You are an NFL team owner. Your Super Bowl MVP quarterback is up for a contract extension. It is widely expected that he will ask for something in the range of $61-65 million a year, making him the highest-paid player in the league. Instead, he shockingly offers to be paid only $795,000 per season, the league minimum.
By doing so, he argues, this will free up over $60 million per year and give the team enormous salary-cap advantage over all rivals, setting up a potential dynasty. The QB already makes tens of millions of dollars every year in endorsements, advertisements and other off-the-field income, so he isn’t lacking money.
The catch, though, is that this QB demands veto and drafting/signing power over all personnel decisions. Basically, he will function as the GM of the team with regards to who gets added to the roster and who is cut or traded. The QB argues, “Since I’m sacrificing $60 million every year, it’s only fair for me to decide how that $60 million is spent.”
A friend and I are watching Perry Mason, separately – she’s up to season 4 and I’m at 6. The conversation turned to Della Street and she’s convinced she and Perry Mason are intimate. After all, she points out, “He keeps buying her dinner.”
I argue she wouldn’t trade her virtue for a meal and is more likely attracted to the much more studly Paul Drake. Granted, she’d be part of a string – we’ve never see the same girlfriend twice – but he keeps coming back to her, greeting her with, “Hello beautiful,” when he comes into the office.
I just saw an ad for some sort of fiber supplement about how great you’ll feel after you add said supplement to your gut routine. Which begs the question…