If I could explain which athletes people like the most and why—exactly why—I could let some sports management agencies in on the secret and help athletes manage and manipulate their images. Once I hone what I will call my likability algorithm,\ I could tell athletes what to do and say—more thoroughly than they are instructed now—and as a result they could collect sponsorships with the same regularity that I would then (for my innovation and great wealth) be appearing on the cover of ""Forbes.""
Alas, it's not like I have the time right now, either. My schedule (and daily—hell, hourly—quota for wasted time) often puts the kibosh on answering life's mysteries. So if you want to know what the average person in this country will and will not tolerate from their athletes, you've come to the wrong place. Don't hold your breath. Unless you're Barry Bonds, in which case, please, feel free to hold your breath.
It's ironic—no, convenient—no, I admit, intentionally relevant—that I mention Barry, because what I can do is tell you why I personally like some athletes and dislike others. It won't exactly change the world, but it's a start. By no means is this a simple answer, even though it seems obvious that we will like athletes if they are any good at their sport, giving 110 percent at all times (preferably more) and grateful for the fan support they have received.
Some athletes are born marketable, and some are made. Some athletes are fan-friendly and some couldn't care less. Some athletes win and try without getting the recognition (or gaining the popularity) they deserve, while lovable, relatively indifferent losers sell jerseys and become synonymous with brand names. There are thousands of combinations of athlete characteristics that people would generally identify as contributors to that athlete's reputation and persona.
So why do I encourage Barry to foolishly take my advice and die from insufficient oxygen intake while hoping that Kobe Bryant effortlessly pours in 50 points a game en route to another NBA title? They are both exceptional performers in their respective sports; any continued success could launch them into their respective game's history; they both have reputations of being horrible teammates and inaccessible to fans and media, and they have both cheated on their wives.
Two peas in a pod. And yet I implore Kobe to breathe normally; inhale, exhale, repeat.
Well, let's think. I find Kobe innocent of rape because the charges were dropped, but following O.J.'s ""not guilty"" verdict I still believed him to be just the opposite. Am I considering all the facts in each case?
Kind of. But much more likely—as sad as this is—I was probably more willing to dismiss Kobe because I liked watching him play. Granted, I'm smart enough to realize that somehow O.J. lost the civil case and his conviction may validate my, well, conviction, but I also have to admit that I'm not exactly looking forward to ""Naked Gun 44 1/4th"" because I want to see Nordberg clumsily solve a mystery.
Kobe wins my favor partly because I suspect he was innocent of the crime he was accused of, partly because he was in the prime of his career, but mostly because he seems to be a nice enough guy if you really get to know him. I like that he's human, but most of all, that he seems genuine. Obviously flawed, but genuine.
That's the thing about O.J. He was always considered gregarious, but I think it was all an act. He was a selfish guy who deserted the black community and somehow got its support during his trial (so says the late, great Ralph Wiley) and was on trial for taking someone's life. And it's funny how even without the latter, I'd still despise the guy. Kobe never pretended to like anyone. And he had the same problem with race, but never wanted to run from the black community; he just felt it was disingenuous to represent them without permission since he grew up as the son of a rich former NBA player and spent much of his childhood in Italy and a rich Philadelphia suburb—not in a poorer urban area where basketball was more like the lottery than a game.
As for Barry, fine, steroids weren't against the rules in baseball when he alledgedly took them, but in my opinion he continues to lie about using them. ""Game of Shadows"", by Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams from the San Francisco Chronicle, details Bonds' story according to his ex-girfriend, Kimberly Bell. In the book, Bonds says just as adamantly that he does not care what people think, but all he does now is try to salvage his reputation. He says the media attention on his alleged steroid use is tearing apart his family, but he doesn't seem to realize that his family problems are all his doing. According to the book, Barry managed to cheat on his mistress by marrying his second wife only because she was black, saying he got ""too much shit"" for marrying a white woman the first time, and also arguing that marrying his second wife would work out because it would ensure that his ex-wife would not get sole custody of his kids.
Even if I got to know him, I think it's safe to say I still wouldn't care for his company.
Any time I see a documentary about an athlete, it humanizes them in my eyes. I'm easy. And I have a feeling that's how other people feel about athletes who are already halfway up the steps that lead to a pedestal.
So, if I was in charge of an athlete's career, my advice would sound like something what you'd tell a nervous friend before a first date: just be yourself.
Contact Ben Hubner at bphubner@wisc.edu.\
