NFL Labor = war and peace - Ingles

The recently ratified N.F.L. collective bargaining agreement has all the makings of a literary masterpiece. It is much talked about, unquestionably important, somewhat controversial, epic in scope and thematically complex. And only the tiniest percentage of the population will ever read a word of it.

The N.F.L. Players Association made the entire document available just days after its ratification on Aug. 4. At 300 pages, the agreement is about 50 percent longer than Kurt Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse-Five,” though not quite as ironic. The dense legal document legislates every aspect of the professional football business you can imagine, and several you cannot. Its publication allows fans a glimpse at the league’s inner workings while letting player representatives discover for the first time exactly what they agreed to a few weeks ago.

This synopsis comes from a close reading of the entire document and was written to make you more informed about the agreement than most players, all talk-radio hosts and some team owners in the N.F.C. West.

LEGAL THROAT CLEARING The agreement begins with friendly full-color logos of the N.F.L. and the Players Association, which were put there to thwart the N.B.A.’s efforts to just copy and paste the whole thing, and pass it off as its own work. A 13-page table of contents lets readers know exactly what they are in for: 70 articles, 434 sections and 15 appendices.

After the exhausting table of contents comes a preamble, which is only fitting for a document that promises 10 years of domestic tranquility. Unfortunately, the framers of the C.B.A. lack the poetic flair of our Founding Fathers. It opens, “This Agreement, which is the product of bona fide, arm’s length collective bargaining, is made and entered into as of the 4th day of August, 2011 in accordance with the provisions of the National Labor Relations Act.” It’s not the stuff of Schoolhouse Rock, though it is good to know that everyone remained at arm’s length. The agreement does adhere to the Colonial-era habit of Capitalizing specifically defined Words in a way that ultimately Weakens their Effect.

There are four pages of definitions, for everything from “Guaranteed League-Wide Cash Spending” to “NFL” which is defined as the National Football League. The definition for Guaranteed League-Wide Cash Spending states that it is the amount of cash-spending guaranteed as a percentage of the salary cap as set forth in Article 12. In other words, it is more of a tease than a definition.

The most important articles in the agreement have subsections nestled within subsections. A whopper like Article 12, “Revenue Accounting and Calculation of the Salary Cap,” has a Section 1: All Revenues, which is further subdivided into subsection (a), then (i), then (1), which contains a list that begins with Item A. Anyone who does not understand the format can consult Article 7(3)(q)(ix)(12.5)(B)(omicron)(purple)(:>().

ALL NUMBERS GREAT AND SMALL Anyone who has ever settled a mortgage will recognize the collective bargaining agreement’s impenetrable legalese and cavalier attitude toward vast sums of money. A number like $874.5 million — the total rookie compensation pool for the league in 2011 — is introduced with oh-by-the-way nonchalance in Article 7, Section 2, Subsection a.

Unhelpful mathematical examples involving vast sums of money abound, making the document read like Richie Rich’s algebra textbook. By way of example: “If a player drafted in the second round signs a four-year contract with a $400,000 signing bonus, a $500,000 Paragraph 4 Salary, and no performance incentives in his first season, the player’s Year-One Rookie Salary will equal $600,000.” The breakthrough in the negotiations may have occurred when both sides agreed that four plus five equals six.

Just because hundreds of millions of dollars are being tossed around, do not think that either side neglected to count the chump change. Players receive meal allowances during travel days of $19 per day for breakfast, $29 for lunch and $47 for dinner. Those figures will go up by $3 each by 2013; the operator of the Ruby Tuesday near the airport can adjust its prices accordingly. It is encouraging to learn that the rookie who thought he lost $300,000 in the last example (don’t worry; it was just prorated away) can try to make it back by eating Rice Krispies on the road and pocketing $18.50 per bowlful.

A player who is traded or signs with a new team during the year receives moving compensation: two months’ rent or mortgage payments (not to exceed $6,300, so Manhattan is out of the question), reimbursement for seven days at a hotel of the team’s choice, and either round-trip airfare for his wife or the cash equivalent if she chooses to cross the country by Conestoga wagon instead. Note that the team chooses the hotel, so frugal franchises can choose to pay only for the Blotchy Mattress Motor Lodge, which explains why the wives might want a round-trip ticket for what sounds like a permanent relocation.

The cost-cutting extremes allowed by the C.B.A. can be depressing at times: “Practice Squad players on a Club that wins the Super Bowl at the time of the Super Bowl will be entitled to a ring similar in appearance to the one provided to players on the Active/Inactive List but the Club, in its sole discretion, may provide any Practice Squad player with a ring of lesser value.” And once Mr. Practice Squad gets the caramel-popcorn stickiness off the ring, he can use its decoder function to figure out Guaranteed League-Wide Cash Spending.

APPENDICITIS The appendixes to the C.B.A. hide a wealth of entertainment value. Appendix A is an entire standard player contract. Print it out, fill in the blanks and you have the perfect 40th birthday present for a buddy: his own contract with his favorite team for $500,000, plus a $400,000 signing bonus to make $600,000. For authenticity, make six copies according to the instructions on page 281: white for the league, yellow for the player, green for the team, blue for the management council, gold for the union and pink for the agent, who needs a dash of cheer in his otherwise soulless existence.

On the flip side, Appendix H contains an official notice of termination: perfect for the buddy who skimps on his share of the bar tab, or for settling disputes with unreasonable Little League parents. All you have to do is check off one of the five reasons for termination: poor physical condition, failure to disclose injuries, unsatisfactory performance, inappropriate personal conduct, or because “you are anticipated to make less of a contribution to the Club’s ability to compete on the playing field than another player or players.”

Check them all off, and the document becomes the most convenient breakup tool ever invented. (source New York Times)