Knowing Mike needed to buy protective gear, George first dropped off little Sheldon—who'd been chattering nonstop about finally making a friend—at the house.
Then he drove Mike and Georgie to the pro sports shop in town.
The owner, Dale, was kinda in the same line of work as George—he coached baseball at the local public elementary school.
George led the way inside. The store wasn't huge, but it was packed with every kind of sports equipment you could think of. Clearly, the owner knew his stuff.
Dale was a skinny, tall guy in his seventies, with thinning white hair and a bald spot on top, but he had plenty of energy.
When he saw George walk in with company, he grinned and said, "George, bringing another player in for gear?"
"Yeah, Mike just joined the team. He needs a full set of equipment." George pulled Mike over and introduced him, then added like an old buddy, "Dale, he's one of ours—hook him up with a solid discount this time."
Dale sized Mike up and laughed heartily. "No problem. Kid looks like a natural football player."
At almost sixteen, Mike still had a boyish face, but he stood tall and strong—the exact rugged type Texans love.
"Georgie, take Mike to check out the pads. I'm gonna shoot the breeze with Dale for a bit." George waved them off and plopped down in a chair by the counter.
Dale was a friendly old guy. He pulled two beers from under the counter as soon as George sat.
The two of them sipped and swapped stories.
Over in the football section, Georgie showed Mike the rows of gear and said, "Since you're new, the basic stuff is perfect for you."
Basic meant cheap and good value.
Football's brutal—tons of new guys burn out after a few weeks.
Cheap gear means if you quit, you're not out a fortune.
In some ways, Georgie was already pretty practical about money.
But Mike knew his own deal. With the [Demon Body] boosting him, he wasn't scared of hits or injuries.
So after glancing at the basic pads, he shook his head. "Georgie, I need higher-quality stuff."
He said it casually, like money was no object.
And honestly, it wasn't a big deal for him. Mike was an orphan, but he got $500 a month in living expenses from the state.
The old Mike never spent much—he wasn't big on socializing—so it all piled up in the bank.
Conservative guess? He had around $10,000 saved.
The dollar hadn't tanked yet back then. A top high school football coach like George only made about $500 a week.
Ten grand was basically six months of George's pay without touching a dime for living expenses.
So yeah, Mike was basically a mini-rich kid.
Georgie didn't buy fancy gear himself, but he knew all about the high-end stuff.
When Mike asked for better quality, he led him straight to the premium section and turned into a solid tour guide.
In the end, under Georgie's envious stare, Mike picked out a top-tier set of protective gear.
And the prices matched the quality: "Avenger" helmet $800, shoulder pads $650, gloves $100, cleats $450, padded pants $200, back pad $150, knee/elbow combo pieces $260.
On the way to the counter, Mike also grabbed an $80 copper coach's whistle off a nearby rack.
When Mike and Georgie got to the register, George—who'd been drinking with Dale—immediately spotted that Mike had gone for the premium stuff.
He clinked his bottle against Dale's and said, "Last time I brought a player in, you gave me 15% off. This time you gotta do at least 25% for Mike."
Dale nearly choked on his beer. He looked at the pile of gear, hesitated, then said, "For you, I'll do 20% off—but just this once."
"Deal~" George grinned and clinked bottles again.
George knew sports gear inside out. Dale's stuff was legit quality, and his prices weren't jacked up.
Twenty percent off was probably pushing right up against Dale's bottom line.
One by one, the items got laid out on the counter. Dale pulled out paper, pen, and a little calculator and started adding it all up.
Gotta say, the old guy wasn't exactly a math whiz.
Mike could've done the total in his head in a second, but he let Dale enjoy the process without interrupting.
Finally, after a good while—and several double-checks—Dale set down the pen and said, "Everything comes to $2,690. With 20% off…"
He glanced at his scratch paper one more time before finishing, "…that'll be $2,152 total."
Hearing a price over two grand, both George and Georgie looked shocked.
Georgie's entire current training setup hadn't even cost $500.
Two grand was basically a full month's salary for George.
He stopped drinking his beer, pulled Mike aside, and whispered, "You sure you wanna spend this much on gear?"
Mike answered calmly, "I know I'll get my money's worth out of it."
Like the saying goes: if you want to do a job right, you need the right tools.
Mike was fully committed to the team now—he didn't see dropping cash on good gear as a waste.
Seeing Mike wasn't budging, George let it go. His last concern was, "You got enough on you?"
Mike nodded and pulled out his bank card.
Only then did George turn back to Dale and say, "This stuff's pricey—knock off a little more? How about an even $2,000?"
"No way!" Dale reacted like he'd been shot, shaking his head hard. "George, you know I'm barely making anything on this as it is."
The discount hadn't felt real yet.
But chopping off another $150+? Dale could do that math quick: one beer was seventy cents. $150 bought a whole lot of beer.
"Come on, Dale—I know you're still turning a profit at two grand." George said it confidently first, then switched to bargaining tone: "Tell you what, meet me halfway—$2,100?"
Dale paused, silently calculating how much beer $50 would buy…
…
In the end, after some friendly haggling, Mike swiped his card for $2,100 and closed the deal.
As they headed out, Dale called after George, "You'd make a killer shop owner when you retire!"
George laughed, waved him off with a promise to grab beers again soon, and led Mike and Georgie out of the store.