An Agent and a Gentleman : Multimillionaire Leigh Steinberg, One of the World’s Most Successful Sports Agents, Has Redefined His Profession
AS CORPORATE POWER centers go, Leigh Steinberg’s parents’ house in West Los Angeles is low budget. Sort of a bargain-basement version of the Keaton spread on “Family Ties,” its most arresting vista is provided by the bookshelf in the living room: “The Complete Novels of Jane Austen,” “The Complete Works of Rabelais,” a guide to the Metropolitan Opera. On the patio, Steinberg, who is 37 but looks younger, is doing his daily 50 miles on an ancient exercise bike. He reads while pedaling, a book propped on the handlebars. Steinberg flips a page at 45 miles, another at 48 or so and, when done reading and pedaling, gets off the bike and wipes his forehead with the front of his T-shirt.
“The most important thing to me in life,” he says in answer to a question about what motivates him, “is trying to make the world a better place. That’s why I’m spending my time now addressing issues such as poverty, racism, the insane threat of nuclear war.”
OK. What do we have here? Literate do-gooder? Aspiring neo-liberal New Age political visionary?
No. Leigh Steinberg is a sports agent, one of the most influential people in professional athletics. Think “agent” though, and the first image to jump to mind is apt to be that of the fur-chested hustler sporting gold chains, a purple shirt you can see your face in and a flaming Hindenburg of a cigar. Or one of the new ice-eyed corporate models, tricked out in a brand-new BMW 528e and $1,500 worth of sharkskin.
Steinberg is neither. See him on the street and your first guess might be: hippie with a haircut. Listen to him talk and you’re far more likely to hear a pitch for one of the charities he supports than an update on his latest skewering of some hapless fat-cat NFL owner. His investment in glitz is zero--he conducts much of his business out of his parents’ home.
So how, exactly, does this man--who until recently owned only a single suit, the one in which he graduated from high school--exert his growing clout? Count the ways. Steinberg’s $40-million contract for quarterback Steve Young with the L.A. Express, signed in 1984, is the largest contract for personal services in the history of civilization. His $5.5-million, five-year contract for quarterback Warren Moon of the Houston Oilers, negotiated the same year, was the highest in the National Football League at the time. His $4-million package for Mark Gastineau made the Jets’ sack artist the sport’s highest-paid defensive lineman. Two of his other charges, Seattle Seahawk Kenny Easley and Kansas City Chief Nick Lowery, are, respectively, football’s highest-paid defensive back and kicker. He has negotiated more than $150 million in contracts during his career and, in the process, has single-handedly redefined the concept of agent .
Steinberg represents more than 50 NFL players--enough to field his own team. His long suit is quarterbacks--at one point last season he repped 10 of the 28 NFL starters. Other clients include Rams quarterback Steve Bartkowski and kicker Mike Lansford; Raiders Mike Wise and Curt Marsh; Chargers Rolf Benirschke, Jim FitzPatrick, Tom Flick and Jim Lachey; 49ers Bill Ring, Manu Tuiasosopo and Fred Quillan.
He also represents a couple dozen newscasters, writers and reporters, ranging from KNBC co-anchor Colleen Williams to Yankees broadcaster Hank Greenwald. During the last two years Steinberg has gone whole-hog into baseball, attracting about 25 players, including Cory Snyder of the Cleveland Indians and five of Snyder’s cohorts on the 1984 U.S. Olympic Team. By 1989, he intends to have as many clients in baseball as he does now in football.
“THIS YEAR, PROfootball may all go up in smoke,” Leigh Steinberg predicts. The five-year NFL players’ contract expires in August, and athletes and owners have already begun the first parries in a battle that threatens a strike capable of detonating the 1987 season. This topic has brought Steinberg and fellow agent David Fishof to KABC radio, where talk-show host Michael Jackson asks how down and dirty the negotiations between players and owners are likely to get. Says Steinberg: “The owners will fight forever to resist free agentry.”
Fishof, the 31-year-old who represents, among others, New York Giants Phil Simms, Mark Bavaro and Phil McConkey, offers: “I think the draft is still good and should still be in there.”
Steinberg, a key adviser to the NFL Players Assn. and militant advocate of free agency, shakes his head. “I totally disagree. If you’re a student at UCLA and you’re majoring in business and you’re told that your rights to practice as an accountant have been bought by a small firm in Biloxi and your choices, other than going to Biloxi, are to practice accounting in Canada or go into the field of nuclear science. . . . That’s not what America is all about.”
If players were allowed to go wherever they wanted, Fishof counters, the best would inevitably cluster in the big-market cities: Los Angeles, New York, Chicago. Steinberg responds: “You would not have (such) concentration. Because you couldn’t have a team that had a Joe Montana, a Ken O’Brien, a Phil Simms, all as quarterbacks. Because they all want to start , because they want to make money from starting, the money from endorsements for starting.”
A typical day in the life. Earlier, Steinberg had dispatched the two lawyers who work for him to the Airport Hilton for a meeting with NFL Players Assn. President Gene Upshaw regarding the potential strike, while Steinberg had repaired to a studio for an interview with Cable News Network, tub-thumping on behalf of the union and its demands.
Now Steinberg’s on the way to his car in the KABC parking lot. Like many successful young men, he owns several automobiles. His are, however, different. Two old Mustangs and a 1971 Ford Pinto with paint jobs pale from oxidation, they best resemble the cars that stunt drivers wreck by the six-pack in Burt Reynolds movies.
Steinberg isn’t big on possessions. Though he’s a borderline zillionaire, there are mailmen living more opulent lives, and it’s difficult not to think at some point: What a strange guy. Scored a perfect 800 on his LSAT boards and has a law degree, but doesn’t practice. Spends several months a year conducting his business out of his parents’ home, a few months on the road and the rest of the time with his wife at their home in the Berkeley Hills. Sleeps four hours a night. Subscribes to 30 daily newspapers and reads two or three novels a week. Had his wedding televised on “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous” but his typical outfit is a Zippy the Pinhead T-shirt and jogging shorts. A popular public speaker on topics ranging from NFL pensions to American social programs to nuclear apocalypse. Writes the biggest contracts in the business but closes his deals with clients with only a handshake. In the wake of his monster windfalls for Young and Moon, Steinberg allowed: “I don’t know what Steve is going to pay me, or Warren either.” To get a fix on Leigh Steinberg it’s important to consider that this is a man with a past.
“FIFTEEN THOUSAND people. Total chaos. The whole area around the dorm, Unit Three, was a war zone. We were tear-gassed every day. Cops everywhere. They had all kinds of cops down there. ‘The Blue Meanies’--the police from the Alameda County sheriff’s office--all kinds. Demonstrators getting clubbed. Finally they broke out the shotguns. And they weren’t using rock salt like they claimed in the paper either. My roommate got shot above the eye. A boy named James Rector died, and another kid was blinded. It was awful. It really felt like--if you were standing there by People’s Park--the whole country was about to explode at the seams.”
Leigh Steinberg had come to UC Berkeley at the end of the 1960s. He had grown up in Los Angeles, where his grandfather was the manager of the Hillcrest Country Club and his father was a schoolteacher. He became a class president at Hamilton High School and, at Berkeley, he was elected student body president after his predecessor was arrested, tried and acquitted on charges of attempting to incite a campus riot. Elected on the platform of the Nonviolent Action Committee, Steinberg denounced both American involvement in Vietnam and violent demonstrations on campus.
Elected senior class president at Boalt Hall law school, Steinberg saw his life take a monster turn in 1975 when, while serving as dorm counselor, he met Steve Bartkowski, then the most sought-after college quarterback in America. Unhappy with the services of his attorney, Bartkowski asked Steinberg to help him in his negotiations with the Atlanta Falcons.
Steinberg agreed, flew to Georgia with his first client and stitched together what was, at the time, the largest rookie contract in NFL history: $650,000 for four years. Steinberg’s methods were similar to the ones he uses today: “I researched the team’s needs and resources, as well as Steve’s ability and potential, and then, in negotiations, held the line at what I felt his abilities were really worth.”
Falcon management was surprised by some of the dorm counselor’s tactics. “I offered to lower the contract price for Steve if they would cut ticket prices,” Steinberg says. “I think they thought I was crazy.”
An instant Wunderkind, Steinberg immediately attracted a flock of clients. Attention to detail became his trademark. He is said to research team owners fore-and-aft, from the heft of their bank accounts to the cut of their steaks. But for Steinberg, leverage is the linchpin. “Once it is established in my favor, it’s almost irrelevant what happens in the room after that.” He was not shy about telegraphing his methods. “Million-dollar contracts just happen--the whole key is never to humiliate or embarrass those you are negotiating with. But once you see a fair line has been established, you have to stick to it. Firmly.” On one occasion, a negotiator faced with Steinberg’s line flipped his desk over in frustration.
“This is a very dirty business,” Steinberg said after the incident. “Agents are businessmen. They do what it takes to sell. Wine and dine. A limo at the airport. Maybe even women, cars, money. Agents promise ludicrous amounts of money and then can’t deliver. That leads to holdouts. The true artistry of a player rep is to have his player in camp on time while maximally compensated. Anyone can hold an athlete out, stand by and watch a career wither. My object is to have my athlete come into a city, join a team with everybody happy to see him.
“I try to keep the heat and conflict level down to a minimum. The consequences of backing a general manager into a corner during negotiations can turn your dealings into a disastrous ego and pride contest. I look at general managers as potential partners. We have the same goals: to sign the player and make him a successful part of the team. You want him to come to the team with open arms, without any animosity whatsoever, so that his relationship there is good from the beginning.”
Steinberg is good at relationships. After he extracted Young’s $40 million from the no longer extant L.A. Express, team owner J. William Oldenberg had nothing but praise. “There’s no one close to you in how you care for your clients,” he told Steinberg. “I have a lot of love and admiration for you.” Don Klosterman, Express president, was quoted as saying: “After a negotiation, you either hate an agent or respect him. I have nothing but respect for Leigh Steinberg.”
A feeling shared by his growing clientele, for not only did their internuncio routinely break banks, but he also charged them a relative pittance for doing it. Agents routinely nick their clients 15%, and, on occasion, even 20% to 25% for services rendered. Steinberg’s fees have run as low as 3% to 5%. Clients were soon to discover, however, that he made other demands, ones that some athletes found themselves unable to abide.
“IF I’M GOING TO represent you,” Leigh Steinberg is telling Kevin Sweeney, “I have to know what your priorities are. Family? Location? The coach? A potential endorsement market or simply the chance to start?”
Sweeney is about to graduate from Fresno State, where as last year’s quarterback he broke the NCAA passing record and also dislocated his shoulder. He and Steinberg are at the home of the agent’s parents. “I also have to know you, your strengths and weaknesses,” Steinberg continues. “What’s your setup like? Can you run out (of the pocket)? Can you read (defenses)? I’ll have to talk to coaches, scouts and players that have played against you. How’s your mobility?”
“You mean the joint?” Sweeney looks down at himself. “Lots better. The only thing I can’t do yet is this.” He makes a sweeping motion with his uninjured arm.
“Don’t rehab too early,” Steinberg says. “They can still scout you in April. What they’ll do is use the triangle: size, ability, speed. That’s how they’ll rate you. The best teams tend to draft the best talent available. The desperate teams tend to draft by position.” Steinberg tips back a can of diet cola taken from his mother’s refrigerator. “Before I go into negotiations with a team I look at the general manager. Is he tough? Is he weak? Does the team sell out? Most do, but there are all sorts of factors to consider.”
Sweeney nods, his mouth tilting up into a smile.
“As a quarterback, you’re in good shape. Quarterbacks average at least double the other positions’ salaries. A backup quarterback often makes as much as a starting lineman. A guy drags his girlfriend to a game, it’s over and the only thing she remembers are the names of the two quarterbacks. This translates to a lot of endorsement possibilities. The key to endorsements is building positive name recognition off the field. Which means starting. At that point it becomes possible to sit down and decide how to carve that market up. There are other opportunities. Do you like public speaking?”
“So-so,” Sweeney says.
“It can be worth up to $5,000 an appearance. Equipment endorsements. Kenny Easley designed his own shoe. Books.” Steinberg holds one aloft. “One of my quarterbacks, Neil Lomax, just came out with this. Posters. T-shirts and hats. Radio shows in rural communities.”
Sweeney nods.
Now for the clincher.
“One of the things that I’ve made very clear to all my clients,” Steinberg says, “is that I feel professional athletes should serve as role models. And I won’t take a player on unless he is willing to give back substantially to the community, whether in terms of scholarship programs to his school, charity, whatever. When I wrote Steve Young’s contract, for example, there was a $183,000 scholarship fund to Brigham Young University provided for. Brad Budde has set up a program for handicapped kids called Brad’s Buddies, Mike Sherrard is putting together a scholarship program at UCLA. All of the athletes I represent do this. Every time Ken O’Brien helms the Jets to a victory, he pays $300 to charity. And the Jets match it. I’ve talked to some athletes who don’t want to be involved. One told me that he was his own favorite charity, and I told him, ‘Fine, go get yourself another agent.’ ”
“PEOPLE USED TO say, ‘You only take the All-American boys, the easy on” Steinberg says. “And it’s true. I go after the bright players, the ones with good family backgrounds, ones with a sense of self-respect and community. I try to fit my needs to theirs.” One who didn’t fit was Mark Gastineau, who has left Steinberg for another agent. “You can’t please everyone,” is all Steinberg will say about his former client. “I wish Mark well.”
Steinberg likewise makes no apologies for the huge sums he wins for his clients. “I feel like Robin Hood. Taking from people who can totally afford it and distributing it to people who earn it. People perceive of football as just a game, something they played as kids, something they think, deep down, is trivial. Mike Sherrard is catching the same pass you and I caught in intramurals. But it’s not just a game. These guys are at the absolute peak of the pyramid. They’ve bested thousands of other athletes to get where they are, and their pro careers are incredibly short.
“Too, people must remember: The athlete is the attraction. People don’t come to see Georgia Frontiere play Al Davis; they don’t pay to see owners, they pay to see players. No one gets very upset when Bruce Springsteen makes $100 million from a nationwide tour. Or when Sylvester Stallone makes $17 million per picture. But they begrudge a halfback who’s getting his face slammed into the Astroturf every other play, week after week, the fact that he makes $250,000 a year.
“And you have to understand what healthy, big-money sports football, basketball and baseball really are. Ten years ago, during the 1976-77 NFL season, each team’s share of the television network’s package was $2 million. This year each team’s cut is $17 million. Just for TV. Their gates average at least another $10 million apiece. People think that ticket prices are a result of player salaries. Wrong. They are purely a function of supply and demand. What the market will bear.
“With the football franchises,” Steinberg says, “negotiations vary team to team. Al Davis of the Raiders compensates players fairly. They pay well. The Raiders tend to have quick, relatively harmonious negotiations and hit fair market value rapidly. The Rams are incredibly tough, incredibly dedicated to the bottom line. Exactly the opposite approach as Davis. They fight for every last penny, so their players are comparatively underpaid. But nothing compared to, say, the Minnesota Vikings. The Vikings are agent’s hell. The worst. Boy, are they cheap.
“The 49ers, on the other hand, are very much like the Raiders. Their concept is: Reward the Montanas, the Clarkes. Pay them whatever it takes. The Chargers are less consistent. Up and down. All in all, the Dallas Cowboys are probably the most talented set of negotiators in the league. They have a public-relations network like no other team.”
But the question of negotiations may be moot in case of a strike. “My guess,” Steinberg says, “is that no agreement will be reached, that the players will go to camp this fall, then walk out. And there may well not be a 1987 pro football season.” Still, Steinberg sees the issue of free agency for players worth fighting for and potentially striking for. “The average baseball salary went from $60,000 to around $412,000 with the advent of free agentry. With the draft, the average football salary is only something over $200,000. NFL owners have totally shut off the free market. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that men who’ve amassed fortunes through the rough and tumble of the free-enterprise system have turned around and put all these artificial constraints on the people they employ?”
As for the constraints Steinberg has placed on his own way of living, he says he doesn’t “go for ostentation. I spend money on books and films and in restaurants, things I like. I’ve actually got a Mercedes. But I keep it in a garage because it seems like every time you park it, somebody comes by and rips the radio out of it.” In many ways, Steinberg seems a figure thrust whole out of the 1960s. “Back during the time of Kent State and the Days of Rage in Berkeley, a lot of my friends claimed I was selling out by being ‘just a liberal.’ Well, that’s what I was then and that’s what I am now. Just a liberal. What makes me angry now is that so many of those so-called idealistically pure revolutionaries I knew back then have totally sold out their beliefs and gone way, way over to the other side, and would probably find me now to be a dangerous leftist. But what I believe is simple: I wasn’t born Leigh Steinberg in Nazi Germany. I was born very lucky and I believe the people I represent are very lucky and that it is important to give back to the society that has given us so many opportunities.”
By Steinberg’s count, the money he and his clients have pumped into charities, causes and scholarship funds now approaches $10 million. “Two nights ago Ken O’Brien held a dinner for the muscular dystrophy fund that netted $250,000. Stuff like that adds up.” So what does that make Leigh Steinberg? Tom Swift as told to Swifty Lazar? “What makes me different,” he says, “is that I think it’s pointless just to stack dollars in some kid’s back pocket. The most important part of my job is to help the athlete realize he has responsibilities not just to himself, but to others as well.”
