So, the inevitable finally happened.
After a bitter court battle lasting five long months, Arizona bankruptcy judge Redfield T. Baum finally
got off his ass and told Canadian billionaire Jim Balsillie to take a hike on Wednesday. Judge Baum ruled against the RIM CEO's brazen bid to circumvent National Hockey League rules by buying the money-hemorraging Phoenix Coyotes out of bankruptcy and re-locating them to hockey-starved Hamilton, just west of Toronto. Read the Globe And Mail's account of the court ruling here: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/sports/judge-rejects-both-bids-for-coyotes/article1307436/
Now, you may find the Blackberry magnate's way of going about things somehat peculiar. After all, how many organizations do you know that would welcome a new member with open arms after he'd taken them to court, and dragged their name through the mud?
But you won't find it so peculiar once you've read this story I found on a discontinued blog:
JIM BALSILLIE: A DIFFERENT SORT OF BILLIONAIRE
by Anonymous
I first met Jim Balsillie for an interview just outside Research In Motion Headquarters in Waterloo, Ontario. We were about to go through the front entrance when I noticed Mr. Balsillie pushing hard on one of the doors.
"This damned thing won't open," he said.
"Well," I said, "Perhaps you should pull on the door rather than push. After all, the door does have the word 'PULL' written on it."
"I know it says 'PULL,' you idiot," he snarled. "But I'm Jim Balsillie, CEO of RIM, and I don't have to play by anyone's rules. If I want to push a door open, I'm bloody well gonna push it." Finally, after a few fruitless minutes of this, he went to his car, took out a baseball bat, and walked back to the entrance. "Step out of the way," he said calmly. Then, he smashed the glass door to smithereens, and stepped through.
"There now," Mr. Balsillie said smiling as blood gushed out of several gashes in his tall
forehead. "Let's go up to my office and get this interview started.
When we arrived, he asked me to sit down. "Wanna beer?" he asked.
"Yes, please," I said. He pulled out a bottle from a small fridge underneath the bar by the window. I could plainly see a bottle opener on the counter, but Mr. Balsillie ignored it. Instead, he tried repeatedly to pry off the bottlecap with his left eye socket, mangling his eyelid. "Jesus Christ! I'm gonna sue the ass off this brewery," he bellowed as gouts of blood spouted from his brow and landed on an Inuit carving and a Group Seven original landscape..
"Why don't you just use the opener?" I asked.
"Use the opener!" he scoffed as rivulets of blood poured down his cheek. "What kind of a pansy are you? Nothing worth doing is worth doing the easy way. When I got the idea for RIM everyone told me I should go to fucking Silicon Valley. But I showed the fuckers. I put it in Waterloo, instead. And now look at me!! I'm a fucking billionaire!"
Finally, Mr. Balsillie raised the bottle high above his head, then smashed it on the counter, sending beer and shards of glass flying in all directions. A jagged chunk of glass sliced through his right earlobe, which immediately began to bleed profusely. But Balsillie didn't seem to mind. He just sopped up both the blood and the beer with a dirty dishtowel, and squeezed it over an ornate silver Oktoberfest beer stein.
"Here you are," he said with a grin. "Great beer stein, eh? Present from the city."
I looked doubtfully into the stein as the pinkish puddle of bloody beer sloshed around inside. I thought I also heard the clink of an errant glass shard or two. "Uhh, gee thanks," I said.
"Don't mention it. Go ahead. Take a swig. Tell me what you think. It's a premium ale from Germany."
"I don't know ... I'm not thirsty," I replied.
"TAKE A SWIG!!!" he roared as the veins protruded from his temples. I knocked back the vile liquid.
"It's, uh ... good," I squeaked.
"OK, then," he said. "Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, what did you want to ask me about?"
"Well, there's the matter of that patent infringement ruling in the States years ago that cost RIM tens of millions of dollars, and your part in the dispute over the Nortel auction ... "
"Wait a minute," Mr. Balsillie said, raising his hand ...
"Er, yes?" I husked, fearing another outburst.
"I love your tie," he said, staring at it rather like a snake about to strike at an unsuspecting rodent. "It's got a great pattern."
"Ah, well, thanks," I said. "Now, about Nortel ..."
"I want it," he husked.
"Want what?" I replied. "Nortel?"
"No, the tie," he said. "You're going to give it to me."
"No," I said. My voice quavered as I said it but I tried to be firm. "It's a gift from my wife. She'd kill me if I gave it away."
"I'll give you 212,000,000 dollars US for it," he said.
"You've got to be kidding," I said. But he wasn't. In fact, he was clambering over the desk and reaching out to grab the tie with his blood-spattered hand. I squirmed out the chair and tried to crawl to the door but he grabbed me by the ankle.
"I'll take you to court," he bellowed. "That tie is gonna be mine!!" Mr. Balsillie hung on to my ankle with all his might, but thanks to all the blood, I was able to squirm out of his grasp, stagger out the door, and stumble down the corridor ...
"Send me a copy of the article, please!!!," I heard Mr. Balsillie yell after me as I lunged for the elevator, but I never spoke to, or saw him again ...
The blog entry ends there. Now, you can't believe everything you read on the internet, but in light of all that's gone on in Judge Baum's courtroom, it has an air of plausibility about it, doesn't it? Well ... doesn't it?
