Paul Daugherty: Kenny Anderson's Misery

[Way Of The Ray <wayray@ix.netcom.com>]

The tears are welling in my eyes, that he might have to sell off
one of his eight vehicles....
        

                         NBA star: From penthouse to poor house?
                              --------------------------------

                   Tuesday, October 27, 1998

                   BY PAUL DAUGHERTY
                   The Cincinnati Enquirer

                   It's good to see how the other half lives. To know
                   another man's misery is to appreciate your own good
                   fortune. How reflective I became, then, upon reading
                   in The New York Times a story about Kenny Anderson,
                   NBA point guard, locked out of his job for the 118th
                   day.

                   Kenny is not getting paid. He's laid off until
                   further notice. His rent is due. It's tragic,
                   really.

                   "Without my check, I may have to start sitting
                   tight," Anderson declared.

                   Sitting tight is subject to various interpretations.
                   One man's sitting tight is another man's month on
                   Bali. Anderson was supposed to make almost $6
                   million this year. Seventy-six thousand a game,
                   about the same as last year. His sitting tight is
                   not your sitting tight.

                   How one might be forced to stay close to his wallet
                   after even one year at those wages is not for me to
                   judge. As Anderson noted, "It's like they say: The
                   more you make, the more you spend."

                   Don't I know it. After my boss rejected my demand
                   for a $6 million raise, I had to tell the kids we'd
                   be visiting Florida next summer, not buying it. They
                   were crushed.

                   Times tough all over

                   Anderson is a good union man, though. He's in it for
                   the long haul. (Preferably in his Range Rover.) He's
                   prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.

                   "I was thinking about selling one of my cars,"
                   Anderson said. The Times noted that Anderson has a
                   fleet of eight vehicles, ranging in value from
                   $50,000 to $120,000.

                   "Maybe the Mercedes," Anderson said.

                   Oh, no. Not the Mercedes. Until now, I hadn't
                   grasped the depth of the players' sacrifice. All
                   across the land, tall men are bleeding for their
                   cause. Seven cars instead of eight. It's a landscape
                   of wrecked dreams, littered with Mercedes for sale.

                   Oh, man. Somebody do something.

                   Anderson has other expenses. The Times listed many
                   of them. Anderson pays $12,500 a month to rent a
                   five-bedroom home in Beverly Hills. It has a
                   four-car garage (there's a sacrifice, a four-car
                   garage for a man with eight cars), a pool and tennis
                   and basketball courts.

                   Anderson pays $7,200 a month in child support. He
                   pays his agent $232,000 a year for negotiating his
                   contract. He pays his lawyers and accountants
                   another $175,000, for doing whatever it is they do.
                   He spends $250,000 annually to float Kenny the Kid
                   Enterprises, which markets him and maybe now can
                   sell one of his cars.

                   He pays the $3,000 monthly mortgage on his mother's
                   home. His car insurance runs $75,000 a year.

                   "Those cars are extremely hard to insure," said
                   Scott Bercu, Anderson's accountant. "Because of a
                   couple speeding tickets, we've had lots of
                   difficulties. But what can they do? Ballplayers are
                   into cars and jewelry."

                   Just to keep Kenny off the corner and out of the
                   blood banks, Bercu gives his man a $10,000 monthly
                   allowance. "Hanging out money," Anderson called it.

                   Will hang out for money

                   Only now, things are getting grim for the
                   proletariat. Two weeks of the season have been
                   called off, with more likely to come. If hard times
                   persist, Anderson might have to sell two cars. What
                   a grim scenario that would be.

                   As Bercu noted, "For a lot of these guys without
                   their salary checks, it's a bit of a nightmare
                   situation."

                   Anderson knows he has it better than most. Players
                   making the league average salary of $2.6 million are
                   really starting to wonder how to provide for their
                   families. (And for their agents, lawyers,
                   accountants, marketers, bodyguards, personal
                   trainers and the folks they pay to, you know, just
                   hang out.) These are men who deserve our prayers in
                   this time of need.

                   "I'd be upset too, if I was a fan. I definitely
                   don't want anyone feeling sorry for me," Anderson
                   said. "When you make the money like we do, it's
                   pretty hard to get public sympathy. But it's all
                   relative to your lifestyle and obligations."

                   Help preserve a workingman's lifestyle. Buy a used
                   Mercedes.

          

                Copyright 1998 The Cincinnati Enquirer, a Gannett Co. Inc.
                                       newspaper.