Read more
Informationen zum Autor Rich Paul is the CEO and founder of Klutch Sports Group, the powerhouse agency representing some of the biggest athletes across all major professional sports. Klappentext "Rich Paul grew up in a Cleveland that hadn't won a sports championship in decades. He and his siblings lived with their mother, who struggled with addiction, in a one-bedroom apartment in the poverty-stricken Glenville neighborhood. Young Rich dreamed of becoming a star athlete but realized quickly that his small stature would make it nearly impossible. A serious child with a mind for detail, he went to private school and then college at his shop-owner father's encouragement. But he quit when his father died of cancer, devoting himself to becoming the family's next entrepreneur. Paul began selling vintage jerseys out of the trunk of his car, and during one stint at the Akron-Canton Airport, a seventeen-year-old NBA prospect complimented the Warren Moon jersey that Rich was wearing. They struck up a friendship and exchanged contact information. By the next year, LeBron James signed with the Cleveland Cavaliers, and Rich Paul was working alongside him. Paul was finally in the big leagues, but the industry wasn't necessarily ready to accept him. With grit, passion, and an unwavering sense of self, Paul forged a new path, and the NBA hasn't been the same since. Lucky Me is the memoir of that extraordinary journey told in Paul's blunt, philosophical style, but it is also so much more. It is a book full of inspiration and insight, and a testament to never compromising who you are for anyone"-- Leseprobe 1 R&J Confectionary My story begins in 1978, with a young woman walking toward the corner of 125th Street and Edmonton Avenue. She’s recently arrived in Cleveland from St. Louis, looking for a fresh start at age twenty-four. A beauty with chocolate skin, a body shaped like a Coke bottle, a walk that’s impossible to ignore, and a taste for the kind of street life her new city is known for. Her name is Minerva Norine Martin. There’s a store on the corner, and Minerva opens the door. She loves to dress, so she’s probably wearing a skirt and some pumps, a couple rings on her fingers, with her trademark dyed streak of blond in the front of her straightened hair. The small, narrow store is clean and well stocked. It has coolers with eggs, milk, cheese, soda, and beer. Shelves with candy, bread, chips, cereal, and baking soda. Cigarettes behind the counter. Some video games, big consoles almost as tall as the coolers, like Defender or Pac-Man. A coin-operated pay phone is attached to the wall. A man wearing a dress shirt and pleated slacks stands behind the counter. He worked his tail off to get there: Served in the army in Korea, sweated in a factory that made stamping machines, drove a jitney car, installed roofs, took some college courses in business administration, ran numbers, and had all kinds of other side hustles. It took him fifteen years to save up to buy the store’s building for twenty-five thousand dollars cash, which back then was major paper. The man has a natural mind for business, for what people need and how to sell it to them, whether that’s milk on credit or Acapulco Gold weed. Now he’s thirty-three years old and a pillar of the neighborhood as the owner of R&J Confectionary. The J comes from the name of his wife, Justine. The R stands for Richard--Richard Paul. Richard takes stock of Minerva. He knows everybody in the neighborhood and everybody knows him, but this is something new. “How you doing, sweetheart,” Richard says. “How can I help you?” “I’m fine, thank you. Y’all got Newports?” “For sure, baby. I never seen you around here before, where you from?” “St. Louis. We just moved in down the street.” “Welcome to the neighborhood. I’m here 24/7/365 for the most part, baby. We got an after-hours thin...
