Sportsman's Daily


Hard-Nosed Agent Drew Rosenhaus Looks For a Hug, Gets a Huggie Instead

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This was arguably my toughest assignment. I was to meet Drew Rosenhaus at his home in Miami for an in-depth, one-on-one interview. We agreed in advance that nothing was off the table: His loutish behavior, his childhood, his relationship with his mother, even the rumored scrapbook where he preserves the wings he pulled off flies as a young boy. All fair game. My stated goal, as always, was to get behind the public persona and reveal the man-child beneath…before reducing the subject to a state of infantile panic, curled into a tight ball, bawling, squirming feebly in a puddle of his own fresh excrement.

I’ve met and interviewed some of the sports world’s meanest, orneriest SOBs…and not a one made it past two hours without exhibiting the usual symptoms. I drove up to Rosenhaus’ 10,000 square foot “crib” expecting to be in for a real battle, considering Rosenhaus’ notorious hard boiled image. But as you’ll see, it didn’t take long for Rosenhaus to crack…after which came the inevitable bowel movement, as unpleasant as it was deeply rewarding.

Allison Testrake: Mr. Rosenhaus, thank you for inviting me into your home. Very lovely. Who’s your decorator, Caligula?

Drew Rosenhaus: Actually it was designed by a fellow University of Miami alum who patterned this very room after an ossuary – or bone museum – he saw in Sweden. I find it relaxing, sitting here after a tough day, surrounded by bones.

AT: Yes, charming.

DR: By the way, let me just say how much I admire your work.

AT: From the looks of it you also admire my cleavage.

DR: Is that wrong?

AT: Not at all. If it makes things easier I can do this interview topless.

DR: No, no, that’s ok, I…

AT: There. Better?

DR: Give me three minutes. I have to take a call.

Two minutes later Rosenhaus rejoins me. I pretend not to notice that he’s changed into a robe. As he sits down I catch an unmistakable whiff of hand lotion.

DR: Where were we.

AT: I was about to slip out of my panties but you had to take a call.

DR: Yes, sorry, Terrell needed to talk.

AT: Fine. Now. Surely you know you are one of the most reviled agents in all of professional sports. General managers have stated publicly they want nothing to do with you or the players you represent. The hardball tactics. The in your face posturing. Is this really all necessary...or is it just your way of acting out, a cry of pain for a painful and neglected childhood?

DR: Allison, one of the reasons I agreed to do this interview and have you in my home was to dispel some of the negative things that have been said about me and the way I choose to represent my clients. Granted, my manners are nothing to write home about, but negotiating contracts ain’t always pretty.

As if on cue – in fact, it probably was very much on cue – Rosenhaus’ assistant Phyllis, who looked like she’d just been crying, brought in a cage housing two adorable hamsters.

DR: Ah, look at you, look at you. (Rosenhaus opened the cage and placed both hamsters on his lap.) I wuv these little guys. They are just sooooo cute. Do you want to hold one?

I politely declined. But not before recoiling in disgust.

DR: This is the side of Drew Rosenhaus that no one sees, that no one writes about. Will you include this in your article? Will you show readers that Drew Rosenhaus is kind to hamsters?

AT: I can’t promise…but speaking of hamsters, what would you say if I told you I have pictures of you, during your sophomore year at the University of Miami, dissecting a live hamster with a pen knife, while wearing a red wig and green lace panties?

DR: I would say that I was drunk.

AT: Hmmm.

DR: I have no recollection of that. But if you do have such a picture, I categorically deny ever dissecting a hamster without the proper equipment.

AT: Well, ok, if you say so. But it's a troubling image, surely you agree.

DR: Well, yes, if such a picture existed.

AT: It appears you've had a life-long fascination with hamsters. Can you explain this in a way that our readers will understand?

DR: Is this what you came here to discuss, my interest in hamsters?

AT: I'm not the one who initiated this. But if you don't want to talk about hamsters, we can move onto gerbils, not to mention the other rodents you've been linked to.

DR: You know about the ferrets?

AT: The rumors have been out there for years. A reliable source claimed to have a grainy photo from 2001 that depicts you in knickers and a baby bonnet, cavorting in a large room filled with ferrets and an assortment of stuffed animals.

DR: I...I...ahem. Phyllis!!! Phyllis!!! I can't breathe. Someone. Please.

Unfortunately for Rosenhaus, his assistant was out back, visibly sobbing, her head bobbing in her trembling hands and couldn't hear his cries for help. Me, what could I do. I offered to give Rosenhaus a hug. Yes, an ironic hug that was intended to convey anything but affection or provide comfort. But I couldn't get my arms around him as he thrashed wildly on the rug. At one point his legs sent a pile of old bones flying. Soon he was curled into a fetal position, muttering incoherently. And just before I took my leave, I withdrew a disposable diaper (packed for just these occasions) and deposited it at his feet. The smell of victory isn't always sweet, which makes you wonder what defeat smells like.

—Allison Testrake

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