Prem stars earn their millions - unlike their chief executives
Robbie Savage, when he's fit enough, currently plays for Derby, a team doomed for demotion. He got a bollocking a week or so ago for turning up to training in his brand new £160,000 Mercedes. There was also some flash git at Sunderland, whose name I didn't recognise, who appeared in his new Bentley. Or similar. The managers were not best pleased, nor the lowly paid ground staff, nor the tabloids, which piled in, clucking away: disgusting, spoiled millionaire footballers, obscene wages, blah-blah.
I remember ten years ago going to see Dwight Yorke for the first time, in his lovely Cheshire mansion. I knew he was in because I could see one of his cars, but he kept me waiting for ages at his security gates. He was busy with a young blonde in his bedroom. I saw her coming down the stairs, and I knew where she'd been because Dwight told me himself. She was an interior designer, he said, measuring up for some new curtains.
I was, in fact, more interested in the cars - three of them, all expensive, top of the range. Why did he need so many, when he was a single bloke, living on his own? His Ferrari, so he explained, was for when it was sunny or he was going somewhere exciting. For a business meeting, he used the Mercedes. In bad weather, he'd take his Range Rover. It all made sense to him, and he felt no need to apologise. "I've worked hard to be able to afford them. It pleases me to have them. I don't live my life to please other people." I'm sure Robbie Savage would say the same, if not quite so eloquently.
Footballers have loved cars ever since they had a few bob. In the 1970s, the first team at Spurs, who were then on £200 a week, living in £20,000 mock-Tudor houses on new estates, rated each other by their motors. The established players had a Jaguar (Martin Peters, Pat Jennings, Alan Gilzean) or an MGB sports car for the younger stars (Joe Kinnear).
One of the endearing things about Wayne Rooney, when I visited him, was that despite having his own line-up of the latest flash cars outside his impressive front door, he hardly seemed impressed by them, or himself for having them. He didn't appear much bothered by cars, no more than he seemed interested in having the latest designer clothes.
I don't feel much bothered, either, about modern Prem stars having all this money. Obviously it's dopey and a complete waste to spend so much on cars, but it's usually only a week's wages. If they were sensible they would be buying houses, but of course, at 22, they are not sensible.
I believe they deserve their wages - in economic terms - far more than the chairmen or chief executives of their clubs, who are paying themselves millions these days. Prem players are at the tip of a vast industry that turns over billions. It's a short life, and dangerous, as Eduardo has found out. Northern Rock or Railtrack directors, or City slickers with their monster bonuses, rarely deserve their millions. A bonus system that can reward failure or encourage the reckless use of other people's money purely to earn a bonus, leaving chaos behind, is much more obscene.
Around half of what a top footballer earns is, in fact, based on his bonuses - for appearing, winning, his club's place in the league, the number of shirts with his name on sold in the club shop. It's a properly earned, honest bonus, which players receive only if they successfully and clearly perform. Otherwise, they don't get it. As Robbie Savage will no doubt find out next season .
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