10. HE WANTS TO BE YOUR FRIEND. You’d never be friends with someone like your owner under normal circumstances. He’s a loser. That’s why he bought your team in the first place: so he can hang out with coolass athletes like you and feel like one of the guys. So humor him. Go to dinner with him. Play poker with him. Join him in a game of Homeless Kickball. He’ll be more apt to keep you around, no matter how badly you suck.
Deeply Penetrating the Numbers
1"
The average owner loses one inch in height per decade as a result of the hunchbacking process.
HEAR IT FROM A COMMISSIONER!
I see you have taken up the rather distressing habit of leaving your jersey untucked
by David Stern
Oh, hello. Please, come in. Have a seat. Were you waiting long? My deepest apologies. Oh, the jade dragon statue? Yes, I picked that up in Beijing last spring. It was a gift from the prime minister. Dates back to the eighth century. Do you like it? I think it’s quite striking.
Can I get you something to drink? I can have Kitty get you a fresh Deer Park if you like. We also have San Pellegrino if you prefer your water with gas. No? There’s also a Starbucks across the street. Then again, I guess there’s a Starbucks across every street now, isn’t there?
(laughs disingenuously)
I also have a lovely 1962 Armagnac in this antique Baccarat decanter. But, given the early hour, I don’t think it would be appropriate to partake. Don’t you agree?
(You nod.)
Good. I’m glad you agree. Well, I’d hate to waste any more of your time. This shouldn’t take long at all. Please, please sit. No, come closer. Don’t worry. I don’t bite. Young man, it’s come to my attention recently that you have taken up the rather distressing habit of leaving your jersey untucked during game play.
Now, why would you go and do a thing like that?
I’m sorry to say that it’s a league rule that players must have their jerseys tucked in at all times during the course of a game. This rule isn’t merely a suggestion. It’s something we took great care in instituting many years ago. It’s not something we made up for you to simply ignore, now is it? We have these rules for a reason, you know. They’re important. Now, they may not be important to you. Obviously, you have demonstrated that they are not. But we find them to be quite critical. After all, we take our image very seriously. It impacts more than you might think: our fans, our corporate sponsors, and even our international interests.
But I’m assuming you didn’t know that. I’m assuming you just wanted to make a personal statement. I understand your naïveté. It’s somewhat endearing. But we can’t have you brazenly flouting our rules anymore. I can forgive the occasional loose jersey. Sometimes, Bruce Bowen will tug at it and it will become untucked inadvertently. Oh, what a tenacious defender that young man is! Like a very fierce malamute!
That I forgive. But this . . . this . . . flagrant display is simply unacceptable. Now, I could fine you $275,000 for this, as is customary. But I’m not sure that would really get my point across, would it? No, I don’t think it would. Perhaps a more direct approach is necessary. Vito? Spider?
(Two very large men grab you and strap you to a giant steel table. The ceiling opens to reveal a complex series of razor-sharp blades rotating at an incredibly high speed.)
Ingenious, isn’t it? I call it the Lacerator. It was designed by a disgruntled former engineer at LA Gear. The blades are placed precisely where the nerve bundles on your body are at their highest density. Feel free to scream. We soundproofed the walls after using it on Roy Tarpley many years ago. Like you, he was a habitual miscreant who thought the rules didn’t apply to him. Funny how no one ever hears from Roy anymore. I do wonder where he went. Oh, yes, I know where he went. Right into the pen of starving wild boars below that very table you’re lying on.
Pity.
What’s that? You want me to show mercy? I’m afraid it’s far too late for that. I didn’t see you showing any mercy for our sartorial policies. No, I’m afraid the only way to teach you . . . is to kill you.
(The blades lower.)
Go ahead, beg all you want. I’ve heard it all before. We got through forty-three inches of Charles Barkley’s flesh before we finally struck vital tissue. Oh, how he screamed. To this day, it still brings me such delight.
Oh, you know what? I’m feeling rather charitable today. You seem to have learned your lesson, haven’t you? Stop the Lacerator, boys!
(The blades stop.)
You’re a very lucky man, did you know that? I’m not usually so forgiving. Don’t ever forget it. Next time, tuck in that jersey, okay? Or else it won’t just be you on this table. It’ll be you and someone you love. You got me?
(You nod vigorously.)
Good. Now get out of my fucking sight.
By exploiting you, they’re showing they care: unions and collective bargaining.
Fifty years ago, pro athletes were treated no better than common sharecroppers. Free agency didn’t exist. Athletes were drafted by one team, paid whatever their team decided to pay them, and forced to drink water tainted with strychnine. But soon athletes formed unions and successfully bargained for huge salaries, free agency, and extremely lax drug testing. Now that your union has achieved all of its original goals, you might be tempted to ask whether it has outlived its usefulness. Don’t. You’ll be knifed in your hotel suite if you do that.
The purpose of your union is to represent you, the athlete, during the collective bargaining period. Should your union and the owners fail to reach an agreement, one of two things will happen. One: you will go on strike, which is when players voluntarily stop working (or in this case, playing) to force the owners’ hand. Two: the owners stage a lockout, which is when the owners refuse to pay players or let them play in order to force the union’s hand. This is not to be confused with a lock-in, where you and five friends lock yourself in your dorm room until the keg is kicked. That’s way cooler. The important difference between a strike and a lockout is that a strike is the owners’ fault, and a lockout is even more their fault.
Your team, along with every other, has a player representative designated to act as a liaison between you and the union. This is not a paying gig, unless you count the tens of thousands of dollars he gets from illegally skimming the union’s pension fund. Should a strike or lockout occur, he will talk to you from time to time to give you updates and answer any questions. Here is a sample conversation you two may have.
You: When can we start playing again?
Your Rep: Our hope is to get you back out on the field as soon as humanly possible. But I’m afraid that, right now, we’re at an impasse.
You: But how am I supposed to feed my family, especially my morbidly obese son?
Your Rep: -It’ll be tough, but we all need to dig in and get ready for a long holdout. I hope you’ve saved up some of your money.
You: You’re shitting me, right?
Your Rep: (laughs) Yes, of course. We have an emergency fund set up to pay each of you during the strike. You’ll get $10,000 a year.
You: What if they get replacement players?
Your Rep: Ha! No fan’s gonna accept replacement players. Do you really think Americans will accept a substitute Michael Olowokandi? Don’t be a fool.
You: How did this impasse come to be?
Your Rep: We made an offer to the owners, and they countered with an offer that was unacceptable. So talks broke off.
You: But what was unacceptable about the offer? Can I see it?
Your Rep: No. Mind your own goddamn business.
You: But what if the owners never make a suitable counteroffer?
Your Rep: -Don’t worry. They will. How long can a billionaire hold out while one of his many tertiary income streams runs dry? Those fuckers are bound to crack.
You: Are we gonna march?
Your Rep: What is this, Norma Rae? Hell no, we aren’t marching. Marching requires physical exertion, which is just like working.
The whole point of a strike is to not work. Know who likes marching? Nazis.
You: I’m not sure I can take this. What if I (gulp) cross the picket line?
Your Rep: Well, that depends. Do you like having your cleats shat in?
You: No.
Your Rep: Do you like your wife receiving threatening phone calls in the dead of night?
You: No.
Your Rep: Do you like being regularly assaulted with a tomahawk?
You: No.
Your Rep: Then you won’t be crossing the picket line, now, will you?
You: No, sir.
Your Rep: Or whining like a little bitch to the media?
You: No, sir.
Your Rep: Listen. As I said, we’re doing everything in our power to get you back on the field. We plan to meet with the owners again next month for another round of negotiations.
You: But why next month? Why not now?
Your Rep: Because shut the fuck up, that’s why.
As you can see, your union provides an invaluable service during the stressful moments that come with labor strife. Rest assured, they will fight tooth and nail to win an agreement that will, in no way, be noticeably different from the previous deal to anyone except those who negotiated it. If you are a bottom-tier player who lost a precious chance to earn whatever income you could during your limited window of opportunity to play at this level, you may not feel like you won much of anything. But trust me: you did. You totally won. That sense of victory should help you ease into your new job at the toothpaste factory.
“This is such bullshit!” Why you got suspended / benched.
All head coaches have a doghouse to which they banish players who have greatly displeased them. You might think a coach’s doghouse is some kind of metaphor, but it is not. Your coach has a real doghouse, complete with a clear, thick plastic flap and a food dish filled halfway with a flavorless mixture of ground beef and rice. This doghouse is located right behind the team complex next to the grease-recycling dumpster. Here’s an artist’s rendering:
Once banished to the doghouse, you must sleep there until your coach unlocks the gate and drags you out by the scruff of your neck. If you bark, your coach will kick you and talk to the owner about having you put down. It’s not a fun place to be. While you are there, you will have been officially benched or suspended for “conduct detrimental to the team.”
What is conduct detrimental to the team? Here’s a quick rundown of typical offenses.
YOU TALKED BACK TO A COACH. Coaches despise even the slightest challenge to authority. A hearty “Fuck you!” to him during seven-on-seven drills will always cost you a game. But there are more subtle challenges to your coach that may also anger him, sometimes even more so. For example, if you walk up to your coach and say, “Hey, Coach, I noticed that Tony Romo occasionally telegraphs throws by patting the ball. Is that something we could exploit?” BOOM. You are fucking gone, my friend. What did you think, your coach didn’t already notice that? You trying to make him look stupid? You think you can draw up a better game plan? That is insubordination at its most insidious, and your head coach isn’t going to stand for it. He didn’t spend two decades toiling through bullshit jobs in the MAC and Big 12 just to have his strategy questioned by some rogue newbie who plays by his own rules! To the pine with you, Johnny Rebel! That’ll learn you. That’ll learn you good.
YOU BITCHED ABOUT MANAGEMENT TO THE MEDIA . After a loss, your coach will happily spend three hours in a press conference bashing the shit out of your play until your family watching at home bursts into tears. But if you publicly question him or the decisions of management, you are crossing the line. Don’t you see? When your coach berates you in the press, he’s doing it to make you better. What’s your excuse? So what if management held a fire sale to clear cap room and eliminated free car service from the airport? You don’t go outside the family to talk about that. That’s petty. Management would prefer it if you just quietly bitch about it to teammates until an irreversible mood of indifference and cynicism takes hold of the entire locker room. That’s the proper way to do things.
YOU SUCK. All bad pro athletes have a hard time coming to grips with their own shittiness. But, if it makes you feel better, you can always say your coach had an “agenda” and remain ambiguous about it. People will just assume he’s a dick. No one will suspect you’re actually allergic to humility and objective self-analysis.
YOU GOT IN A FIGHT WITH A TEAMMATE WHO IS BETTER THAN YOU. Coaches love fights. It makes them think you’ve got fire and that you love to play. They never consider the idea that the guy you got into a scrap with is a fucking dickhead who slept with your niece and had it coming. In fact, 99 percent of all practice fights have nothing to do with competitive spirit and everything to do with pure, unadulterated rancor. Most coaches will let a fight slide, unless you happen to get into a fight with a superstar. Superstars are a coach’s meal ticket. Fighting him means potentially injuring him, which means your coach will see the downfall of his entire career flash before his eyes — the injury, the resulting malaise, the mailed-in second half of the year, the firing, the lost championships, the lost Hall of Fame bust, the lost stint as a retard analyst for ESPN, the new job as an assistant at Lehigh. Putting that vision in your coach’s mind will ignite a white-hot fury you don’t want any part of. So lay off the franchise player.
YOU SKIPPED PRACTICE. You can’t skip practice. Coaches hold practice sacred. It’s their only chance to boss you around. Once you’re playing a real game, you can do whatever you want. You deprived your coach of a precious opportunity to feel like a big man, and he will bring the hammer of Thor down on you for it.
YOU WERE LATE TO PREGAME WARM-UPS. Pregame warm-ups usually consist of some light stretching, light running, and talking with players on the other team about where to meet up once the game is over. It’s a calm, relaxing time to hang out and gather your thoughts. Skipping the pregame warm-up usually merits a one-quarter suspension from your coach, giving you an extension of your pregame warm-up, which is a really nice gesture on his part. And you still get paid as if you played a full game. So relax and enjoy!
THE COACH IS NEW AND HAS AN IRRATIONAL HATRED OF YOU. New coaches are always eager to replace incumbent players with “their” players: players they personally brought in. If you were hired by your old coach and continue to play well after his departure, your new coach can’t take credit for finding you or making you good, and that won’t do. You also may be a victim of the dreaded Ex-Boyfriend / Dead Son Syndrome, in which your coach is constantly comparing you to an all-star player he once coached at your position. He’ll do everything in his power to make you similar to this favorite player of his. He’ll make you study tape of this player. He’ll make you change your mechanics to mimic this player. And he’ll make you wear Skin Bracer, just like ol’ Smitty used to. In the end, he’ll hate you all the more because, no matter how hard you try, you can never be this player. Unless you were to undergo some sort of facial reconstruction surgery. Would you at least consider it?
YOUR COACH IS PLAYING MIND GAMES. You can do everything right and your coach may still find fault with you. It’s his way of maintaining the upper hand in the relationship. In many ways, he’s just like my ex-girlfriend, who was a total cunt.
YOU ARE A TEAM CANCER. Team cancers, also known as malcontents, are players who disrupt the delicate intangible known as team chemistry. According to every sports column ever written, team chemistry occurs when a majority of players on a team like one another and share a common team-oriented goal. Never mind that any team can fit this description and still be terrible. And it’s not like everyone at Microsoft likes each other. That company is worth billions of dollars. Do you really think it has anything to do with whether or not the sales department goes bowling every Thursday? Fuck and no.
Regardless, your coach enjoys propagating the myth of team chemistry, because then, if your team has it (and it may, by sheer luck), then he will get credit for perfec
tly orchestrating the natural human relationship dynamics of your locker room. But he can’t do that if you’re the one asshole on the team trying to turn guys against each other. So cut it out. You’ll never be as ruthlessly effective as real cancer anyway.
YOU ARE GAY. See previous chapter.
Clippable Motivational Slogan!
A successful coach needs a patient wife, a loyal dog, and a great quarterback. But if you don’t have a wife, the dog can usually pull double duty.
— WEEB EWBANK
Chapter 5
“Don’t You People Have Homes?”
Fame and Fans
“I love you AND I hate you!”: a guide to the modern fan.
It has been said that Americans are obsessed with sports. I don’t know where it was said, or who said it. But, for the sake of my straw-man argument, let’s just say someone said it somewhere. I personally consider this obsession a healthy thing. You see, sports serve as a distraction from all the serious issues in our lives, like war, God, family, and proper nutrition. Sports let us forget about that stuff for a while and, in many cases, successfully phase it out completely. After all, if India and Pakistan decide to engage in all-out nuclear conflict, do we really want to know about it? Much better to freak out over shit like Nick Swisher’s batting average. It helps keep things in proper perspective. Sports are an escape, a chance for fans to get away from the stress of everyday life and enjoy an entirely different kind of stress.
As a pro athlete, you serve as a proxy for the unrealized athletic dreams of the people in the crowd. They are coming to cheer you. But the real truth is that they have come to watch you and imagine themselves as you. So when you play well, the fans like you because you are making their alternate universe selves look good and helping them get some hot alternate universe pussy after the game is over. If you fuck up, then you’re just ruining the dream. And that won’t do. So when you hear fans booing, remember: they’re not booing you, they’re booing themselves through you. It’s called displacement. Look it up.