If there's one congressional faction unfazed by Washington's frequent
calls for bipartisanship, it's the
jock caucus. That's because it's all Republican. Olympic miler Jim
Ryun and gridiron stars Steve
Largent and J.C. Watts are in the House. Ben Nighthorse Campbell, who
competed in judo in the
1964 Olympics, and Hall of Fame pitcher Jim Bunning are in the Senate.
In last fall's election, the
GOP picked up a coach, Nebraska Rep. Tom Osborne, and an owner, President
George W. Bush.
Republicans aren't throwing a shutout just in Washington. They have
far more prospects in their farm
system of state and local offices, and they have a number of athletes
ready to be drafted: Former San
Francisco 49ers teammates Steve Young and Brent Jones are considering
future runs as GOP
candidates in California. John Elway may scramble for Congress in Colorado.
Karl Malone, who
doubles as a spokesman for the National Rifle Association, is talking
about the Utah governorship.
Charles Barkley keeps threatening to run for office in Alabama, and
Portland Trailblazer Greg
Anthony is mulling a political career in the New York area.
It wasn't always this way. A decade ago, led by hoopsters Bill Bradley
and Tom McMillen (a former
Maryland congressman), the Democrats fielded a competitive lineup of
jock politicians. But these
days they have just former NFL linebacker Pat Swilling, who is a member
of the Louisiana House of
Representatives, and Alan Page, a Hall of Fame defensive lineman with
the Minnesota Vikings, who
sits on the Minnesota Supreme Court. Here's why Republicans are running
up the score:
It's about the money. When Charles Barkley's grandmother asked him why
he was joining the
"party of the rich," Barkley replied, "Grandma, we are rich." That
first hefty paycheck can sway an
athlete to the right. "You cannot underestimate the tax issue," says
sports agent Leigh Steinberg, who
is active in Democratic politics but has a mostly Republican clientele.
"Withholding is a wake-up call
for them to what government actually costs."
But the proliferation of Republican athletes goes beyond tax brackets.
Many black athletes see their
financial success purely as a product of their athletic abilities,
Greg Anthony says. And that distances
them from traditional (read: Democratic) government solutions that
haven't worked for other
members of their community.
A different union label. Union leadership is usually a training ground
for Democratic politics. But
not sports union leadership. Jack Kemp and Mike Kenn, a Republican
county commissioner in
Georgia, both served as president of the National Football League Players
Association. Kenn notes
that the players unions, particularly in football, are really partners
with the owners. In fact, the usual
positions are flipped. The owners are part of a government-protected
cartel, while the players are
independent contractors. "An athlete is a small business owner whose
product is yourself," Brent
Jones says.
Perhaps it's not surprising that a profession that puts a premium on
unbridled competition and
pay-for-performance accountability would trend Republican. "We're assessed
daily by our coaches,
in the newspaper, and by the fans," says Scott Gragg, a San Francisco
49ers offensive lineman who
expects to one day run for office in his native Montana. "If we're
not doing the job, we're gone."
"I'd like to thank God." Gragg is an evangelical Christian, a group
that's becoming as much a part
of professional sports as it is a part of the GOP. Reps. Largent, Ryun,
and Watts, Missouri State
Sen. Bill Kenney (a former Kansas City Chiefs quarterback), and Olympic
swimmer Josh Davis,
another future politico, have all been involved with socially conservative
groups such as the
Fellowship of Christian Athletes and Athletes in Action. There's even
an evangelical ministry called
Champions for Christ that provides agents for players like Mark Brunell
and Tony Boselli, who return
10 percent of their paychecks to the ministry. These groups have become
a direct pipeline to the
GOP, and the community service and public speaking these groups encourage
end up being excellent
training for the political game.
Geography is political destiny. For the past half-century, pro sports
have advanced steadily into
the Sunbelt. New or relocated franchises have been placed in Arizona,
Texas, Tennessee, Georgia,
and North Carolina. As a result, more and more athletes spend a good
deal of their time in warmer,
and generally more conservative, climes.
Athletic migration to the United States has a similar effect. Locker
rooms are filling with international
athletes who escaped socialist or Communist regimes and have a newfound
appreciation for
American conservatism. "The Democrats are for big government," explains
Carolina Hurricanes
goalie Arturs Irbe, who hails from Latvia. "I experienced that, and
I didn't like it."
It's a man thing. Currently, the only top woman athlete in high elective
office (Montana Gov. Judy
Martz, who was a speed skater in the 1964 Winter Olympics) is a Republican.
But female jocks,
many of whom benefited from Title IX, figure to have a more positive
view of government. They may
prove to be fertile ground for Democrats. One athlete who could throw
her sports bra into the
political ring is U.S. soccer team captain Julie Foudy, nicknamed "The
President" by her teammates.
But as with African-American athletes, the Democrats can't take female
jocks for granted. After her
2000 U.S. Open victory, Venus Williams used a congratulatory phone
call from President Clinton to
gripe about the taxes on her prize money.
The bad news for Democrats is that Bush may be solidifying a jock politician
majority for decades to
come. The president has already had 20 sports-related events at the
White House. Before throwing
out the first ball at Milwaukee's Miller Park, Bush pitched Cincinnati
Reds star Sean Casey on a
political career. It's even possible that some future player-turned-candidate
will use video of youthful
exploits on the White House tee-ball field as Clinton used his Boys
Nation handshake with JFK: a
harbinger of great political things to come.