Drive (Chapter 2 Blog)

     The authors of "Drive" have nailed their theory: Large financial incentives offered to complete a task tend to have little or no effect on productivity -- except for those times when productvity is drastically cut.
     Counterintuitive as it sounds, I have seen first-hand such social mechanics in work during the years I spent covering professional sports as a reporter and editor. Which athletes were the ones most likely to give the greatest effort? Who were the ones most likely to care about winning?

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     The ones who were paid the least.
     OK, so that is a little bit of a generalization, but not much of one. I spent more time in stinky locker rooms talking to filthy-rich athletes than I care to remember. Time and time again, the more the athlete was paid, the less effort they made. Don't get me wrong -- they were still superior athletes who remained stars of their respective sports, but the effort levels went way, way down.
     Here is the scale:
     1. Recreational, high school: Work their tails off. Their only reward is victory and possible titles.
     2. College: Athletes on partial scholarships try less than those who are walk-ons. Athletes on four-year full rides are lazy and expect to have grades handed to them. Athletes who get goodies from boosters in addition to their scholarships? Coaches are lucky if they show up at all the practices.
    3. Pro: Kiss the effort goodbye, particularly in the NBA and and NFL. MLB still has some exceptions to the rule, but that is primarily a function of spending so many years in the minor leagues, where an athlete is lucky to get a hot dog before getting on the bus to the next game. NBA and NFL players go straight to the pros -- some of them straight out of high school -- and have no real grasp of what it takes to get along in the real world.

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    What was once joy has now become drudgery. Money has no meaning when even the lowest paid of the players has far more wealth as a 23-year-old than most families will ever earn in a lifetime. I don't really blame them, though. Where is the incentive to go play harder, to go out and sacrifice your body, when you have enough money already in the bank to keep you financially solvent the rest of your life? Why should an athlete risk getting critically injured?
    The only thing that keeps some players is going is the thrill of the spotlight -- what I call the "Ocho-Cinco Factor." Chad Johnson has no financial reason whatsoever to be a success in football anymore. That's why I think he has sort of mailed in his on-field performances the past few years, and another turned to being a media star riding bulls and showing up on Dancing With the Stars. All intrinsic and extrinsic vales associated with playing football has gone away for Ocho-Cinco, someone who I admit has far going on for him than just being an athlete. Quite simply, he's bored with football now that he is near the top of the payscale. He used to be creative in his post-TD celebrations, but even that has paled as the years of million-dollar paychecks have mounted.
     Since the carrot of additional pay no longer works with most athletes, how about the stick of punishment -- fines or loss of playing time? Are you kidding? Fines of $10,000 are meaningless when you literally earn that much just for showing up and strapping on your shoes. A loss of playing time means you just have more time to play with your rich-boy toys. "What do I care if I don't play? I don't get paid by the game -- I'm on salary."
    I admit that I would probably be the same if I were put in the cleats of these athletes. What incentives would I have to become a better teacher if I were paid $400K a year? (Though I'd be happy to give it a go if you know somewhere paying that much!) Five years at that salary -- even three years -- and I would be pretty much set for life. Principal nagging me? Parents yelling at me? Students annoying me? What incentive could you give me to stay if I already had a bankroll stashed away?
    Now offer me the challenge of making Johnny read -- in lieu of any extra pay.
    My pocketbook may be pained, but that's all the carrot that I need.