American Football: Domination

One sentence—an impactful revelation.

Trevor Edwards believed Nike was ready.

Nike understood the Asian market Lance represented and the pivotal role he played in the NFL's global expansion ambitions.

Thus, Nike aimed to seize the opportunity—not just Lance, but also the momentum behind the NFL's international push.

However...

It seemed Nike had underestimated the situation.

Edwards reassessed Donald, a newfound interest glinting in his eyes.

Here lay the crux of the matter.

Tom Brady's personal apparel sponsor wasn't Nike—it was Under Armour.

On the football field, Nike's fiercest competitor wasn't Adidas but Under Armour. Founded by a former NFL player, Under Armour had built a reputation for its deep ties to football. Its professional image swiftly won over players and devoured market share.

Edwards knew if Under Armour offered enough sincerity, Donald could easily secure Lance a headline-worthy contract.

Back in 2010, when Brady's contract was on the table, Nike didn't pursue him aggressively. The market value of NFL players had always been a delicate calculation. Be it jerseys, cleats, or dry-fit training gear, many factors complicated the sales equation.

Coupled with the perception of Brady as an "aging" player with limited growth potential, Nike chose not to prioritize him.

Meanwhile, Under Armour, eager to break into the mainstream, signed Brady for football and Stephen Curry for basketball, immediately establishing itself as a legitimate challenger.

Now, the landscape had changed completely.

Lance was young.He bore the Asian identity.The NFL harbored ambitious plans for global expansion.

All these factors converged into a rare opportunity Nike couldn't afford to miss—hence Edwards' personal involvement in the negotiation.

After all, a rookie running back with only two games under his belt?

Under normal circumstances, not only would Edwards avoid such talks, but Nike's interest would likely remain tepid at best.

Yet here Edwards was.

And now, he realized that a simple remark about Roger Federer had inadvertently placed him in the eye of a storm.

Perhaps Nike's greatest advantage lay in Donald's ambition—both a potential blessing and a challenge.

If Donald had enough faith in Lance's branding potential, Nike was the logical choice. After all, compared to Under Armour, Nike boasted superior market penetration, brand strategy, and promotional expertise.

A brief exchange had already sparked a battlefield of wits and strategies.

Edwards turned to Donald, a smile lighting up his face.

"It seems we've reached an understanding."

"Nike sees Lance as the future of the NFL—a face that will define the league for the next decade. We aim to build an entirely new personal brand around Lance."

"Youth. Energy. Style. Modernity."

"This isn't just about football. The Lance collection will seamlessly integrate into everyday life—much like Air Jordan once did, or RF. We intend to position Lance as a cultural symbol—one that resonates with young people through his values, image, and vision."

"Football doesn't need to be bound by its old-fashioned stereotypes."

Half-truths. Some of these ideas were part of Nike's initial plan, while others were improvised on the spot.

Edwards wasn't an industry leader for nothing. Quick to pivot, he regained control of the conversation, painting a grand vision for Lance.

Whether Nike could deliver on this vision? That could be figured out later.

For now, it was all about shaping the narrative.

"We see boundless potential in Lance."

Turning his gaze to Lance, Edwards smiled warmly.

"Personally, I love your outfit today. I'd wear this hoodie and those classic Air Force 1s myself."

Lance had dressed casually for the occasion.

Since he was slated to meet LeBron James later, Donald had advised against anything too formal or flashy, lest it come across as overly eager. Instead, he suggested something stylish yet understated, with a hint of boldness.

So, Lance opted for a mint green hoodie paired with light-wash denim shorts and white Air Force 1s, completing the look with a denim jacket for the evening chill.

The result? A seemingly casual outfit that perfectly highlighted his proportions and energy. Far from his on-field persona, he radiated the carefree charm of a college student.

Donald nodded approvingly. "Lance has his own sense of style. Certainly less flamboyant than Beckham's."

Beckham: A third strike.

Switching gears, Donald turned to Edwards. "We've heard Nike's vision. Now, how does Nike plan to back this up with sincerity?"

The underlying question was clear: What's the number?

Edwards wasn't caught off guard; after all, this was the crux of the meeting. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a folded check and handed it to Lance.

"Our legal team has prepared the contract. As soon as you sign, this check is yours."

Lance didn't even glance at it, passing it straight to Donald.

After all, whatever the figure was, it would undoubtedly be larger than any number Lance had ever seen.

Earlier this year, Lance had signed his rookie contract, but he hadn't even seen a check. His salary was deposited weekly into his bank account, based on game performance.

For some players, bonuses or fines could vary their weekly earnings. If the league issued a fine, the team would deduct it before making their deposit.

Such incremental payments diluted the impact of his earnings.

This check, however, was a different story.

This was where Donald's expertise came in.

Taking one look at the check, Donald's expression remained neutral. His voice, steady and measured, broke the silence. "What's the term?"

Edwards replied, "Five years. We hope to establish a long-term partnership with Lance."

Five years was unusually lengthy for a rookie.

For reference, rookie NFL contracts are typically four years long.

Endorsement deals for rookies often range from three to four years—enough time for both parties to evaluate the partnership before renewing.

In that context, Nike's proposal seemed sincere.

Yet Donald wasn't satisfied with the number. "At this figure, we'd be willing to discuss a three-year deal."

$7.5 million.

That was the figure on the check—a five-year deal at $1.5 million per year.

For comparison, Odell Beckham Jr. signed a four-year Nike contract during his rookie season, also worth $1.5 million annually.

Nike was effectively positioning Lance alongside OBJ.

It made sense. OBJ was a wide receiver whose rookie season highlight—a viral one-handed catch—catapulted him into stardom as the face of the NFL's next generation.

Lance, on the other hand, was a running back. But with his unique Asian identity, the two players' marketability balanced out.

At least, that was Nike's perspective.

Donald, however, thought otherwise. OBJ's deal was three years ago, and besides, Lance and OBJ weren't comparable at all—

$2.5 million per year, for three years.

That was Donald's idea of a reasonable offer.

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Powerstones?

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