You Herd Me!: I'll Say It If Nobody Else Will

by Cowherd, Colin

  Agent’s fees (5 percent): $1,232,143

  Net wages: $23,410,714

  Federal income tax: $8,426,902

  CA income tax: $3,222,041

  Social Security: $7,049

  Medicare: $357,321

  Medicare surtax: $219,536

  Tax subtotal: $12,232,849

  NET CASH: $11,177, 865

  Granted, that’s still a lot of lettuce, but it’s not $24 million worth. It doesn’t stop there; California has higher real-estate costs, higher food costs, higher gas costs. And all of that points to the root of a bigger problem with young multimillionaire athletes: financial illiteracy.

  The ESPN “30 for 30” documentary Broke did an outstanding job of bringing the depth of the problem to life. These guys who earn huge salaries rarely have the perspective those stark numbers above bring. They don’t think about the short duration of their careers or the beauty of saving a ton of that money in order to make the rest of their lives that much more comfortable. They feel they can buy their mom and dad a big house and a couple of nice cars. They can take care of their brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and whoever else comes crawling back into their lives to get a piece of the action. They don’t see that water on a rock—drip, drip, drip—eventually creates a big hole. When you’re 25 and loaded, perspective is for other people. It’s not your world.

  Many of these players come from nothing, and going from nothing to everything is overwhelming. They go from a world with nothing but limits to one that’s limitless. They might have spent three or four years in college, but they’re ignorant of the most basic financial acumen.

  After Broke, I called former New England Patriot and New York Jet Damien Woody, now one of ESPN’s sharpest analysts. He told me, “My tenth or eleventh year in the league, I would start talking to younger guys, just telling them basic stuff. Open up a checking account. Many didn’t even understand how to do that. That is scary. Guys get millions and don’t even understand how to balance a checkbook.”

  Open up a checking account. Is there a more telling indictment of the system than those five words? Woody’s not exaggerating, either. On the HBO series Hard Knocks, the cameras went inside the Cincinnati Bengals’ training camp for a rare look at the inner workings and relationships in the game we love. Chad Ochocinco, at the time an established, well-paid star receiver, needed to have head coach Marvin Lewis explain to him how a bank works.

  “They come into the league entitled,” Woody said. “I came in the league in awe; many guys now think, ‘I’m supposed to be here.’ They think, ‘I’m rich and invincible.’ I would tell ’em, ‘You’re living in fantasy land now, you’re still a young man when you leave this game.’

  “I probably get about four or five guys a year who call me with money trouble. Looking for something. I just tell ’em, ‘I would rather help you instead of giving you cash I’ll never get back. Let’s solve the problem.’ ”

  Extravagant spending combined with a lack of fiscal acumen is a vicious recipe. Since the latter will never be fully mastered, especially for 21-year-old athletes who never had much and are understandably near-sighted, maybe it’s time for jocks to look deep within themselves and ask the really tough questions.

  Do I really need a second purple speedboat named after my aunt?

  Does my backyard need its own zip code?

  Nine bathrooms? Could I possibly make do with six?

  Did I really need that helipad on the roof of the vacation home?

  Those questions are the small questions that lead to the big, deeper, more personal questions: When are you going to grow up and be accountable? When are you going to judge your worth on something more than what you own?

  Maybe, instead of room-sized tanks filled with exotic fish, more athletes should invest in television stations in Texas.

  It gets back to the numbers: 60 percent of NBA players, 78 percent of NFL players. And the horrible truth is, it could be worse. Occasionally you’ll hear the ugly story of a crooked agent stealing money, but the vast majority of athletes use league-certified agents and money managers who watch over their athletes and try to warn them when the spending gets out of hand. And yes, you’re reading that correctly: the agents are the good guys. Where would the bankruptcy numbers be without them?

  Honestly, though, with or without agents, how can we expect young star athletes to understand finances when nobody in their family or social circle has ever dealt with extreme wealth? Would I have a deep and abiding understanding of dentistry or taxidermy at 22 years old unless someone close to me dealt with cavities or the carcasses of dead animals?

  Sports is a uniquely kind and cruel business. There may be no clearer example of the extremes of capitalism. The bankruptcy stories are cautionary tales of ambition and riches without the knowledge or discipline to maintain either. It’s a single-car crash at the intersection of I’m on Top of the World and I Can No Longer Afford That Bentley.

  The average American millionaire is 57 years old, has attended college, and is married. The average NBA rookie earns his first millions at 21. He’s single with one year of college and little or no business background. The 57-year-old has earned money for a long time and—with some savvy investing and continued hard work—can continue to earn for years. The average NBA rookie, on average, will be out of the league in six years. With those numbers as a backdrop, can anybody be truly surprised so many athletes end up broke once the revenue stream dries up?

  Do you want to know what happens to the money, the fortunes, the castles, and the SUV collections? It all gets lost in a sad fog of ignorance and naiveté and invincibility and near-sightedness. Once you hear the stories and look at the numbers and understand the culture, it’s almost predictable.

  Nine bathrooms, ten cars, three houses, and zero financial intelligence—in the end, like so much of sports, it all goes back to the math.

  If Dallas Cowboy fans want to know why they haven’t been in a Super Bowl in twenty years, this may address the issue: they struggle with even the easy stuff. The kind of thing the Steelers, Patriots, Packers, or New York Giants handle in-house becomes a public circus with the Cowboys.

  This story sums up the franchise:

  Bill Callahan is their offensive coordinator and offensive line coach. He announced he will be calling plays this season. Then when someone asked head coach Jason Garrett about that … he clammed up. No comment. Anyone think he could be a little sensitive since he’s been calling plays in previous seasons?

  This is so typical of the Cowboys. Jerry Jones goes out the day before and sets the fire. He tells reporters the team has a new play-caller, but they have to figure out who it is by watching practice. Callahan announces it’s him, but Garrett won’t confirm it and even Jerry—when pressed, just to tease the reporters—says he won’t disclose it, either. Then why bring it up?

  Grocery stores have very thin margins, maybe 3 or 4 percent. What does that mean? Every penny counts. It’s similar in the NFL. Everything and everybody is built to be 8-8. The best teams draft last; there are salary caps and shared revenue streams. So the difference is slight between good to average to bad.

  Therefore, details matter—except in Dallas. There’s a reason you’ve had two of the worst drafts in league history over the last twelve years.

  The Cowboys are the show Hard Knocks without the HBO part. In Dallas, they just call it … Monday.

  Whistle-Blower

  Curt Schilling kept a book on umpires. During guest appearances on my show after his career ended, he provided details on how closely he watched umpires to find tendencies that might give him even the smallest edge. He knew that a particular umpire’s habit of adding a couple of inches to the plate with two strikes could be the difference between escaping a rough seventh inning or getting yanked. He pitched to these tendencies.

  I found this fascinating on a number of levels. Schilling had no problem telling the world about his scrutiny of umpires. He carried the book around with him a
nd kept it in his locker. He updated it constantly. It became part of Schilling Lore, one of the many aspects of his obsessive preparation. He told me matter-of-factly that this was an understood, totally acceptable part of his game.

  The idea that someone might question this probably comes as a surprise.

  I asked Schilling: Why is this acceptable? Well, as Schilling said … it just is. Why wouldn’t it be? Referees and officials are human. They are part of the game—often a big part. Closely monitored, they can be linked to predictable results that can be used for the player’s benefit. The smart player—pitcher, hitter, offensive tackle—takes advantage of everything he can.

  But let me ask you this: Can you imagine the media uproar and widespread cynicism that would greet an NBA player who carried around a book that documented the tendencies of referees?

  Imagine this scene: Dwyane Wade, before a playoff game, sitting at his locker with a pen and a notebook, writing, “We have Ed Malloy tonight, and I keep a book on Ed. He has certain tendencies I’m confident I can manipulate to help us win.”

  How would that go over?

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  Could you imagine?

  Within seconds of those words hitting the airwaves, Wade and the league would be backpedaling faster than the best NFL cornerback.

  Why would it be different? Isn’t the hypothetical Wade comment exactly the same as what Schilling told me?

  Schilling, smart player.

  Wade, smart player.

  What’s the big deal?

  Simple: the NBA, more than any other sports organization in history, has had the integrity of its officiating questioned.

  It’s the same, but it’s not the same.

  When the NBA promoted David Stern from executive vice president to commissioner in 1984, it was a dreary league with lots of empty arenas and dwindling star power. Stern energized the NBA by marketing its top stars to a degree never before seen in an American sports league. This marketing push increased ratings and revenue, but it had the unintended consequence of increasing suspicion that the NBA gave its stars—those guys leading the marketing campaign—preferential treatment.

  True or not, this ignores a built-in fact about the sport: basketball, at any level, is the one team sport where outcomes can be determined by one incredibly talented performer.

  A dominating pitcher has limitations. He needs defense and run support.

  A dominating quarterback has limitations. He needs a good offensive line and a stout defense. (After winning the Super Bowl following the 2010 season, Aaron Rodgers went two years with just one playoff win because of a poor line and shaky defense.)

  But in the NBA, the Cleveland Cavaliers were the worst team in the league before they landed LeBron James with first pick in the 2003 NBA draft. With very little—other than role players—to surround him, the Cavs became one of the NBA’s elite clubs in short order.

  This is why critics of the league and its officiating fail to see a broader point.

  Superstars in the NBA virtually ensure playoff appearances. The lack of one hugely inhibits your future.

  It has nothing to do with the guys blowing the whistles. Nothing at all.

  Of course, the conspiracy theorists have their own side to tell. Much of the time it starts with Tim Donaghy, the former referee now banned for life for tampering with the outcomes of games. (For the record, Donaghy claims only to have officiated with an eye on point spreads and not who won or lost.)

  Donaghy came on my radio show in March of 2013, just before the release of his book, Personal Foul. It was a spirited debate, and Donaghy made several claims that figure to provide more fodder for the conspiracy folks:

  The league is still tampering with games.

  The refs have agendas.

  The league helps the Lakers win.

  The league dictates the stars get favorable treatment.

  I have no doubt Donaghy believes what he says, but he’s guilty of misinterpretation. And because of his reputation and history, the people who want to believe the worst will cling to Donaghy’s words, even if they’re coming from a guy whose atrocious judgment cost him his marriage, his career, his reputation, and the two years of his life that he spent in a federal prison.

  Let’s break down one of his claims: long-time ref Dick Bavetta “always said it’s good for the Lakers to win, and there’s numerous games documented where he was an official for a [Lakers] elimination game … and the Lakers always seemed to win.”

  So let me see if I’ve got this right: Bavetta says it’s good for the Lakers to win.

  That’s controversial?

  Really—that’s all you’ve got?

  Let’s see. By most objective measures, it’s good for college basketball if Duke wins, good for college football if Notre Dame wins, good for baseball if the Yankees win.

  But somehow thinking it’s good for the NBA if the Lakers win is a revelation worthy of Watergate-level outrage?

  When traditional powers advance in every sport, it’s good for television ratings, which makes it good for the bottom line, which makes it good for every employee of the league. This isn’t news, even if it is a sentiment uttered by one official to another in a locker room or lounge after a game.

  After a decade in sports radio, I can confidently say I have a little credibility on at least one issue: the hubris, tough talk, and chest thumping of men involved in sports. Every e-mail and tweet is full of all those qualities—it’s like a rite of passage for the American male.

  Donaghy also sidesteps something that might be worth mentioning: over the past forty years, the Lakers have advanced in many playoff series.

  Why?

  Because the Lakers have been really, really good for a really, really long time.

  It’s one of the most glamorous and well-run franchises in North American sports history. If you were to name the all-time Laker starting five, you’d probably leave out Wilt Chamberlain and Shaquille O’Neal—two of the best six centers in the history of the game. The guy you’d pick, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, just happens to be the leading scorer in the history of the game.

  It is okay if we inject some common sense into the discussion, isn’t it?

  Good. Just checking.

  The Lakers win because they routinely have the kind of talent every other team would die to have.

  Another Donaghy blockbuster: the league office would send out tapes to officials, giving them tips to signal specific infractions to call on specific players. For instance, if Player X moves his pivot foot without being caught, the league would send out a video featuring half a dozen players—including Player X—making that mistake, thereby sending a message to the refs: watch these specific players and their illegal habits.

  Tim, this practice is called “Quality Control” and every good business has a system to check, monitor, and promote it.

  In other words, move along. Nothing to see here.

  Don’t you think if the NFL saw that a particular tight end was gaining an unfair advantage by illegally using his hands to get open—outside the normal view of the referees—that the league would address it? They would be well within their rights to send out a memo stating, “This is happening. It needs to stop. Please be aware.”

  Again, common sense? You there? Anybody home?

  This isn’t cheating, Timmy. It’s not a backhanded way to get the right teams to win the right games. Las Vegas casinos have employed similar methods to stem card counting and other nefarious activities at their tables.

  Here’s another Donaghy gem: if the league wanted a home team to win a big game, it would assign officials known to possess “rabbit ears”—guys who hear every catcall and fear verbal abuse. By Donaghy’s reasoning, these guys would be less likely to call fouls on the home teams, which gives the home team an unseen advantage.

  Once again, Donaghy’s words are music to the ears of the conspiracy folks, but they don’t hold up to a simple counterargument:
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  A. Wouldn’t that referee have an issue with any game and not just “big” games in which the league had a stake in dictating the winner?

  B. This isn’t a league issue; it’s a bad referee issue. Why concoct a conspiracy theory around something that happens because a referee is not good at his job?

  In Personal Foul, Donaghy spills this secret: NBA officials would often play a game among themselves in which the official calling the first foul or infraction is declared the loser. This would result, of course, in referees—presumably only the ones who wanted to win this game-within-the-game—swallowing their whistles in the early moments.

  Yes, that’s unprofessional. No question. Unprofessional. Childish. Dumb. Pick your adjective.

  But, in a regular season with roughly 3,700 fouls called over the course of more than 1,200 games, does anyone believe this brand of silliness would alter the power of the league?

  Or even the outcome of a game?

  In fact, I’ll go one step further: since it doesn’t intrinsically favor one team over another, it wouldn’t even alter the score of that quarter.

  Let’s back up for a moment, extract ourselves from the thicket of brambles growing inside Donaghy’s mind and return to one basic truth: Officials in all sports are human. They get caught up in special moments, they make mistakes under pressure, they are vulnerable to impatience and anger.

  It should also be noted that leagues do want to protect their top performers from physical harm; that’s why some rules are instituted to allow the most talented to flourish. Hockey, for instance, is simply a more attractive and consumable product if the most gifted skaters and scorers have the space to … you know … score and skate.

  The NBA might take the most criticism for protecting its stars, but the NFL created a rule to protect quarterbacks that’s universally accepted as “The Brady Rule.” Tom Brady was lost for the 2008 season after a defensive player—already on the ground—lunged at Brady’s knee and tore it up. A prized NFL asset was injured, and now hitting a quarterback below the waist when he’s considered defenseless is a penalty.