Dressed for Success: local boys hit the big time in sports management
Published December 17, 2001
The Daily Reflector
No one calls Bill Johnson dad, although he has more kids than a billy goat.
"About 35 of 'em," he jokes.
They live in the Midwest plains, the harbors of San Francisco and Seattle and in industrial cities like Pittsburgh and Detroit. They dwell in the land of sunshine, in the blue-collar burgs of Buffalo and Philadelphia and across the frontier, where the cowboys still wear silver stars.
They graze on Sundays, trekking across grass and turf, dining on competition, at home inside rectangular boxes.
Johnson, a psuedo-pop of sorts, is almost always near. The Greenville native is just an after-game visit or a cell phone chirp away.
As a player representative to his NFL clients, Johnson's duties require him to be accessible. At times his position demands a mentor's guidance, the tact of a diplomat, a friend's acceptance, a guardian's spirit, the trust of a confidant and the patience and discipline of a father.
The roles change daily, sometimes hourly for Johnson and Pat Dye Jr., his partner at ProFiles, their Atlanta-based sports management firm.
"The first thing everybody says is, 'Oh, "Jerry Maguire,"' Johnson explains. "They want to know if it's like the movie, and Pat's comeback has always been, 'It's like the movie, but you don't fall in love with your secretary.'"
In actuality, Johnson wouldn't have time to woo his secretary. The clientele keeps him active, and his office lively and loud. By default, the work becomes Johnson's pursuit and his ubiquitous labor of love.
ProFiles nabbed three first-round picks in the 2001 draft, bolstering an impressive stable. Only one agency signed more opening-round choices.
Thirty-one players comprise ProFiles' roster. The list includes 49ers running back Garrison Hearst, Cowboys linebacker Dexter Coakley, former North Carolina standouts Brandon Spoon, Na Brown, Russell Davis, ex-East Carolina Pirate Rod Coleman and a large constituent from the Southeastern Conference.
Training camp signals the start of the professional football season, a lengthy adventure that concludes with the Super Bowl. At the collegiate level, the year wraps up with bowl games. But at ProFiles, the season never begins or ends. It's perpetual.
The firm recruits and signs new players, preparing them for the NFL combine and draft. It looks after its veterans, negotiating their contracts and landing endorsement deals. ProFiles gears it clients for the future, introducing them to financial planners, so they can parlay their gains on the field and in their checkbooks into lifelong security.
The organization even helps their players with big purchases, like cars, finding better deals on Ferraris, Cadillacs, SUVs. "These guys love their automobiles," Johnson says. And sometimes, ProFiles plays the frugal, wise Cupid. "If we have a guy who wants to get married," Johnson says, "we'll go with him to a diamond wholesaler we deal with, so he won't get taken advantage of."
Johnson and Dye are similar to general managers in the most literal sense of the term. They generally do a bit of everything, and they work very hard.
"This business can take its toll on you," Dye says. "But Bill's presence energized me. With his arrival and enthusiasm and fresh blood, it recharged me. He's a rising star in this industry."
Johnson and Dye knew each other as kids. Three years apart in age, they grew up in the Lynndale subdivision of Greenville. Dye's father, Pat Dye Sr., coached football at East Carolina in the mid-to-late 1970s. The partners were raised on sports, both attending games and playing them.
"Like most kids, you'd close your eyes and dream," Johnson remembers. "You'd be out there at Elm Street Little League park and think about being a pro ballplayer."
They graduated from J.H. Rose and went separate ways. Dye attended Auburn, where his father also coached, then moved on to law school at Samford. He made a gamble in '94, leaving his job as a commercial legislator at a prominent Birmingham, Ala., firm to found ProFiles.
Johnson's route to Atlanta involved a detour. He graduated from ECU and landed a job selling computers in the medical field. He wasn't comfortable.
"I'd realized I'd have better luck starting the space shuttle than I would a computer," he says.
He got a break though, receiving a transfer from Raleigh to Orlando, Fla. To entertain clients, Johnson began taking them to Magic games. He leafed through team programs and noticed a few unfamiliar faces and titles, like director of sales and director of marketing.
"That's when I first understood that there were other opportunities outside of playing," he says.
He networked, meeting key personnel. If they didn't know him by the time the game started, they did when the final buzzer sounded. His degree at East Carolina came in communications, and Johnson told them about his background in video and marketing. "Really," he says, "I had no clue."
But he wanted a job in a sports-related field and he coaxed an interview from executives. He got his "dream stepped on." The interviewer asked Johnson why the Magic should hire him, saying, 'We've got 15 men on this basketball team and we've got four sales executives. You're going to have a better chance of making the team than the sales staff.'
Johnson kept after the position and ended up with his chance. He left his computers behind, taking by his estimates a 50 percent pay cut, to join the Magic as a junior sales representative. The move paid off. He became one of the team's top sales and marketing officials in a short time, schmoozing with Magic stars Penny Hardaway and Shaquille O'Neal along the way.
Johnson and Dye hadn't spoken in years, not since Dye left Greenville. But a business trip put Dye in Orlando and the pair back together. They talked about their jobs and new challenges. The first conversation sparked future ones. Soon, Dye asked Johnson to come aboard and help the firm grow. Johnson accepted. He left the Magic three years ago, arriving at ProFiles as vice president with a stake in the company.
"It was an opportunity to own something," Johnson says.
One has the football pedigree, a famous name that makes handshakes and introductions easier. The other is a shrewd marketer who cut his teeth with a pro team, learning as he went. Both possess industrious ethics — working diligently, staying late — which have made the firm a leading one in an industry laced with unscrupulous agents.
Most recently, authorities arrested Tank Black on fraud charges. Any company depends upon snagging promising recruits, but its reputation is built upon doing it the right way. The business is cutthroat. Some agents employ illegal practices, like planting runners on college campuses to court and provide for potential draftees.
"It's unfortunate because there are a handful of very credible agents in this business," Johnson says. "But it's not as well-policed as we'd like to see it."
The competition also is fierce. Organizations battle for top players, lobbying their cause in phone calls and visits. UNC defensive end Julius Peppers, who could be the No. 1 pick in the NFL draft, likely gets 50 calls a night from agents, according to Johnson.
"You can do a great job, but if you don't sign players, you fail," Dye says. "There are no seconds in this business."
The rewards are worth the chase. ProFiles charges a three percent fee from the contracts they broker. Their clients can afford it. ProFiles' track record indicates its players usually sign agreements worth 10 to 15 percent more than their market value.
Case in point: The 49ers' Hearst struggled through most of his first four seasons in the league, suffering through injuries. Hearst went to San Francisco in '97, inking an incentive-laden deal. He achieved most of his bonuses, including $300,000 for scoring a rushing touchdown, earning $1.4 million.
Heart re-upped with the 49ers after the season, signing a deal which made him the highest paid non-Pro Bowl running back in the NFL.
"We will confess to being greedy on behalf of our clients," Johnson says.
Johnson, 36, and Dye, 39, pride themselves in their company's expertise and character. They say they remain committed to integrity and honor. They decide which players to pursue by their personality and temperament without becoming intoxicated by their ability.
They rely on forming personal, strong relationships with their athletes, a philosophy rooted in their Southern upbringing in Greenville.
"Growing up in a small town, it forces you to be more engaging," Dye says.
Adds Johnson: "I feel like I owe 99.9 percent of any kind of success I've had to being raised here."
Their credo makes sense. ProFiles' players come from all kinds of backgrounds. Many grow up poor, going from having nothing to having it all. A signature is required, and voilà, a young man has a multi-million dollar contract.
Sometimes, they don't know what to do with their money. Friends, family and acquaintances push and pull, pleading for favors. Even millionaires need sounding blocks, and Johnson and Dye listen, shepherding them.
"Helping (players) achieve financial security is the most gratifying aspect of my job," Dye says.
Respect seems to be another priority, gaining and maintaining it. ProFiles works with a small roster compared with other major agencies. But as Dye puts it, "Our ego is not tied to being the biggest. It's tied to being the best."
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