He tilts back in his oversized chair, an expensive orthopedically proper affair constructed out of authentic leather and genuine wood, and lights a contraband Cuban cigar. Only the best for Pierce Spencer. He eats real meat and salad once a day, every day. He lives in a posh suburban penthouse. Periodic visits to a European health spa keep his body smooth and hearty. Occasional trips to a plastic surgeon do the same for his face. Wealthy enough to afford the fuel, important enough to ignore tough environmental protection laws, he even owns and regularly uses the ultimate status symbol, a private, gasoline powered automobile.

Assorted producers, directors and vice-presidents seated around him squirm in rock hard polychrome chairs. The chairs are purposefully uncomfortable. Pierce Spencer never lets his subordinates feel at ease in his presence.

This gathering, called an executive conference, is that in nomenclature only. It would be more properly termed a soliloquy, a monologue, possibly even a lawgiving. At this meeting, Pierce Spencer will talk, everyone else will listen. Here, in this building, in this organization, in this hermetically sealed two hundred story world, Pierce Spencer rules. Anyone questioning that rule, or that ruler, is dealt with, sometimes in very long-lasting ways. It’s that simple.

The source of Pierce Spencer’s authority, the power by which he governs, derives from a very simple gift. He has an almost mystical ability to gauge what the public wants, and to provide it. Years ago, amid a great deal of derision, he gambled on his instincts and secured exclusive long-term broadcasting rights to all SFL games. Today, his network runs little else, broadcasting games live on Sundays and rerunning highlights midway through the week. It’s an astoundingly narrow range of programming, but it’s remarkably successful. Street football, by any standard, is easily the most popular spectator sport of all time. Street football has made IBC a household fixture all across the country. Most families have two sets, one of which is kept permanently tuned to the network. That has made Pierce Spencer into a very rich and powerful man.

Spencer addresses his employees, using his cigar as a pointer to punctuate his remarks. “Last year, our street football coverage regularly attracted an eighty per cent share of audience.” He slaps his hand to his desk, sending a fine shower of cigar ashes cascading to the floor. “This year, our audience share is going to improve. The approaching football season will be even more successful, even more profitable than last.” He pauses to let the ramifications of his prediction sink in.