American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

On the night of the three-way collaboration announcement, the volume of online discussion exploded to a staggering figure.

On Twitter, the hashtag #LiWei×LV shot to the number one trending topic in the United States in less than six hours, with over 100 million views.

Some marveled that Li Wei’s business empire was expanding faster than his rushing yards on the field. Others questioned why a rookie player who hadn’t even won a Super Bowl deserved a collaboration with a top luxury brand. And some were just there for the show.

But regardless of the different opinions, everyone had to admit one fact: Li Wei was no longer just an athlete.

He was transforming himself into a cross-industry commercial icon at an unprecedented speed.

But what truly caused the incident’s impact to spill over from the sports world into the financial world was another piece of news.

The day after the joint announcement with LV, an anonymous user claiming to be a "senior product manager from inside Coca-Cola" posted on Reddit.

The post’s title was just one short sentence:

"Li Wei is preparing to launch his own sports drink brand. Coca-Cola is the contract manufacturer, and the product has already entered the mass production stage."

Although no specific numbers were mentioned, a quick glimpse of the bottle’s material in the post proved the leaker wasn’t lying.

"Did you leak this on purpose?" Li Wei asked Jin Heon after seeing it.

"Mhm," Jin Heon replied while messaging, a face mask on, in her dorm room. "The Super Bowl is only a month away, after all. Just warming things up a bit."

"Just as I expected," she said, spinning excitedly in her chair. "This wave of public opinion will save us millions of USD in PR fees."

No one doubted the post’s authenticity. It was quickly picked up and cited by major media outlets.

Because no one needed to verify whether it was true or false.

Everyone had seen Li Wei drinking from that mysterious, dark, frosted bottle during previous game broadcasts. Add to that the fact that a contract manufacturing relationship with Coca-Cola was hardly a huge secret—Coca-Cola itself is one of the world’s largest beverage contract manufacturers. Putting these two pieces of information together, the truth was self-evident.

Public opinion instantly erupted.

All sorts of financial analysts, sports commentators, online influencers, and even some Wall Street hedge fund managers posted their opinions on social media, scrambling to ride Li Wei’s coattails.

A financial influencer with a million followers posted a 17-minute video on YouTube with the title:

"Li Wei’s Sports Drink: The Next Ten-Billion-Dollar Empire?"

"Everyone, let’s do the math," the influencer said, pushing up his glasses. "Kobe’s sports drink brand, BodyArmor, was fully acquired by Coca-Cola last year for 5.6 billion USD. Kobe’s initial investment was a mere 6 million USD."

"6 million into 5.6 billion. That’s a return of nearly 1,000 times."

"Right now, Li Wei’s influence and exposure aren’t just limited to the world of football. He’s trying to cross over into sports, fashion, and all sorts of other fields. His commercial appeal is no less than Kobe’s was when he was starting out."

"More importantly, before his drink has even hit the market, it has already completed a textbook-perfect product placement in front of 45 million people. You all saw him drink it during the games, right?"

"So my assessment is this: if Li Wei’s sports drink can successfully launch and maintain growth, its valuation ceiling will be far higher than 5.6 billion. It could be even higher."

Within 24 hours of being posted, the video had over 8 million views. The top-voted comment was, "shut up and take my money."

No one doubted the venture’s feasibility. In the United States of America, athletes launching beverage brands was practically a proven golden path to success.

From Michael Jordan to LeBron James, from Tom Brady to Kobe Bryant, from Tyson to ’The Notorious’ Conor McGregor—whether it was sports drinks or alcoholic beverages, almost every superstar athlete at the top of the pyramid has dabbled in the beverage market.

But Li Wei’s advantage wasn’t just that he was backed by the massive East Asian market and had conquered North America. It was also that he had the aura of a "secret formula" that no one could ignore—45 million people had watched him drink its contents during halftime.

If he had really risked giving up a 17-game winning streak and a legendary status just to manipulate the score, he would have to be unbelievably audacious.

That dark bottle he drank from had already planted a seed of curiosity in the hearts of all the fans.

And that seed was now growing wildly.

But where some rejoiced, others despaired.

To be precise, it wasn’t a single person, but an entire brand.

Gatorade.

As the sole official beverage sponsor of the NFL, Gatorade paid hundreds of millions of USD in sponsorship fees each year. This ensured their brand appeared on the sidelines of every stadium, on every bench, and in every bucket of ice water dumped over a player’s head in celebration of a victory.

This exclusivity agreement was one of the cornerstones of Gatorade’s business empire.

But Li Wei’s actions had, in essence, punched a giant hole in that cornerstone.

Technically, Li Wei hadn’t violated any rules, because he was drinking his "own private beverage," not a "product from a competing sponsor."

The problem, however, was that when 45 million people watch a quarterback who just performed the miracle of a 17-game winning streak drink something that isn’t Gatorade during a game—and that something is about to become an officially launched sports drink brand...

Gatorade’s brand value had already taken a massive hit.

The consumer logic was simple: Li Wei doesn’t drink Gatorade. Li Wei is the best athlete in the world. Therefore, Gatorade is not the best sports drink.

Within six hours of the news breaking, Gatorade’s PR team had already held two emergency internal crisis meetings. In the following six hours, they issued three consecutive official statements.

The first statement was mild in tone, stressing that Gatorade "remains the sole official beverage partner of the NFL, a partnership that is solid and long-lasting."

The second began to flex its muscles, listing a long string of efficacy data "certified by the International Society of Sports Nutrition," which they sponsored.

The third was a promotional video featuring several active and retired NFL stars, who talked about how Gatorade helped them maintain peak performance on the field.

But their attempt to look powerful backfired spectacularly. Not issuing the three statements would have been better; releasing them just made them look guilty.

Someone on Twitter posted a screenshot for comparison, joking, "Gatorade posted a total of 8 statements in the past year. Now, Li Wei alone has made them post 3 in a single day."

What was even more damning was that Wall Street’s reaction was far more brutal than social media’s.

On the first trading day after the news of Li Wei’s sports drink was confirmed, the stock price of Gatorade’s parent company, Pepsi-Cola, took a significant dip within two hours of the market opening.

By the time the market closed, Pepsi-Cola’s stock had fallen by 1.02%.

That might seem like an insignificant percentage, but Pepsi-Cola is a corporate giant with a market capitalization of over 220 billion USD.

In other words, the simple fact that a 19-year-old quarterback drank something other than Gatorade during a game directly caused Pepsi-Cola’s market cap to lose 2.2 billion USD in a single day.

...

「Mid-January.」

After perfectly capping off the regular season with a 17-game winning streak, the New York Giants, as the number one seed, not only secured home-field advantage but, more importantly, earned a two-week bye, allowing them to skip the Wild Card round.

This meant the Giants didn’t have to play in the Wild Card round on January 11th or the Divisional Round on January 18th. They could rest and recuperate at home until the Conference Championship on January 25th, when they would officially step onto the playoff battlefield.

For Li Wei, this nearly two-week period was his longest break since the season began.

Of course, training wouldn’t stop, but the intensity could certainly be eased up a bit.

So, on a sunny but still cold Wednesday afternoon in January, Li Wei changed into casual clothes and drove out to a private golf club in Southampton, Long Island, with Don Quixote and Director Harrison from the Specialized Surgical Hospital.

In January, Southampton had shed its summer splendor. The golf course was covered in a thin layer of withered, yellow turf, and in the distance, the Atlantic Ocean shimmered with a cold, gray luster under the low winter sun.

The air was cold, but dry and crisp. Far from the city’s pollution, a deep breath felt like it washed your lungs clean.

"How has Alexander been lately?"

Li Wei and Director Harrison chatted idly as they walked slowly along the fairway, followed by an electric golf cart carrying their bags and drinks.

"Extremely motivated," Harrison said with a smile. "He recently had Miss Elizabeth and Timothy start managing different business segments. He’s preparing to bring in more wealthy individuals and invest all the money into the port in Delaware."

Li Wei nodded. Elizabeth had been so busy lately she was practically living at work; he hadn’t spoken to her much in over a week.

As the three of them were playing the 7th hole, the sound of an approaching electric golf cart suddenly came from behind.

At first, Li Wei thought it was a course marshal coming to warn them about their pace. Harrison was a total addict, always taking a few extra strokes on every hole and showing off his collector-grade golf clubs, which made their progress incredibly slow.

However, when he turned around, he saw a man he had never met before sitting in the cart.

He was around forty, of average build, with a slightly receding hairline. He had a sharp, capable air about him, just like Mark and Julian. One look and you could tell he was from Wall Street.

"Pardon the interruption, gentlemen," he said, hopping out of the cart and extending his right hand. "My name is Mason Reed, founder of a private equity fund."

PE, or private equity, basically consists of people who use other people’s money to acquire or invest in promising companies, then sell them for a profit after their value has increased.

The sharpest and most ruthless vultures on Wall Street.

"Mr. Reed." Li Wei shook his hand.

"Mr. Li Wei, let me get straight to the point," Mason said, tucking his hands into his vest pockets and breathing out a puff of white air, his voice full of enthusiasm. "I’m very interested in the sports drink brand you’re developing."