Thing is, as soon as he wins significantly, they'll re-do his contract with an extension and a way bigger price tag. He'll either turn out not to be The Guy, or he will and they'll wind up paying him like The Guy.
And then as soon as you give them the big guaranteed contract they let off the gas just a bit. I'm firmly convinced that is what happened to Jimbo Fisher as soon as we gave him the Big Contract. He was never the same, except when he played Saban. Both years after we gave him the $$$, he played Alabama more competitively than we played almost anybody else. The rest of the season he mailed it in.
Was thinking about this - if there's a high enough amount of money someone can be paid that prompts them to stop caring. And whether this high amount guaranteed to someone like Jimbo or Brian Kelly removes the drive for someone to keep proving themselves. If you're guaranteed $100M (thanks Scott Woodward!) is there anymore upward trajectory to fight for? Is it worth exhausting your competitive drive anymore?
I don't know what this exact monetary threshold is, but it's a combination of ammassing an undeniably high amount of money - like $100M - AND making a noticeably higher amount than your competitive class of peers.
I saw this with Jimbo mailing it in, but it shows up elsewhere. Look at the NBA. Ever since a good fraction of NBA contracts reached $100M (all fully guaranteed) it's like those players don't even want play anymore. They are more than happy to be 'injured' long-term. They invoke 'load management' and openly complain about having to play a full regular season.
And I watch the Eagles and the Packers. Ever since Jalen Hurts' contract increased to $250M and Jordan Love's increased to $220M it is hit or miss as to whether they'll give it their all for any given game they start.
On a personal note, I happen to be friends with a number of wealthy families. And there's a difference between $5M-$20M and the $50M-$100M families. The former conducts their lives according to the expected material status of millionaires. Driving the fanciest cars, reservations at only the fanciest restaurants, sending their children to the fanciest private schools, summering in Portugal, and wearing luxury fashions like Prada everywhere. Around them I'm quiet about having worked at Burger King as a teenager, enlisting in the military out of high school, and taking community college classes while I worked on transferring to the larger state university. Because, for them, these are unthinkable options that would visibly put their millionaire image in doubt.
Whereas the next tier of wealth doesn't seem as concerned with walking in all the footsteps of their status. They'll board their private jet in gym wear and running shoes bought from Big 5. They'll take their supercars through the Burger King drive-through. They buy lotto scratchers from the nearest gas station. They enjoy my stories about working at Burger King and living in enlisted barracks. The alpha millionaires aren't bothering to live up to their wealth image as faithfully as the beta millionaires do.
Point is, paying Jimbo
that much relieved him of a personal obligation to keep proving himself as a coach whose teams could achieve at the tier expected and paid of him.
