So, You Wanna Own and NBA Team...

Our first lesson at Beneath the Boxscore comes from the abundantly corrupt microcosm of the National Basketball Association.

Let's approach this particular lesson as a hypothetical.

"Are you sure you can afford to pay me that?"

It is 1991. You are a wildly popular, hall-of-fame-bound, NBA basketball player whose career approaches its inevitably sad denouement. It is nearly inconceivable that your brand as a global product will ever be as strong as it is, and can be safely assumed to plummet when your career ends. While some had success post career (OJ!, Jim Brown, Arnold Palmer), and you have a magnetic personality and are a compelling pitchman, you are in trouble of being lost under the immense shadow of the even more sellable Michael Jordan.

You also stupidly signed a 25 year, 25 million dollar contract in 1981 when a million dollars a year made you the third highest paid player in the NBA. In 1990, Larry Bird was paid 7 million dollars; you were still paid 1 million. The Lakers owner, Jerry Buss, agrees to pay you 14 million dollars a year starting in 1992 to make up for all the years you were dreadfully underpaid.

"Man, that Jerry Buss sure is a nice guy," you think. "It takes a great man to fix getting the best of me on an honest deal. I guess it's because he's always thought of us as peas in a pod. He bought the Lakers in 1979, right when I came into the league. It was a really fortunate time to buy the team, who had been to 7 NBA Finals under the ownership of Jack Kent Cooke. I'm sure Jerry must have felt pretty lucky that Cooke had a messy divorce that cost him a record 42 million dollars in a settlement in 1979 and started selling off assests. That Jerry's a smart businessman, thankfully I've been learning from him for 12 years in a relationship that aggravated my teammates."

Then this happens.

What appears to be a tragic end to your basketball career (and most-assuredly your life in the near future) turns out to be the beginning of your career as a global spokesman, businessman, and philanthropist. Your greatness and loveability quickly transcend sport (no more, "Fuck him, he's a Laker!" or "Jordan blew him away in the finals!"), and you sit somewhere between The Dalai Lama and Mother Theresa on the "Nobody's ever allowed to say a bad thing about them" scale.

Even after failed attempts at coaching, and as a late night talk show host, people still love you. Ask Chevy Chase or Craig Killborne if it's easy to recover from a failed talk show. But is part of the reason people still love you out of pity? Would they love you if they didn't think you were beating the unbeatable?

What do you do when you can do no wrong, and are short on time? Bet it all.

That's what you do, and guess what, it works! You open starbucks in underdeveloped black neighborhoods (for the children, obvs), and your line of movie theaters, TGI Friday's, and whatever the hell else makes you a half-billion dollars.

"And my love for you, Mr. Shutlz is Grande! Oh, it's Venti? Who gives a fuck let's make money outta beans!"

Still, though, sometimes you can't sleep at night. You wonder how would things have played out differently. Is it still because of the diagnosis? Could this all still stem from the fact that nobody can hate you? The doctors say you don't even have HIV anymore. Is that possible? Did you ever have it? Did you ever feel sick? Did you ever get tested from someone Jerry Buss didn't introduce you to?

You have a small stake in the Los Angeles Lakers, and try to buy the team with your business partners when Jerry Buss passes away. You fail.

And you think to yourself, "Man, it sucks that I can't buy the Lakers, my beloved franchise, but wouldn't it be a great time to buy the Clippers? Sure, they were a joke before, but once Stern vetoed that Chris Paul Lakers trade because... whatever, unrelated. Now their franchise is suddenly more successful than it's ever been and has TWO of the top ten endorsement earners on its roster? If only that hateful, racist, grandson-of-a-plantation-owner would sell the team."

This is the last rich racist in America, thankfully his end is nigh.

You think to yourself, what would Jerry do?

You buy the insolvent Los Angeles Sparks, a flagship franchise of the massively unprofitable WNBA. Why does the NBA keep the WNBA in existence if it's massively unprofitable? The same reason you now own the Los Angeles Sparks, the same reason all men do what they do: to get in someone's pants. In this case you get in David Stern's pants, by helping him stay in the pants of soccer moms. Just make sure you bring back the Latin appreciation night with "Las Sparkeras" or whatever the fuck on the jerseys!

"Of course I'm retired, I spent all day watching Gulliver's Island reruns... What's not right?"

You "make friends" with the girlfriend of the long-hated, known-racist, owner of the Los Angeles Clippers. She mentions that her racist "boyfriend" won't even let her post pictures of hanging out with minorities on instagram, and has said explicitly she can't bring minorities to Clippers games, even though she herself is half-black/half-hispanic.

Do you think maybe it might be time to catch a Clippers game with your new friend, and see if she's interested in recording a phone call with her boyfriend later?

What would Jerry do?

"We can't both be outraged, you be disgusted. Jinx!"