When You're Desperate, You Come Running
December 7, 2020. Athens, Georgia. University of Georgia. Vandiver Hall, Room 607.
Becoming an NFL agent is no easy feat.
For starters, you need a graduate degree, and every July you have to pass a test measuring your knowledge of the CBA and contract rules.
Only after clearing that hurdle do you earn the right to recruit NFL players and represent them.
And to maintain that certification, you have to pay the NFL roughly $2,000 a year — miss that payment, and your license is revoked on the spot.
If you do manage to land a client, you can claim up to 3% of whatever he earns once he makes it to the NFL.
For free agency or the franchise tag, the cap is 2%.
The competition among agents fighting over those fees is brutally fierce — 25% of all certified agents control roughly 80% of the NFL's entire player pool.
So do the remaining 75% split the other 20%?
No.
Far from it.
Of those 75%, about 40% don't have a single client to their name, and 25% hold only one to four clients each.
Every year, around 300 people surrender their hard-won agent certification, unable to endure the cold, merciless reality.
And there's a magic word that makes this already brutal business even harder. We call it a Marketing Guarantee.
Put simply?
Cash.
"If it's you, I'd say $5 million is doable."
"Whoa. That's serious money."
"It would be a first in industry history."
The man currently on a video call with me works for an agency called Athletes First.
David Mulugheta.
His company is one of the biggest in the business, and he himself is rated top five in the industry.
So the $5 million Mulugheta was quoting —
simplified, it's a signing bonus.
Truth be told, it's a form of loan.
Normally, a college football player can only hire an agent after declaring for the pros.
But with the new rule change granting students their NIL rights, it became possible to retain an agent for NIL-related matters.
Even so, once a contract is signed, the agent can do nothing more than advise on NIL activities — nothing touching athletic performance or professional contracts.
Honestly, the NCAA hasn't fully sorted out this part of the rules yet, and it also has to be weighed against each state's laws and federal law, so there's bound to be some noise early on.
That's exactly what worries me right now.
Doesn't this break the law?
And so.
This is how Mulugheta answered.
"That's precisely why we're having this conversation. Our firm has contracted a specialist law office to verify every regulation. But as of right now, the NCAA has formally permitted contact. No one knows when the market might close again, which is why we're moving fast. We want this, Moi. I want it more than anyone."
"Whew. I have some time to think it over, right?"
"Of course."
NFLPA regulations categorically prohibit an agent from [offering money or anything of value to a player or prospective player to induce or encourage that player to use their services].
But this magic word called a 'Marketing Guarantee' violates no regulation whatsoever.
Agencies essentially co-sign loans for specific players, typically anywhere from $100,000 to $2 million, with the amount later deducted from the player's marketing income.
Naturally, the sum rises with a player's market value — and Mulugheta and Athletes First had slapped a $5 million price tag on me.
"Phew—"
Once the roughly twenty-minute video call ended, I passed the news along to my mom.
Her answer would probably come sometime around dinner.
I'd already spoken with three agents today alone, and on the MG front, Athletes First had the best offer by far.
One of the other two was offering $3 million.
The last had come in at $2.5 million.
The most perfect answer in sports business:
follow the money.
But on the other hand, whoever I signed with would have to do a lot of work for me and fight through a maze of regulations, so I decided I'd seek advice from actual NFL players.
I turned on my phone.
Pulled up Mulugheta's social media.
Then scanned his client list.
Hmm.
Nobody I actually know.
Should I ask Matthew?
Not a bad idea.
I sent Matthew a DM.
I'd always assumed all of this would happen after the season ended, but the NCAA had suddenly dropped a bomb on us.
Still, I didn't want to burn much energy on it.
There was a lot of season left.
Football comes first for me.
Buzzzz—
Moi! Devonte's buying burgers!! Zaxby's!!
"Hell yeah. Gotta hustle over there right now."
This problem could wait.
If they're desperate, they'll come around on their own.
After all.
The desperate party always comes looking first.
I grabbed my coat, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and headed out the door.
Whoa. That wind.
Freaking freezing.
For the record, it was 52 degrees out.
December 8, 2020. Athens, Georgia. University of Georgia. Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall.
The day before, I'd decided to turn down the $5 million offer.
It was a conclusion I'd reached after talking it over with the people around me.
Mom had said, "It's so much money that honestly, it scares me" — but that wasn't why I said no.
Matthew had messaged me that it wouldn't be too late to talk with CAA or Steinberg S&E first, and both Patrick Mahomes and Kyler Murray had recommended Steinberg S&E, so my mind was made up.
And turning it down wasn't the same as saying "I won't do it."
Nobody knew what would happen down the road.
You've got to keep an insurance policy.
"You got offered five million dollars?"
"Yup."
"Fuck. That's insane."
"And you turned it down?"
"Yup."
"You psycho."
I was hanging out in the lounge with the guys.
One thing led to another,
and the conversation naturally drifted to agents.
The reason Devonte had bought burgers the day before was that he'd signed with an agency called CAA Football and received a $1 million MG of his own.
Devonte was a solid defensive tackle — projected to go no later than the second round in next year's draft.
Other guys around here had negotiations going too.
Zamir had talked to five different places.
Tre, sitting right there, had called two.
"I thought I'd hit the jackpot at 200 grand, and now — damn — I look like a total nobody next to you."
"It's a loan anyway."
"Still."
"You know you're screwed if you botch the loan, right?"
"MGs work like that too?"
Fair point.
To an agency, an MG is a lump of risk.
Marketing is the only way to recoup it.
The reason MG figures keep ballooning anyway?
Because this market is a red ocean.
"So? What are you gonna do?"
"About what?"
"You turned down five million — doesn't that mean you're aiming for something like ten? I wouldn't know about anyone else, but you could actually pull that off."
I hadn't said no for the sake of more money.
It was about who would do right by me.
That said, if they offered more money.
I wouldn't say no to that, either.
"I'll think about it once the SEC Championship is over."
"Shiiiit. Look at the patience on this man. That's cold too."
"Hey, that's big-brother energy for you."
"Kek-kek-kek-kek. Hilarious."
"Let's shoot some pool."
The players' lounge at Butts-Mehre was, as the name suggests, a space built purely for the players, and it had everything.
Refrigerators stocked with drinks and food, game consoles, dartboards, pool tables, massage chairs — nothing you couldn't find.
Right next door was a spa, so you could sit in a sauna, soak in a cold plunge to kill the soreness in your muscles, then lounge in the hot tub listening to music while the world slowed down.
It was the place we spent the most hours of any given day.
And romances bloomed here, too.
"Whiiiish! Over there!! Nice shot, though?!"
Lately, Aziz had been getting pretty serious with one of the team's cheerleaders.
That boy had always played the field — he had a parade of girls.
Watching a guy like that suddenly discover true love had us cheering him on in our own special way.
All we got back was the middle finger.
But hey, it was fun.
Anyway.
"How'd finals go for you guys?"
"How do you think?"
"Idiot. Then you should've been studying."
"How's a man supposed to just sit at a desk all day?"
"Enjoy regretting it when you fail."
Clack!
Clack!
A peaceful afternoon, spent shooting pool.
And even now, the phones kept buzzing.
December 10, 2020. Newport Beach, California. Steinberg S&E.
Leigh Steinberg, born in 1949 to a schoolteacher father and a librarian mother, is a legendary sports agent.
He once filed for bankruptcy amid a divorce and a battle with alcoholism, and he's known as the man whose life as a sports agent inspired the movie Jerry Maguire.
These days, together with Chris Cabott — businessman and sports agent — he runs an agency bearing his own name.
A legend of the industry who had clawed his way out of a horrific past and recently celebrated ten years of sobriety, Steinberg had spent the last stretch in talks with several parties, all hoping to sign the University of Georgia's quarterback.
With word out that Athletes First had offered a $5 million MG, finding the right figure mattered too.
Knock knock.
Into the office of two men dressed in shorts, flip-flops, and comfortable shirts walked a woman.
Her tailored suit stood in perfect contrast to the two of them.
Marsha Duncan, senior executive at Chase Bank.
The relatively younger of the two men rose from his seat and extended his hand first; the older man, with his deeply tanned bronze skin, followed suit with a hand of his own.
Marsha Duncan shook their hands with a bright smile.
"You look younger than you did twenty years ago."
"Ha! You were a rookie back then."
"July of 2000. That was the first time we met."
"Brings back old memories. Have a seat. Coffee? I ground the beans myself."
"Ooh — now I'm looking forward to it."
"Give me a moment."
The purpose of Marsha Duncan's visit.
Was to deliver the results of a loan application.
Chase Bank and Steinberg S&E had long thrived as business partners, but this particular request had been so large that the bank's top executives had to sign off on it personally.
Fortunately — it was approved.
"This really is excellent coffee."
"I'll send you off with some beans."
"Thank you. Anyway."
Opening with a compliment on the coffee, Marsha Duncan delivered the news the men had been waiting for.
"To give you the conclusion first — you're approved."
"Truly?"
"Yes. It moved faster than even I expected, honestly. Your credit standing must have had something to do with it. I'm confident no one else will be able to offer you better terms than we can."
"Fantastic, Marsha. Absolutely fantastic."
Chase, the bank that stood as a pillar of California finance, had approved the loan Steinberg S&E had requested.
Amount: $10 million.
Minimum interest rate.
Repayable over ten years.
With one condition.
"If Moi makes it to the NFL, he'll have to become the ad model for Chase Bank. A six-month contract will be plenty."
"No problem at all. That's standard practice in this business."
"Good. Then let me show you the paperwork."
While Chris Cabott, the man in charge of business procedure and company management, worked through the loan process, Leigh Steinberg walked outside with a light heart and sent a message.
The reply came back fast.
And he dialed immediately.
"We'll secure you a $10 million MG."
— Whoa. So that really was possible.
"My history and my company's made it possible. We're confident we can offer you the finest service in the industry. Our sharpest minds are reviewing the NCAA regulations right now, and I intend to send the finalized documentation to your inbox before long."
A few months ago — precisely, ever since the Mac Jones Who? incident — a rumor had been circulating through the sports world.
That global giants like Nike and Coca-Cola would come marching over, arms full of cash, to sign Dwayne Moi Stone.
After confirming the reach of last summer's #WeWantToPlayFB movement, projections had flooded in: the biggest brands would make him their top priority and offer at least $3 million a year.
But now, his asking price had climbed even higher than that.
The game-winning jump pass against Florida.
The 'Greatness' spin move against Clemson two weeks ago.
Becoming the first NCAA true freshman quarterback with 3,000+ yards and 30+ touchdowns was all but locked up, and predictions were pouring in that he'd become the first freshman Heisman winner in history.
On top of that, the unique bloodline — one-quarter Samoan, three-quarters Korean.
An innocent smile framed by wildness, and a handsome face.
Above all — a D1 quarterback.
So many female celebrities were openly courting him that his marketability was, frankly, flawless.
A $10 million loan?
Leigh Steinberg was certain.
In four years, he'd recoup every dollar with plenty left over.
Under NCAA rules, you couldn't touch NIL signing bonuses — but this was a contract designed with the NFL future in mind anyway.
"I give you my word. Nobody alive knows this industry better than I do. Where money swarms, bugs swarm with it — and I will sweep every last one of them aside. As long as you promise to keep pouring yourself into football, exactly as you are, and never stop chasing greatness."
Leigh Steinberg knew.
That this proud posture was the right one.
Players born to be great carry that bearing into every corner of their lives, and for men like that, you can't approach on bended knee — you have to show them you belong at their side.
A few seconds that felt like minutes passed.
Then, from the other end of the line, came the voice he'd been waiting for.
A yes.
Leigh Steinberg — who had reclaimed his old passion along with his sobriety — clenched his fist tight, just like he had decades ago.
"You will never. Never regret this."
— Haha. I think that's my line, actually.
"We're going to be great partners."
— Yes. I hope so.
"Sorry to take your time. We'll talk again soon."
— Aloha.
Click.
The call ended, and Leigh Steinberg rested his hands on the terrace railing and let the feeling rising from somewhere deep inside burst out of him.
"YEEEEEEEEEES!!!!"
The staff of Steinberg S&E looked up in alarm, and inside the office, Chris Cabott — still signing paperwork — shook his head with a faint smile.
Some things, the man simply never outgrows.
Dwayne Moi Stone was headed for Steinberg S&E — the agency whose roster included the NFL's biggest star Patrick Mahomes and Tua Tagovailoa, once hailed as Hawaii's finest quarterback.
For now, it was nothing more than a verbal agreement.
December 12, 2020. Columbia, Missouri. University of Missouri. Faurot Field.
▷ 4Q — 01:25
00 07 00 00 — 07 MISSOURI
21 17 21 14 — 73 GEORGIA (1)
The records rained down on the field today, in our final game of the regular season.
The first 70-point SEC game in Georgia football history.
The largest margin of victory ever against an SEC opponent.
It was also the first time we'd put up 70-plus points since our game against Louisiana-Monroe on September 17, 1994.
And through all of it —
I never left the field.
(Mark Jones) — ESPN Play-by-Play: "The finest performance of the season. 516 yards. Six touchdown passes. Thirty-five completions on forty attempts — an 87.5% completion rate. He has become the first player in NCAA football history to record 500+ yards, 6+ touchdown passes, and an 85%+ completion rate in a single game. Amazing."
(Dusty Dvoracek) — ESPN Analyst: "Stetson Bennett going down with an injury is what opened the door to this historic night. And since it wasn't anything serious, this will be a day Georgia and Moi remember fondly."
Right now, we were all just waiting for the game to be called.
The last time Georgia had finished a season undefeated.
Was 1982.
But that year, Georgia lost the Sugar Bowl to Penn State and lost their shot at a national championship.
This year, I had no intention of letting that happen.
"It's over!!"
"LET'S GO!!!!"
If only this were Sanford Stadium.
Then we could have celebrated all together.
We charged onto the field as the clock hit zero, congratulating one another on capping an undefeated regular season, and with the ESPN cameras clinging to our heels, I let out a roar of joy.
"Whooooooaaa—!!!"
(Mark Jones): "Georgia and Alabama will meet next week at Mercedes-Benz Stadium in Atlanta for the SEC Championship Game. You'll remember the Mac Jones Who? incident that set the sports world on fire. Nick Saban and Mac Jones have been sharpening their blades for revenge — I can't wait to see how this one unfolds."
In moments like this, last summer always comes back to me.
How hard we worked.
How much we sweated.
But not yet.
It's too early for that.
"The season isn't over!!"
The moment I stepped into the locker room, I screamed at the top of my lungs.
"We've got three more huge games ahead of us!! Until then, we keep spilling blood and sweat on that field!! Celebrate — but only through tonight!! Monday, we start all over again from square one!! I am so damn proud of every one of you!! So now — let's enjoy this!!"
"YEAH—!!!!!"
COVID had shaved the schedule down even shorter, but the football season was brutal to begin with.
Unlike other sports, football simply can't carry a long calendar.
The body couldn't take it.
That's why every single victory.
Every achievement.
Every milestone.
Why all of it drives us to celebrate that much harder.
Because every week hurts like hell.
An entire week of our lives, poured into one game.
We've earned the right to enjoy it.