Lockerroom Lawyers
by Erik Lundegaard

"I'll tell you something," attorney Jim Smith mentions in mid-interview. "There aren't a lot of people in Seattle that do it."

It, in this case, is sports representation. Smith and his law firm, Smith & Leary, specialize in civil litigation, yet Jim Smith is still one of the first names that come up when people talk of Seattle sports agents. All because, until this year, he represented former Seahawk quarterback Dave Krieg. Smith is almost embarrassed by the attention.

"(KIRO's) Steve Raible did a show about seven or eight years ago, and I ended up being on that," Smith recalls. "That astounded me."

Of the nearly 400 agents certified by the Major League Baseball Players Association (MLBPA), only two work in the Seattle area, and one of these, Joe Macintosh of Garvey, Schubert & Barer, represents just one client, former Washington State University star John Olerud (who recently signed as a free agent with the hometown Seattle Mariners). Macintosh considers it such a piddling part of his practice he didn't want to be interviewed for this story.

Perhaps the most successful agent in town is Keven Davis, also of Garvey, Schubert & Barer, who relies on an eclectic client list (from the current divas of the tennis circuit, Venus and Serena Williams, to comedian Marva "Simply Marvalous" Moncrieffe) in order to thrive. If he lived in New York or L.A. he'd focus on one area of entertainment law—film or sports—but he feels you can't do that in Seattle. "You could," he says, "but you wouldn't make a lot of money."

During his reign as the best-known sports agent in Seattle (1978-1992), Doug Baldwin, of Baldwin & Associates, represented, among others, Kirk Gibson, Dave Henderson, and Bill Gullickson. "As a full-time agent, I sort of had the Seattle territory, or even the Northwest territory, on my own," he says from his current office in Phoenix, Arizona, where he is interim executive director of golf's Tour Players Association.

Which begs the question: If nothing's happening here, why not start a more successful agency in Chicago or New York or Los Angeles? For attorney Tracy Codd, the other Seattle agent certified by the MLBPA, it's a quality-of-life issue. "I love Seattle," he says simply.

Tracy Codd: The Broadway Danny Rose of Seattle When the average fan thinks of sports agents, something slick, fast-talking, and rich comes to mind, but Seattle attorney Tracy Codd seems less Arli$$ and more Broadway Danny Rose. Most of his clients are baseball players on the cusp—those shuttled back and forth between Triple A and major league organizations, or bright prospects deep within a club's often Byzantine minor league system—but he'll still talk them up as if you were the general manager of the New York Yankees.

Ricky Guttormson, a right-handed pitcher with the San Diego Padres organization, is "leading the California league in wins right now." Mercer Island's David Wainhouse, a first-round draft pick in 1988, is back up with the Colorado Rockies and pitched well the night before I spoke with Codd. "Struck out three guys in two innings," Codd says matter-of-factly. Jayson Bass, playing for the New Haven Ravens, the Mariners' AA affiliate, is "about to explode."

It's almost an ethical issue for Codd. "I think it's bad when agents dump their guys because they're not doing well," he says. "You have to stick up for them when they're doing well, and when they're doing not so well." Case in point: Bass. A highly touted fifth-round draft pick in 1993, Bass floundered in the minors before finally showing off the combination of power and speed that made him such a prized candidate: .288 batting average, 16 home runs, 31 stolen bases for A-ball Lancaster in 1998. Early this season, at the next level of professional ball, his batting average began to dwindle again.

"He had a ribcage injury that got him out of his momentum and now he's struggling to make contact," Codd explains, "but he's still doing OK. Still playing every day. Still has 10 stolen bases... I just talked to him this morning, actually; how he's doing and why he's struggling and maybe plant a few suggestions. A lot of times the guys know the answers, they just need to hear them."

One could understand if Codd displayed some frustration with clients who don't seem to be reaching their potential. Most agents receive 3 to 5 percent of their client's contract (the numbers are higher for endorsement deals), which, when you're talking about Kevin Brown's $105 million contract, constitutes a chunk of change. But minor leaguers make so little ($850 per month is the A-ball minimum) that percentages are laughable, and a straight hourly lawyer fee is unaffordable for most players—which is why most minor leaguers go uncharged. An agent like Codd can work years for a client without getting paid. To an outsider it looks a little like the lottery—hoping your number (or your Ken Griffey Jr.) finally comes in—but Codd says more thought goes into it than that. "I have told players that if they run into an agent who tries to charge them in the minor leagues, they should run away."

Ultimately Codd seems less rabid fan—upset over this or that vicarious defeat—and more like the preternaturally calm, gum-chewing manager who's been around the game awhile and knows you can't win 162 a year. "Baseball's a very difficult game," he says, as if in a post-game interview. "So from that perspective you have to understand that players are going to fail from time to time. Just like people in life fail from time to time; and to get frustrated with that is to be unrealistic about the challenges they face."

Codd, 37, came to the law "naturally"—his father was a lawyer, now a judge at SeaTac Municipal Court—but he's always liked sports and counseling young people. Sports representation satisfied each of these pursuits. Thus, after graduating from the University of Puget Sound in 1987, and earning an MBA from the UW in 1988, Codd associated with Doug Baldwin and Associates, a Seattle-based agency. When Baldwin relocated to Phoenix, Arizona, in 1993, Codd set up his own practice.

Landing clients, however, is tricky business. Athletes can only be recruited after their amateur status elapses, but this takes time, and, as Codd says, "I have three kids at home, I have a great wife, I don't want to be gone all the time."

Most of Codd's clients were landed through contacts and recommendations. He reeled in Bass through a friendship with Bass’s foster father. Former Mariners’ pitcher Bob Wolcott arrived via a recommendation from an existing client. Same with another ex-Mariner, Bob Wells. "It was just word-of-mouth that I heard about him," Wells, now pitching with the Minnesota Twins, says of Codd. "He had a client, Randy Snyder, played baseball a little bit, and I talked to a few people and (Codd's) name came up. So I went over and met him. I liked Tracy and trusted him. He was pretty straightforward with me ... He was local, Seattle, and just seemed like a stand-up guy." Wells and Codd have a standing invitation to play the chosen sport of athletes and lawyers alike: golf. Wells denies trash-talking with his agent.

"I'd like to see him swing the club," Wells mentions with a half-smile. "That's all I'll say."

Codd was the agent for Todd Hollandsworth when the L.A. Dodger went to arbitration before the 1998 season. Hollandsworth had a lot going for him—he was the National League Rookie of the Year in 1996 and he played for a major market team—but injuries took their toll and the previous year (his "platform year") he even saw time in the minors.

Jim Smith: An Agent by the Hour

Most lawyers wear their starched, crisp look like it's a weapon—as though the sharpness of their suit is indicative of the sharpness of their mind. Attorney Jim Smith is positively drab in comparison. On this particular weekday morning, at his law office on the fifth floor of the Burke Building in Pioneer Square, Smith wears no tie, his jacket hangs from the back of his chair, and his button-down shirt seems like something washed by the leading brand in a Tide commercial. Then he plants himself behind his voluminous desk and begins talking, and you realize Smith doesn't need the subterfuge of the crisp suit and creases you can cut your fingers on. His authority lies elsewhere. For starters, and even though he was unenthusiastic about the interview ("Being an agent is a very minor part of what I do," he said over the phone), he prepared. He made notes about some of the sports-related work Smith & Leary has taken on: soccer players, Seahawk and Mariners players, Sonics’ owner Barry Ackerley. He's scrupulous about his definitions. This was, he says, "legal work, not agent-related work." More than once he mentions that his firm no longer represents Ackerley, so "I wouldn't want you to say that we do." For a moment he grows slightly wistful thinking of the Seahawk glory years when client Dave Krieg piloted the team to the playoffs in the mid-'80s, and how it was "a wonderful, fun part of my practice," but just as quickly he sobers up. "It's not a big part of what I do," he says dismissively.

Keven Davis: The Best Davis in the World

It was 1989 and Keven Davis, a young partner with Garvey, Schubert & Barer, received a phone call from his college roommate, Rodney Gabriel, now an orthopedic surgeon at Charles Drew Hospital in Los Angeles. "There are these two young girls down here," Gabriel said, "I've met their father, and they're being hounded by agents." The girls, 9 and 7 years old, might seem rather young for agent-hounding, but, as Davis says, "In tennis, there are very few people who are surprises to anybody. A few people who go through college and maybe bust out, but all the real superstars? Everyone has known about them for years."

Davis agreed to talk to the father, and the conversation went well enough that Davis offered his assistance. "And he kept calling," Davis remembers. "And we developed a very good relationship."

Then all hell broke loose.

Just a few years after their initial contact, Keven Davis was receiving phone calls from Japan and France about his clients, little Venus and Serena Williams. "It was the most phenomenal thing I've ever witnessed," Davis recalls. "He (Richard Williams) did a good job to not burn (his daughters) out and not let them believe the hype before they did anything."

One can say with assurance that "anything" has arrived. In 1998, Venus won her first singles title, the IGA Tennis Classic, set a women's world record with a 127-mph serve, and made the quarterfinals of all four Grand Slam tournaments. Younger sister Serena won her first tournament this year. In March, at the Lipton Championships in Miami, the two became the first sisters in 115 years to face one another in a Women's Tennis Association (WTA) final. Venus won. Davis watched it all from courtside.

Success can breed paranoia, however, and as the Williams sisters busted loose, Davis sometimes wondered why he was being kept on. Part of him assumed that when someone more knowledgeable about tennis came along—IMG, Advantage, and Pro Serve are the big agencies in the industry—he would be shunted aside, but his lack of knowledge was exactly the point to Richard Williams. Davis remembers Williams telling him, "Because you don't know tennis... you won't accept things and take things for granted." Davis smiles. "I thought that was so brilliant."

Among the memorabilia that litter Davis’s law office on the 18th floor of the Second & Seneca Building—making it look like a garage sale in progress—are several framed photos of the Williamses, including Venus on the cover of Sports Illustrated ("PARTY CRASHER" it reads), as well as an autographed picture from the tennis star. "To Keven," Venus signed. "The Greatest Davis on Earth." Davis laughs. "I told her to put 'The Greatest Lawyer on Earth.’ ... She was trying to be cute and funny but I said, 'There's still a lot of Davises out there, so I can still be the greatest Davis.' Now that Sammy Davis is dead, not too many people are going to question it."

Davis’s office overlooks Puget Sound, and you'll often find him wearing a phone headset, talking to a client and gazing out the window as he fiddles with one of the many artifacts in the room. The walls are decorated with the artwork of Ernie Barnes ("Skins and Shirts"), platinum records from some of Davis’s music clients (including Sir Mix-A-Lot, Wynton Marsalis, and Swamp Mama Johnson), a certificate from the NAACP for outstanding service, and an autographed photo of basketball great Greg Wiltjer.

Never heard of Greg Wiltjer? He's one of the reasons Keven Davis is now an agent.

Davis, 42, who studied at the Univesity of California, Berkeley in the late '70s, came to Seattle with an international law background, but representing Japanese fishermen off the coast of Alaska was as international as he got. He soon found himself in the corporate finance area, lucrative work in the booming '80s, but near the end of the decade one of the senior partners left the firm and took much of Davis’s work with him. "I didn't have a lot on my platter," Davis recalls, "and I was a young partner—and when you're a partner you have to... go out and kill what you eat."

An area of law where he experimented in the mid-'80s—almost as a kind of hobby—was sports representation. One of his firm's partners knew a young athlete (Wiltjer) who needed representation. Did Davis have any recommendations? Davis, never one for false modesty, recommended ... himself. Instead, a more experienced agent was chosen under whose tutelage Davis would learn; the following year Davis would take over. "And that's exactly what happened," Davis remembers.

"(Wiltjer) was drafted the same year as Michael Jordan—the highest second-round pick—but he ended up going to Europe and stayed there, and made millions of dollars." Davis’s cut during those years? An astronomical 10 percent. ... "Even though these players weren't well-known, they made me a lot of money. I was getting more than agents here for like three times the salary.

Although, you know, kids would say, 'Who?' But still… It gave me trips and it paid me handsomely. And that's how I got started."

Now Davis heads Garvey's sports and entertainment group and has brought dozens of clients to the fold—athletes, musicians, CEOs, television personalities—but it took a lot of legwork. "Some people think you go to tennis tournaments and, you know, ‘Do you get to bill for that?’ There's no real sense of how you make money in this business. You've got to get out of this office. You've got to get out and meet people. I have clients all over the country and (I wouldn't) if I never left town or saw opportunities to meet people. I'm not just passing out my card. You meet people, you talk to them. The legal business is based on relationships."

Although Davis is considered the agent for the Williams sisters, it's not, he admits, a traditional agent role, for their father has everything mapped out for them. Davis is involved in the day-to-day agenting activities (dealing with the WTA, setting up appearances, negotiating endorsement deals—for which he charges a combination of hourly, flat fee, and percentage), but providing guidance is out of his purview. "We are part of the plan, but we are not masters of the plan," Davis says.

Yet such guidance-providing is something Davis obviously enjoys. "I've always wanted to be a lawyer (in a position where) your client would call you for anything, even though they know you may not be the one doing the work... That they would have enough confidence and trust in you that they would feel you were their advisor." As he struggles for another term, one is suggested for him: The Godfather-inspired consigliere. Davis, a movie buff, is delighted, and responds in an Italian-flavored accent. "Consigliere." He spreads his hands wide. "Come here, what can I do for you, my son."

— Erik Lundegaard is a regular contributor to Law & Politics.