The purpose of your union is to represent you, the athlete, during the collective bargaining period. Should your union and the owners fail to reach an agreement, one of two things will happen. One: you will go on strike, which is when players voluntarily stop working (or in this case, playing) to force the owners’ hand. Two: the owners stage a lockout, which is when the owners refuse to pay players or let them play in order to force the union’s hand. This is not to be confused with a lock-in, where you and five friends lock yourself in your dorm room until the keg is kicked. That’s way cooler. The important difference between a strike and a lockout is that a strike is the owners’ fault, and a lockout is even more their fault.
Your team, along with every other, has a player representative designated to act as a liaison between you and the union. This is not a paying gig, unless you count the tens of thousands of dollars he gets from illegally skimming the union’s pension fund. Should a strike or lockout occur, he will talk to you from time to time to give you updates and answer any questions. Here is a sample conversation you two may have.
You: When can we start playing again?
Your Rep: Our hope is to get you back out on the field as soon as humanly possible. But I’m afraid that, right now, we’re at an impasse.
You: But how am I supposed to feed my family, especially my morbidly obese son?
Your Rep: -It’ll be tough, but we all need to dig in and get ready for a long holdout. I hope you’ve saved up some of your money.
You: You’re shitting me, right?
Your Rep: (laughs) Yes, of course. We have an emergency fund set up to pay each of you during the strike. You’ll get $10,000 a year.
You: What if they get replacement players?
Your Rep: Ha! No fan’s gonna accept replacement players. Do you really think Americans will accept a substitute Michael Olowokandi? Don’t be a fool.
You: How did this impasse come to be?
Your Rep: We made an offer to the owners, and they countered with an offer that was unacceptable. So talks broke off.
You: But what was unacceptable about the offer? Can I see it?
Your Rep: No. Mind your own goddamn business.
You: But what if the owners never make a suitable counteroffer?
Your Rep: -Don’t worry. They will. How long can a billionaire hold out while one of his many tertiary income streams runs dry? Those fuckers are bound to crack.
You: Are we gonna march?
Your Rep: What is this, Norma Rae? Hell no, we aren’t marching. Marching requires physical exertion, which is just like working. The whole point of a strike is to not work. Know who likes marching? Nazis.
You: I’m not sure I can take this. What if I (gulp) cross the picket line?
Your Rep: Well, that depends. Do you like having your cleats shat in?
You: No.
Your Rep: Do you like your wife receiving threatening phone calls in the dead of night?
You: No.
Your Rep: Do you like being regularly assaulted with a tomahawk?
You: No.
Your Rep: Then you won’t be crossing the picket line, now, will you?
You: No, sir.
Your Rep: Or whining like a little bitch to the media?
You: No, sir.
Your Rep: Listen. As I said, we’re doing everything in our power to get you back on the field. We plan to meet with the owners again next month for another round of negotiations.
You: But why next month? Why not now?
Your Rep: Because shut the fuck up, that’s why.
As you can see, your union provides an invaluable service during the stressful moments that come with labor strife. Rest assured, they will fight tooth and nail to win an agreement that will, in no way, be noticeably different from the previous deal to anyone except those who negotiated it. If you are a bottom-tier player who lost a precious chance to earn whatever income you could during your limited window of opportunity to play at this level, you may not feel like you won much of anything. But trust me: you did. You totally won. That sense of victory should help you ease into your new job at the toothpaste factory.
“This is such bullshit!” Why you got suspended / benched.
All head coaches have a doghouse to which they banish players who have greatly displeased them. You might think a coach’s doghouse is some kind of metaphor, but it is not. Your coach has a real doghouse, complete with a clear, thick plastic flap and a food dish filled halfway with a flavorless mixture of ground beef and rice. This doghouse is located right behind the team complex next to the grease-recycling dumpster. Here’s an artist’s rendering:
Once banished to the doghouse, you must sleep there until your coach unlocks the gate and drags you out by the scruff of your neck. If you bark, your coach will kick you and talk to the owner about having you put down. It’s not a fun place to be. While you are there, you will have been officially benched or suspended for “conduct detrimental to the team.”