Not all pro athletes are created equal. Obviously, there is a big difference between, say, a Michael Jordan and, say, a Jack Haley. Jordan was a god. Haley was a towel boy who got to wear warm-up pants. As a pro athlete, you’re going to fit into a certain archetype, a Shakespearean stock character, if you will. Jeff Garcia will be playing the part of Desdemona. For the rest of you, you’re going to fit into one of the following categories.
SUPERSTAR. You are the absolute best among your peers. Not only are you an all-star, but you are better than your fellow all-stars, which makes you the best of the best of the best. This concept is even more mind-blowing after you’ve taken in seven bong hits. You are the rare breed of athlete that transcends your chosen sport, attracting casual fans both domestically and in important, developing foreign markets like China, India, and soon-to-be-independent-if-I-get-my-way Alsace-Lorraine. You are an icon. In fact, there’s a very good chance that you are so well known that die-hard fans of your sport now resent your omnipotence and have grown to loathe your visage whenever they encounter it, which is all the time. You are a lock to make your sport’s Hall of Fame one day, especially considering that losers like Warren Moon are already in there. Fans mob you. Commercial sponsors adore you. Refs protect you as if you were made of very fine porcelain. Groupies regularly scour your dumpster in search of freshly used condoms.
ALL-STAR. You excel among your peers and are well established enough that casual idiot fans will punch your name on the all-star ballot year after year because they’ve heard of you. You are considered an exceptional player, but you are not an ambassador for your sport the way superstars are. This is a good thing, because being an ambassador for your sport can be a real pain in the ass. Fans (especially children) will mistake you for some other all-star. Commercial sponsors like you. Refs may forgive the occasional eye gouge. Groupies will still allow anal.
SOLID PLAYER. You are a hardworking athlete who can make the occasional great play, but you lack the talent and the consistency to excel against players of an all-star level or higher. Try as you might, you have reached a plateau from which you can rise no higher. God, that is so depressing. You work all this time to get where you are, yet you’ll never be as good as the very best. Look at that LeBron James, driving past you like it’s nothing. He makes it look so easy. Christ, how you loathe him. If only there were a way to lure him into an abandoned parking garage, where you could stealthily mow him down with your Honda Accord, or with gunfire, or with both. Commercial sponsors ignore you. Refs ignore you. Thank God for groupies. They’re the only people with low enough standards to accept you and your lesser skills.
JOURNEYMAN. You are good, but you aren’t good enough to keep your current team from trading you to some other team that has been unwisely suckered into dealing for you. You have been passed from team to team like a bad wedding reception canapé everyone is willing to try but unwilling to finish. But your experience bouncing (or, in some cases, shuttling) around the league has become a valuable asset in its own right. You know the ins and outs of at least eight other teams, and that knowledge could prove valuable to your new team. It never does, but it could.
You also have a familiarity with many of the cities on the pro circuit. Other players may rely on you out on the road to know the whereabouts of good restaurants, hot clubs, or the phone numbers of various local Polish escort services. Journeymen are also called “grizzled veterans.” But journeyman is a much cooler moniker. It makes you sound like some kind of nomadic vigilante who only plays by his own rules. You should carry a guitar around with you wherever you go, just for the romance of it. Fans think you still play for the other team. Refs respect you. Journeywoman groupies worship you. I suggest avoiding them. Lotta tread on those tires.
JUST ANOTHER GUY (JAG) . Not to be confused with the Judge Advocate General acronym of the TV show JAG, starring the rakishly handsome David James Elliot and the fantastically bejugged Catherine Bell, JAG is shorthand for Just Another Guy. This means that you are eminently disposable. There are plenty of other players out there who play the game as well as you do, but you had the good fortune of being nearby. Nice work.