the past five years, and it helps me prove wrong those who weren't willing to roll the dice on an objectively entertaining tale of gambling, pro football (NOT the NFL), and the mob. I'm still waiting to see what the NFL will think about this one. At one level, they'll hate it. (For multiple reasons.) At another level, they should appreciate the fact that it will make players think twice about taking a bag of cash in exchange for inside information. (At the Jerry Jones level, they should like that the book promotes the pro football product, at no cost to the NFL.) My guess is that they'll try to ignore it. If you keep buying it at the rate you have been, they won't be able to. At 99 cents for the ebook, it's priced to sell. And if you buy it and read it and truly don't like it, I'll send you a dollar. (I'll determine in my own discretion whether you read the book, whether your answers to specific questions aimed at figuring out whether you read the book were written by you or ChatGPT, and whether at the end of the day you truly didn't like the book or whether you're just looking for a free dollar.) Meanwhile, here's your chance to get a signed copy from the first box of hard copies, which is due to arrive on Friday, August 22. I'll drop your copy in the mail on Saturday, August 26 — along with the other three from prior weekend contests. Send an email to florio@ with this subject line: 'Big Shield 8/16/25 Giveaway.' Include your address and preferred inscription to make it easier for me to get it ready next weekend. No purchase is necessary. But any (and every) purchase via pre-order will be appreciated.
NBC Sports
15-07-2025
- Entertainment
- NBC Sports
Here's a small taste of Big Shield
It'll be released only five weeks from today. It's been pre-selling like digital hotcakes. For now, here's a little taste of the syrup. It's one of the early chapters of Big Shield. Chapter 5. Told from the perspective of Johnny Motts, a Vegas-based mobster who has developed a network of pro athletes to whom he pays money for information — before games and, for some of his players, during game. Read it, if you want. Skip it, if you want. Complain about it on social media if you want. (As if you need an invitation.) Pre-order the full, 81-chapter ebook for only 99 cents, if you want. The print edition also can be preordered, for $14.99. Here it is . . . Chapter 5. As told by Johnny Motts. Regarding his interactions with Larry Ballentine, the starting shortstop for the local pro baseball team. (Not MLB.) ——————————————————————————- Didn't I say I hate sending messages? I never said it to nobody that matters. Not that I ever would. They tell me to send a message, I send a message. Even if I wanna do more than that. Maybe I won't need to with this one. Baseball players are smarter. Maybe it comes from knowing how to avoid getting hit by that fucking ball. Hockey players will take a puck to the face and spit out three teeth and smile. Baseball players got some regard for their health. It must be from all that time they sit around and think when not a damn thing is happening. I wish this guy had done a little more thinking. He made a few mistakes with the shit he told me. Shit he was supposed to know. Shit he said he knew. He was wrong about the pitcher who wasn't supposed to make his next start because his elbow was swollen. The guy ended up throwing anyway, and it fucked up the action we put down ahead of time. I could let one slide. He's had a few now. It makes me look bad. I ain't gonna take the heat. The only way to keep my own ass clean was to tell Carmine about it and then wait for whatever he told me to do. So I did. I was hoping he'd be fine with talking to the guy. Carmine wanted a little more than that. Which might make me think twice the next time it's time to tell something to Carmine. When they want me to do more than talk, I'd rather just make the guy gone. Yeah, it could get a little dicey if a ball player on a big league team ends up disappearing. It's still gonna be an issue once I break his arm. He'll have to come up with a damn good story about how it happened. But guys fall down the steps all the time, don't they? Besides, baseball season is almost over. I was hoping that'd be enough to get them to let it float. But they didn't ask what I thought. They never do. I had to wait a few days until the team got back from the road. I told him to call me as soon as he got home. He didn't ask no questions. He knows he's in trouble. The last thing he's gonna do is make things worse by not doing what I say. I didn't tell him I was stopping by. Who knows what he would have done if he thought something was gonna happen? I drove over to his place. He lived alone. I make sure all my guys live alone. The less family they got, the better. I don't need wives or girlfriends or God forbid kids getting in the way of whatever I need to do. Plus, it's easier to trust them to keep their mouths shut if they don't have somebody hanging around who might get wise. I parked a couple streets over. I cussed the whole way to his door. I felt the sweat starting in my pits and up my ass. If I wanted a job like that, I'd be moving refrigerators. I put my finger over the lens on the camera by the door and pushed the bell. I heard feet coming. They stopped. 'Who is it?' 'It's the pizza boy.' I said it in a loud voice. I hoped like hell he remembered the signal. 'I didn't order a pizza,' he said. I could tell by the way it came out that he remembered the signal. 'I think you did. C'mon, it's getting cold.' I kept waiting with my finger on the lens. 'What do you want?' 'I wanna give you your pizza. I just said it's getting cold.' I was starting to think he wasn't gonna let me in. That would make it easier for me to skip this step. I started looking for the best window to bust. The door opened just as I figured out how to get inside. 'Why didn't you tell me you were coming over?' He was holding a bat. 'Working on your swing?' He looked at the wood. 'I just like to be careful.' 'That's the problem. You ain't been. Now, are you gonna invite me in or is this problem we have about to get a little bigger?' He stepped back. I reached out my hand. He was smart enough to know what I needed him to do. He gave me the bat. I took my finger off the camera and went inside. I moved slow. I didn't want him doing nothing dumb. Maybe deep down I did. I held up the bat. 'I ain't swung one of these in years.' I pushed the door shut behind me. It closed with a slam. He jumped at the sound. 'Calm down,' I said. 'I am calm. Are you?' The place smelled like nasty food. I made a face. 'It stinks in here.' 'I just had dinner.' 'You save some for me?' He seemed confused by that. I smiled. 'I can make something else, if you're hungry,' he said. 'I'm always hungry, but not for whatever you cooked.' 'I can make something else. You want some pasta?' He backed away from me as I went deeper into the house. 'You know, us Italians eat more than spaghetti.' 'I didn't mean it like that,' he said. He was nervous. I glanced around to see if he had any more bats close by. I wasn't interested in getting in a sword fight with a couple of Louisville Sluggers. I pulled back my jacket with my free hand so he could see the piece in the front of my pants. 'I'm sorry about the other day. I fucked up.' 'You fucked up more than once, Larry.' 'It won't happen again.' 'You're right about that.' He got a little more nervous. 'I thought I had good information.' 'If I thought you was fucking up on purpose, I wouldn't have rung the bell.' He kept walking backward. He bumped into the wall. 'How many times do I have to tell you to calm down?' 'I can give back some of the money. I have plenty upstairs.' 'I don't want your money. You earned it. Well, most of it. You won't be getting paid for the next two weeks.' 'That's fair.' I could tell he was looking for any reason to think I wasn't gonna do what I was about to do. 'I'm glad you think it's fair. What would you do if you thought it wasn't?' 'What do you mean?' 'What would you do? Call the cops? Sue me?' 'Nothing, I guess.' He'd moved into the kitchen. It smelled even worse in there. I wondered what the fuck he'd eaten. I realized this was taking too long. 'Stand still,' I said. 'I am.' 'Well, keep standing still.' He looked at the gun. He looked back at me. He didn't say nothing else. I thought for a second it was the smartest thing he done all month. Until he did the dumbest thing he ever done in his life.
