My Brother's Keeper: Above and Beyond "The Dotted Line" With the NFL's Most Ethical Agent

by Euguene Lee

Overview

When it comes to professional team sports in America, the NFL is king. And where there are NFL players there are NFL agents. Sports agents have been labeled as vultures for their willingness to resort to slimy, underhanded tactics to recruit clients and make deals. Enter NFL agent Eugene Lee, whose ethics are beyond reproach.

In My Brother's Keeper, we'll meet players in various stages of their NFL career—from college, to the pros, to life after the game. Eugene takes us into the homes of potential clients, the locker rooms of current clients, and anywhere else an agent must go to keep the dreams of players alive.

Above all, we'll get insight into why Eugene has chosen to walk a path of righteousness, conducting business with the same integrity and faith by which he lives.

Some say he's a true “Jerry Maguire,” but Eugene Lee is an original, a one-of-a-kind personality whose life is just as exciting as the games played by his clients.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781944109011
Publisher:	Vesuvian Books
Publication date:	10/01/2015
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	215
File size:	439 KB

About the Author

Eugene T. Lee, Esq. is a certified NFL agent and president of MBK Sports Management Group, LLC. When Academy Award nominee Morgan Spurlock was hired to direct an ESPN documentary (“The Dotted Line”) on the inside world of sports agents, he chose Lee as the NFL agent to be featured. Lee is making a name for himself as a premier NFL agent, and in the words of Spurlock, many expect him to be the next “powerhouse” agent . . . but one who is committed to doing it the right way. As a frequent guest on Fox Business, CNN, and Bloomberg, Lee is widely recognized and respected as an industry expert on NFL player contracts, the salary cap, the collective bargaining agreement, and athlete branding. Lee has spoken at law schools nationwide, including Harvard and Notre Dame, and has published numerous op-eds in national and international publications.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Hall of Fame Roots

"Blood is thicker than water."

~ Peter W. Lee

Thanks to movies like Jerry Maguire and Million Dollar Arm and shows like Arli$$ player representation is seen by many as, well, sexy. At a cocktail party, when you tell people you're a sports agent, they naturally want to hear more about it. In reality, player representation is somewhere on the continuum between sexy and the scene in Jerry Maguire where Jerry tells Rod, in a moment of exasperated candor, "It's a pride-swallowing siege which I will never fully tell you about."

It is, in reality, car rental counters and Holiday Inns, more than it is limousines and The Four Seasons. It is profit and loss. It is explaining to your wife why you need to rent a car and drive to Akron through a monsoon in order to be with a prospect you may not even sign. It is taking care of the lives and finances and dreams of young people, while also trying to make a living. It is the continuous (and tenuous) management of your own dreams. It is the audacious belief that you can do something unique and lasting, even though all of the signs point elsewhere.

Destiny. Fate. Kismet. Call it what you will, but growing up in the shadow of the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, OH the stars must've been aligned in the shape of a one-hundred-yard gridiron pointing both west to Notre Dame and east to New York City. It must've been cosmic force that prompted me to leave the security of a cushy job at a top NYC law firm to pursue a career in one of, if not THE, most cutthroat industry in the world — the business of NFL player representation. However, as I've come to realize over the past few years, my path was already chosen for me.

Confidence was instilled and ingrained in me by my parents at a very young age. My parents were wonderful, loving role models who taught my brother and me — through their own tireless example — about discipline, drive, perseverance, sacrifice and selfless love. About going above and beyond in every instance to do whatever it takes to finish the job to the best of your ability. If I ever brought home a B+ on my report card in grade school, my Dad would calmly tell me "if this were your best, we would be happy with it, but we both know, it is not your best" ... and I knew that to be true as well.

My parents taught me to never sell myself short in any endeavor — no matter how big or small — to expect and deliver only the absolute best I had to give. To live relentless and leave nothing on the table. I learned early on, the defining mantra of my life — that you reap what you sow. This principle manifested itself in my drive to become one of the best, if not the best, basketball player in the junior high parochial league. I spent countless hours under the scorching summer sun shooting baskets at the hoop in my parents' driveway and was able to parlay my methodically honed skill set to two championship game appearances for the St. Michael Vikings. From this loving foundation of steadfast support, my brother and I grew to believe that we could achieve anything in this world — that if we dreamed it, it was indeed possible. Whether it was to be a professional quarterback, the first Korean-American point guard in the NBA, or a corporate lawyer spearheading multi-billion dollar mergers and acquisitions, my parents engendered in me the confidence, work ethic and hunger to achieve my dreams.

My early childhood dreams were not on the gridiron, however. They were more of the Paul Simon/Bob Dylan variety. Every time my parents would throw dinner parties at our house, my chutzpah would manifest itself when I would get up in front of the adults and sing and perform with my little toy guitar. To this day, I remember one song in particular (describing the ultimate sadness of saying good-bye to a friend who had come over to play) whose lyrics went something like this: "And I say, Mommy, let him stay, or let her stay, but you say no, just play with toys!" (Heavy metal strumming ensues).

Sometimes, pitching a prospect's family feels a lot like singing before strangers did. It's never easy saying good-bye to a recruit who has decided to go in a different direction; especially when you have invested so much of your time, energy and passion in developing the relationship.

Growing up as a Korean-American boy in Canton, OH in the mid-70s and 80s, I never really had to deal with the scourge of uninformed racism. I credit my parents for a lot of that because I never grew up trying to fit myself into a neat little box whether it was being Korean-American, Catholic, or a Pittsburgh Steelers fan (yes, I grew up rooting for the Black and Gold in Cleveland Browns Country). Instead, I wanted people to know, understand, appreciate and respect me on my own terms, for my own personality, my own qualifications, my own character, and not for the color of my skin. Over the years, I have come to understand that this viewpoint — as espoused by the late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. — is the open-minded, loving ideal for which wars are continually fought and lives are lost ... and yet the same ideal that justifies the ultimate sacrifice given in its pursuit.

Having come to grips with my own defining character traits at a relatively young age, I came to understand that being on the losing side was one place where I did NOT want to be. Whether it was a family Monopoly game or schoolyard football game, my competitive fire raged bright and deep within. I abhorred losing, but it was through these failures that my character was molded to prepare for the success that was about to come.

Having not been chosen for the Canton North Avondale traveling hot stove team in fifth grade (while all of my best friends made the team), I rebounded and stayed locked in all season long in the non-traveling league to help lead our team to the championship game. As the third baseman and closer for our team, I had pitched the day before to seal our victory in the semifinal and came down with a serious (for an eleven-year-old) case of elbow tendonitis the night before the championship game. I vividly remember my dad trying out his home remedy and slathering my arm with Ben Gay with Saran Wrap wrapped around before going to bed that evening. Remarkably, the arm felt decent enough and I was able to play the next day. I knew, in that moment, that my father loved me and that in spite of all that he had going on in his life (which included the application for six US patents related to roller bearing design and function), he truly cared. That is one of my enduring memories of my father and one of the things I have tried to carry with me into my agency — the idea that caring for the athlete must be my primary concern.

We were up 3-2 in the bottom of the ninth and I was brought in to close the game. After striking out the first two batters, I took the third batter to a 3-2 count before walking him. I then proceeded to hit the next batter and walk the subsequent one. With the bases loaded, I forced a weak groundball that dribbled through our first baseman's legs (the pre-Bill Buckner). Two runs scored and we ended up losing the game. I was absolutely devastated and remember collapsing to the mound trying to shield my tears from view. After the sting of defeat wore off, we picked up our trophies and headed out for ice cream — everyone that is, except for me. I ended up going home — not wanting to be around anyone, but wanting only to sit in my room, wallow in my defeat and let it all sink in (which I did for the next few hours).

Without saying a word, my Dad understood and did not force me to go with the team for ice cream. To this day, that meant the world to me. Over the years, I have gotten much better at accepting the inevitable defeats, but the importance of investing and committing every ounce of my body, heart and soul to "climb the mountain" so that there are absolutely no regrets in the pursuit of victory is an invaluable life lesson that I learned through the losses of my childhood and the only solace I could ever find in defeat. And losing still stings. I feel it every time I pour my heart and soul into a prospective client who signs elsewhere. It happens in the business, but has still provided many "dark nights of the soul."

Sports were my passion as a child, but the principles of teamwork and fun also applied to something more nostalgic and old-school such as learning how to build a fire, tie a good knot and do a good deed. So, at the urging of my parents, I joined Cub Scouts (Pack 122) and then matriculated to Boy Scouts (Troop 122) at St. Michael's School.

I absolutely loved Boy Scouts. However, the one memory seared in my mind is that of our troop's summer trip to Massachusetts in 1986. The outlook was bright when we departed on a sunny Saturday morning for Miles Standish State Park. We had a caravan of station wagons, trucks and a small trailer (newly constructed by the elders of Troop 122) to hold all of our camping gear. The 12 hour drive went by rather quickly and we set up camp that evening. It turns out that the uneventful drive out ended up being the highlight of the trip. It poured the entire time we were in Massachusetts — literally 6 out of 7 days — and our tents became so waterlogged that they began to cave in and flood. We ended up sleeping for a majority of the trip in seats of station wagons and trucks. The latrines stank to high heaven and, for whatever reason our troop leaders thought it was a good idea for us to make a day trip to Provincetown on Cape Cod, where many of us experienced firsthand for the first time open "alternative" living. After having slogged through enough rain to sustain an entire season's harvest, we ended up leaving for Ohio on a Saturday evening and it was during our nighttime ride that the tire on our homemade trailer blew on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It was while we were waiting to find a replacement tire at a gas station near Lewisburg, PA that we heard over the radio that two convicts had escaped from the nearby maximum security penitentiary and were considered armed and dangerous. As I peered around and saw the concerned looks on our adult leaders' faces, I found a weird sense of peace in knowing that everything was going to be alright — having hit rock bottom, I knew there was no place to go but up. Luckily, we made it home without incident early the next morning. Having raised two Eagle Scouts meant the world to my father and we had the privilege of placing our Eagle Scout pins in his casket when he passed in 2001.

I realize now that my brother and I were truly blessed to have the parents we had. Parents who would always subordinate themselves and put their kids first in anything, making them the priority, and supporting them in any way that they could — financially, emotionally, intellectually and spiritually. Parents who instilled in us the confidence to know that we could achieve anything we set out to do if we worked hard, believed in ourselves and kept our faith in God. Their unconditional love and selfless sacrifice still inspire and motivate me to this day. Strength comes from God, but inspiration is the appreciation for everything that my mother and father sacrificed to help support us in our dreams.

My Dad and Mom migrated to the United States in the early 1960s. They met in Milwaukee at a Korean Student Association dance while my Dad attended Marquette (while loading trucks for UPS at night) and my Mom attended the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. At the time, I had no idea the sacrifice my dad was making for us. I knew he was brilliant, and worked with his mind ... but now it means the world to me that he would leave home in the middle of the night to go and grind away with his body. I hope and pray that I have inherited even a fraction of his work ethic.

After a brief courtship, my Dad and Mom decided to get married and sent out their engagement notices on April 1, 1967. Having no knowledge of April Fool's Day, Dad and Mom had no idea why so many of their friends kept calling to ask them if the engagement was a joke!

Mom was and still is a superwoman. After my brother entered school, Mom went back to work at the US Post Office in Akron, OH. She worked nights which meant that her workweek consisted of getting home at 7:15a.m., cooking a quick breakfast for my Dad, me and my brother and then seeing us off to work and school. Mom would then take a nap until noon, clean the house and do laundry and welcome us home from school with an after school snack. She would end her marathon day by cooking dinner for my Dad, me and my brother and then taking another nap from 7:00p.m. to 9:00p.m. before rising to leave for the post office at 9:45p.m. Mom did this every night for 15 years and not once did I ever hear her complain. The sacrifice she made for her boys and husband left an indelible mark on my soul and heart

Mom would always say "When you work, work hard. When you play, play hard," and she lived this aphorism with a vibrant sense of humor and thirst for life. As an agent, it's often hard to leave work at the office, as you are often on call 24/7 for clients. But a healthy balance and perspective is beneficial not only for me, but for my clients. Our culture makes an idol of football, and while we work as hard as we can, we don't want to do the same.

In addition to the "unique" sense of humor and joie de vivre that Mom has imparted to me, I have learned from her own poignant example the importance of persevering and moving forward through the inevitable obstacles, setbacks and hardships of life. One of the hardest feelings and moments of my life was on the Monday morning when my mom left after visiting me in NYC for her birthday one month after my dad died. As she waved good-bye and got into a taxi headed for LaGuardia, I could see she was crying a little bit. I knew she had to go back to Ohio to face the harsh reality that she was by herself now. It just tore at my heart. But, Mom is a trooper, a complete trooper. And from the vibrant way she has lived her life in the fourteen years since my father passed, I know that the show must go on.

Dad was the best man I have ever known. He was a brilliant man — with a PhD in metallurgical engineering and 6 US patents and 2 European patents to his name — with an off-the-charts work ethic who lived his life selflessly for his family and others. Dad earned a bachelor's degree in mechanical engineering from Seoul National University — South Korea's version of Harvard — but, since his overseas degree was not honored in the United States, he ended up earning another bachelor's degree at Marquette University before going on to earn his master's and PhD at Drexel University. Yet, despite his brilliance, Dad never brought work home. He was simply Dad. He lived for his kids and wife and immersed himself into our lives and activities. Dad didn't know how to swim, yet he taught us how to do so through private lessons. He didn't know how to ride a bike, yet he taught my brother and me how to ride our Schwinns as soon as we entered kindergarten. Dad never went on a campout, yet he became an assistant scoutmaster and was instrumental in supporting my brother and me in our journey to the rank of Eagle Scout. Dad never played baseball, yet he was our assistant little league baseball coach and spent countless hours catching for me in the backyard in my days as a young Goose Gossage.

What I admired most about Dad was his innate humility and never-ending journey toward personal and spiritual growth — a journey that did not end until he took his last breath on this Earth. Coming from an educated family in South Korea (where my grandfather was a high-ranking politician), Dad was raised in a caste system that celebrated education and socioeconomic rank and looked down upon those who earned their living through manual labor and industrial trades. When he migrated to the United States in the early 1960s, he brought with him that very same mindset that was ingrained in him from his youth. However, over the years, as he grew to know and respect stellar men and women from all different walks of life, Dad had the open-mindedness and courage to reevaluate, question and ultimately refute the flawed cultural ideology that was programmed in him from so long ago. He learned to appreciate and love people based on their character alone.

That is a lesson often directly at odds with the prevailing culture in professional sports — where seeing people as dollar signs, and using them accordingly is commonplace. Without my dad's example, I'm not sure I could survive this business with my integrity intact.

Dad's calling hours only served to reinforce this truth. The calling hours took place in blizzard-like conditions on a Monday evening in early March. Seeing dear friends who loved my father — from all different walks of life and educational and socioeconomic backgrounds — moved me to tears. You had janitors and medical doctors, whites, blacks and Asians, young and old alike who had braved the hazardous conditions to pay their respects to my Dad. I remember a big, burly physical therapist who had worked with my Dad a year before during rehab from a mild stroke crying to me while saying "I learned more from your father in one month than I could've ever taught him." My Dad's dear friend Jack Harrison was there as well. Jack Harrison was an ex-Navy veteran who was the scoutmaster for our Cub Scout pack. My Dad met Jack when I had first signed up for Cub Scouts more than twenty years ago, and from there, an unexpected friendship developed. Jack never met a curse word he didn't like (fitting for a sailor) while my Dad hardly ever cursed (I never heard him ever drop the F bomb and only once or twice heard him say BS). Jack was blue-collar through and through while my Dad was a brilliant intellectual who had more years of academia than any man I had ever known. Yet at their core, they were great men — and through it all, their friendship endured and deepened over the years; to the point where I saw Jack Harrison bawling like a baby at my Dad's calling hours saying to me repeatedly "Your Dad was my best friend." Seeing this type of love and brotherhood left a profound impact on my soul. You judge a man by character and character alone. There is no status based on wealth, fame or education in the eyes of God.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "My Brother's Keeper"
by .
Copyright © 2015 Eugene Lee.
Excerpted by permission of Vesuvian Books.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Foreword,
I Am My Brother's Keeper,
Hall of Fame Roots,
Going Pro,
Playing the Game,
The Road Warrior,
A Line in the Sand,
My Brother's Keeper,
Growing Pains,
Never Say Die,
The Dotted Line,
Pay it Forward,
Timshel,
Epilogue,
Acknowledgments,