Is There Life After Football? (27 page)

Anderson Smith concurs: “I was frustrated because I wasn't as far along as [his contemporaries]. These guys have been doing it for 15 to 20 years while I was playing football. They're the lucky ones.”
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Some former players who see themselves lagging behind use this as a reason for not getting into the race. They feel they'll never catch up. Such accounts, however, are often grounded in faulty assumptions about the careers being compared and how occupational advancement proceeds. First, the careers they envision for comparison apparently begin even before college graduation and proceed with steady direction and purpose. That's far from the reality of today's job market, where even college graduates take time to settle into career paths. Many take time off after they graduate, move back in with their parents, travel in Europe, do volunteer or mission work, join the Peace Corps or Teach for America, or take temporary jobs just to make some money and enjoy their youth. Others bounce from job to job, trying to “find themselves,” looking for career traction before they actually settle on an enduring line of work. In short, they don't get the running “head start” that former players imagine.
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In addition, if the average NFL career is 3.5 years, many former players haven't necessarily fallen that far behind. Most former NFL players don't start the occupational race that long after their contemporaries, certainly not so far behind as to prevent catching up. They are, after all, still in their mid-twenties. Anderson Smith, for example, was 24 when he played his last NFL game. He distorts the time frame when he implies that his contemporaries have a 20-year head start on him.

The competitive disadvantage some former players describe is often more imagined than real, and is likely to be erased by the many benefits and career enhancements that the NFL provides. Players don't stagnate while in the NFL. They learn discipline. They meet potential employers and investors. They learn communication skills—to be media savvy, to speak in public, to deal with advisors, lawyers, administrators, and bosses. There's a long list of “self-improvement” programs provided by teams, the NFL, and the NFLPA, all aimed at honing job skills and improving career opportunities. Even if time in the NFL is time out of the job market, those years provide players with sufficient advantages to offset the hardships they claim to face. To say that those who didn't have NFL careers are “the lucky ones” is stretching the point.

Many players also claim that players who played in the days before big money are the “lucky ones” because economic hardship forced them to develop job skills and income sources outside of football. While it's mainly younger alumni who subscribe to this theory, many old-timers agree that they were better prepared to face life after football, even if they weren't as financially blessed.

While players from the 1950s through the 1970s generally made decent money by everyday standards, most of them routinely worked in the off season. Today's players—young and old alike—eagerly valorize the old-timers for their resourcefulness and industry, such as James Sutton, the All-Pro cornerback from the 1970s who spent several years as a substitute teacher in the off season. “I went into real estate,” recalls Sutton, “but all
the time I was playing I had to be thinking about what was next. It was good money for the times, but I knew it would end when I quit and I always kept an eye out for how I would make a living when I was done [playing].
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Sutton wasn't alone. The Player Care study found that 75 percent of older alumni worked during the off season, compared to 23 percent of younger retirees. It's likely that even fewer contemporary players hold jobs in today's off season. Hakeem Chapman elaborates his story:

Every year, I did something different because, back then, we worked [in the off season]. One year, I got my real estate license. Another year, I got my stockbroker's license. Another year, I worked for Zales Corporation. I learned about jewelry. I did a lot of things. . . . You never know how long [football] is going to last, and when I quit, I had made enough relationships networking with people. I wanted to turn it into something. . . . I put myself in a position where if I got hurt or when it was all over, I would have a place to fall back on. [Working] those six months [each off season], I had about six occupations to fall back on.
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There are literally dozens of accounts of players like Sutton teaching in the off season, or getting into sales, like Chapman. All-Pro players from the 1950s such as Leo Nomellini and Eugene “Big Daddy” Lipscomb took up professional wrestling. Others started their own businesses, sold insurance, or took low-level management positions with established firms. Doing so made it possible for players to support themselves relatively comfortably despite low football salaries, while simultaneously preparing for future careers. Perhaps old-timers weren't exactly “lucky” to be paid so little, but it accustomed them to normal jobs and prompted them to explore diverse possibilities.

By comparison, contemporary players end up with relatively little job preparation or experience. This isn't an insurmountable obstacle for these otherwise talented and ambitious young men, but it leaves them in uncharted territory when they're done playing. Rather than weaving
football into the broader fabric of their lives, football has become their lives. They have gone “all in.” That said, even though past generations of players were forced to work during their playing careers, this was no guarantee of post-career success. There are plenty of stories of old-timers who never found stable employment and ended up struggling financially, even if they didn't wantonly squander their money.
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Indeed, former players and NFL alumni organizations have complained vigorously for years that the NFL and the NFLPA have turned their backs on the financial difficulties faced by older players who retired before the era of free agency. Looking at the bigger picture, it's hard to say these guys are the “lucky ones.” (See
Appendix 2
for an overview of the finances of NFL alumni.)

Former players who have done well after football often mention planning, preparation, and hard work, but they also highlight fortuitous opportunities and good fortune. There are common threads, but no surefire recipes. Hakeem Chapman's eclectic skills—the six occupations he explored—certainly came in handy as he became successful in real estate development, sales, equities investment, and motivational speaking. He was true to his own motto: “Prepare for tomorrow, meaning look at the things that you want to do with your life.” Although his path is exemplary—replete with valuable lessons—Chapman's success story is far from typical. Many routes to post-NFL careers are more straightforward, more conventional. Prepare by getting a college education in an appropriate field. Develop job skills. Explore alternatives. Seize opportunities. Former cornerback Eugene Profit, for example, set himself up for success in textbook fashion. Raised in South Central Los Angeles—just blocks from where Tommy Jones and Chapman grew up—Profit hit the books as well as the gridiron, set his sights on an Ivy League education, then the NFL. During his five-year NFL career, fellow players and coaches thought he was sure to go into coaching, given his keen intelligence and dedication to the game. But he also had a Yale degree in economics and a fascination with “the study of money and capital flows.” Profit decided on Wall Street.
Forced out of football by injury in 1991, he became a financial consultant at Legg Mason, a global asset management firm, then founded his own financial management company in 1996. Profit Investment Management's assets have grown from $300,000 to over $2 billion, making it one of the largest and most successful African American–owned businesses in the United States. Profit had an average NFL career for his time. His income was modest, never more than $200,000 in a season. But he parlayed his skills, preparation, and opportunities—many of them afforded by his NFL career—into a success story that rivals, if not parallels, Hakeem Chapman's.
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But there are myriad unconventional success stories, too. Jesse Dampeer, a contemporary of Chapman's, wasn't a planner, and his journey was strikingly serendipitous. He never thought his football career would last, nor did he intentionally prepare to start over when his unanticipated football career was done.

I grew up in the woods, logging between semesters and had some interest in that but really had no idea about what direction I would go and just thought it was a wonderful experience to play in the NFL. Things weren't quite as large as they are today, and so I just assumed a couple of years after I left [his team], that would be the end of it.
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Like many of his contemporaries, Dampeer worked in the off season, mainly jobs in construction and small businesses. He never thought he was holding down a “real job.” “I've had projects,” he says. “I've had a business that I was trying to put together or something I was trying to create, something I was trying to do to generate income.” His insights reveal an important aspect of many former players' attitudes about work, money, and identity. He had
projects
, not jobs. It's an important distinction.

Dampeer's projects included cattle ranching, television work, publishing, motivational speaking and filmmaking, real estate development, coal mining, oil, gas, geothermal energy, and telecommunications. There's
little to tie these ventures together, except that they all required skills and qualities that Dampeer honed in the NFL: “I had confidence, and I knew about preparation, and consistency, and commitment, and discipline, and how to treat people, and all those things.” These traits worked for Dampeer, no matter where he turned.

Combining his “tools of the trade” with his distinction between projects and jobs, we see some important parallels between Dampeer's football and business successes. His diverse ventures seemingly have little in common, but fundamentally they were independent, individualistic enterprises. Dampeer had no bosses. He had financially successful enterprises, but no jobs. He was an innovator, an entrepreneur, an impresario. It was part of a larger career pattern that mirrored significant aspects of his football experience:

I want to have something interesting. I want to enjoy it. I want to have fun. I want to be excited about what I do. . . . I know I started thinking about what was pushing me, and I believe it was my Super Bowl experiences, my championship experiences. I was chasing an emotional high that I had experienced in football. I was chasing that feeling of victory . . . of that incredibly emotional moment when you win the Super Bowl, and you are on top of the world. . . . I think I'm trying to recapture that.

In many ways, Dampeer is the antithesis of both Hakeem Chapman and Eugene Profit. He didn't plan ahead and he didn't stay a true course. But there are common themes. Each was dedicated to success. Each pursued high-risk, high-reward ventures. They sought situations where the spotlight might find them. They were their own bosses. While most former players don't succeed at their levels, many speak of their post-NFL accomplishments and aspirations in similar terms. Perhaps it's an extension of their individualistic, personally motivated selves that excelled at football. Or perhaps it's a reaction against the strict regimentation, oversight, and coaching they've received since they were kids. In either case, post-NFL success stories often evince football-related themes.

Most strikingly, nearly every time former players talk about post-football jobs, they drift back to Jesse Dampeer's concluding sentiments. They want something flashy, exiting, fun. They want the exhilaration. You can hear the NFL player ethos seep into their aspirations as well as their descriptions of normal jobs and lives. It plays out in their occupational choices. It's present in their wildly speculative business decisions, in their impulsive spending, in their investment strategies. Where's the excitement in mutual funds? Who wants to run a dry-cleaning franchise when you can open a recording studio with your own record label? Who wants to sit behind a desk? Stanley Davis sums it up: “My career after football? Oh my God: pro wrestling, I won an Emmy on a TV show in Chicago. I wrote a book, I am a head coach and part owner of an indoor football team. I have done a myriad of stuff, and still nothing compares to walking out that tunnel with the boys.”
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Craving vestiges of the bubble, most players would like to remain close to the game, near the limelight. One obvious way is by coaching. Coaches roam the locker room and share in the culture. They bask in the thrill of victory and suffer the anguish of defeat. While it's seemingly the closest thing to being a player, it's an option relatively few players choose. The overwhelming reason: it's too much work!
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George Koonce is adamant:

I put so much time in as a player, now I'm thinking, “I wouldn't want to work those type of hours as a coach.” I'm not that type. You know how much damn film they have to watch to get ready for the Cowboys or Southern Miss? I really enjoyed that aspect of the game as a player, but I wouldn't want to do it as a coach
.
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Coaches at the pro and big-time college levels easily put in 100-hour work weeks. Former Super Bowl winner Jon Gruden was legendary for his 20-hour work days, reportedly arriving at the office at 4:00 a.m., if he hadn't spent the night there. Coaches generally figure the key to success
is outworking the other guys, so they see an intrinsic value in working long hours.
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There are no days off, no off season. And, by and large, the work isn't glamorous: countless hours of film study and planning, endless repetitive meetings. Only a small fraction of a coach's time is actually spent on the field, working with players or coaching games.