THE SPORT COUNT

Because of the superstar (right) the rarely-used veteran (left) gets stacks of cash (middle)

Last season, Cleveland Cavaliers back-up centre Lorenzen Wright was paid $1,262,275. It’s fair to say he didn’t earn that money.

He played in just seventeen games, at a pay rate of $74,251.47 per appearance. Only once did he play more than 25 minutes: in the last game of the season, a loss to Philadelphia in which coach Mike Brown gave the Cleveland starters a  pre-playoff rest.

Lorenzen Wright is a classic bench warmer, a semi-serviceable veteran with a pulse, and the ability to play a few minutes if  a) the Cavaliers are up by 30 with three minutes to go or b) the four big men ahead of him die just before the game.

So, when Wright contributes so little — beyond a beating heart — why is he paid so well? Why is such an easily replaceable player compensated so handsomely?

The faces of the NBA keep veteran salaries high.

The answer is simple, but it involves a lot of big names: Kobe Bryant. LeBron James. Dwyane Wade. Yao Ming. Dwight Howard. The genuine superstars of the league. The international juggernauts of the game. The names that sell bulk jerseys, draw in television viewers, and populate the wet dreams of the NBA’s marketing department.

They’re the reason the yeoman class of the league can command such rich pay cheques.

Basketball is — more than baseball, football, or hockey — a game of implied personality. The  inner character of a player is construed, whether accurately or not, through tight camera shots; their reactions, celebrations, and frustrations unobscured by a helmet or baseball cap.

Humans like seeing faces, reading emotions, making judgements based on expressions. We want to believe that we understand how an athlete feels. We want to read their minds, and that’s tough to do through a chunky football helmet. When Kobe switches gear in the fourth quarter, ESPN zooms into his hyperfocused, animalistic countenance (Kobe is an intense guy, the viewer assumes). When Wade nails a long-range bomb, we see him smile (he’s a good-natured guy!) and look to the heavens (he’s a Christian!). When Kevin Garnett gets frustrated, we see his face contort, filled with impassioned agony.

Because of how close we are to the action — how able we are to feel an intimate understanding of the psyche of NBA superstars — basketball is the most star-dependent of the four major American leagues, a sport where fans love the players more than they love the game. As a result, the Players Association is the most powerful union of professional athletes. Without the stars, the league would have nothing. Jerseys wouldn’t sell, seats would be left empty, and the cultural cache of the Association would dissipate instantly.

That leverage ensures players are given guaranteed contracts, unlike the NFL, where the sheer bulk of players on a squad renders most individuals easily replaceable. It also leads to heavily inflated minimum wage levels. These fully guaranteed, fully fat pay cheques ensure that the back end of NBA benches are weak, and boring.

Imagine if completely replaceable veterans weren’t paid so well. If Lorezen Wright wasn’t guaranteed $1.2m,  and instead was paid $10k per bench appearance (a healthy pay rate by anyone’s standards, but a substantial cut to what he made last season) would the Cavaliers keep him all season? If teams weren’t forced to field a minimum of 12 fully-contracted active players, would Lorenzen even get a look in?

If Lorenzen Wright, and the other veterans raking in big cash for doing nothing, was a casual employee — able to be cut and re-signed whenever needed — it could only help the game. D-League players would get more looks. Free agents could be signed for a game or two at a time, based on specific team needs.

If teams weren’t forced to sign someone after two 10-day contracts, the end of the bench would be constantly in play. You’d see teams gambling on upside, calling in energy guys, scouting Europe and Australia and South America during the season. It would do wonders for the D-League, taking it a step closer to its rightful place as a feeder league.

At least, these outcomes are a possibility. The current system — whereby the ridiculous importance of superstars dictates such sublime working conditions for the sub-par players of the league — is flawed. In almost any other industry, one could be impressed by the work of the union in securing the livelihoods of bench warmers, but this isn’t a typical industry — we’re talking about players who do very little making, at the minimum, hundreds of thousands of dollars. We don’t need to worry that they’re going hungry.

So, why not free up the end of the bench? Why not give teams the option of having two casual, but active, roster spots at any time? It would save teams money. It’d give young players a better chance of cracking the NBA.

There are flaws in this proposal, sure. Non-contributing veterans would still be given long-term, high-paying contracts for no good reason by foolhardy GMs. That won’t ever change. And younger players might struggle flitting so often between the NBA and their D-League team or home country.

But it’s an idea. To encourage a dynamism too often lacking in the front offices of the league. To give us younger players with something to prove. To make the D-League matter.

The current system rewards veterans for doing very little. Their roster spots would be better filled with raw youngsters desperate for a full-time gig.

Posted By: Anton