In the early nineties, my sister covered sports for the New York Post. Once, at Madison Square Garden, near the end of a Knicks game that the home team led by a large margin, she saw one of the New York stars sitting on the bench, smiling and exchanging banter with teammates, while turned slightly toward the stands to keep an eye on his personal assistant, who brought beautiful women close to courtside so that the star could get a good look at them. He shook his head at the first few, then finally nodded, before turning back to the court, his post-game diversion secured.
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