So where, among the goods being offered, are the swanky cars, pranged or otherwise?
Where is the Imelda Marcos footwear collection?
Where, more to the point, is the cream Armani suit he wore ahead of the 1996 Cup final? Instead, potential bidders are faced with the kind of detritus that can pile up in many a suburban garage.
Surely it wasn’t the accumulation of a V reg Vauxhall Astra, a Jubilee mug and a petrol-driven chainsaw, the prize lots in this sale, that drove poor Calamity to the bankruptcy court.
If it seems astonishing that a man who trousered more than £20 million in his playing career, who had an extensive portfolio of some seven properties, who signed a lucrative contract to supply punditry to BT Sport when he gave up the game, could go bust, it is worth noting that James is by no means the first big earner to face financial meltdown.
In the United States, the roll call of bankruptcy among once super-rich sportsmen is astonishing.
According to the National Basketball Association, 60 per cent of its membership will be bust within five years of retirement.
American footballers tumble even more spectacularly. A recent report by Sports Illustrated magazine discovered that 78 per cent of players filed for bankruptcy within two years of giving up the game.
James is but the latest example of a strange phenomenon in sport, the one that suggests the most humungous earnings are no protection from economic disaster.
Competitive spending in a dressing room can eat into the most prodigious salary, leaving a player with a lifestyle he cannot possibly fund when he is detached from the hosepipe of cash.
I recall talking to Robbie Savage soon after he had retired, and he said that the most terrifying moment of his life was when he realised that the regular splurge into his bank account had stopped.
Now, for the first time in his professional life, he would be obliged to think before he put his hand in his pocket. Too many of his contemporaries fail to take similar heed.
And when you learn how some American sportsmen dispensed with the eye-melting sums they earned, you can see why they quickly ran out of readies.
While George Best claimed that he had spent 90 per cent of his money on women and alcohol and the rest he squandered, Rod Strickland, the erstwhile San Antonio Spur, cannot even claim that sort of hedonistic investment.
He once handed over $4 million to secure a lifetime supply of grape Kool-Aid. Oddly, he went bust soon after he ceased to earn big money on the basketball court.
James blamed not a liking for fizzy pop for his cash-flow issues but his divorce. This is somewhat disingenuous. True, he paid his ex-wife Tanya £3 million when they split. But that was in 2005. He played in the World Cup in 2010, so had at least another five years at the top to regroup financially.
It can hardly be his ex’s fault that this summer he was obliged to come out of retirement for a payday in the fledgling Indian Premier League.
Now he has signed a short-term contract as player-manager with the Kerala Blasters, while in the Indian resort zone he would do well to stock up on embroidered throws, coconut beach mats and fancy sarongs.
Always useful clobber if he again needs to raise some readies in his local car boot sale.
0 comments:
Post a Comment