After a persistent shoulder injury ended her career in 1985, Jaeger founded the Silver Lining Foundation, which hosts camps in Aspen, Colo., for children with cancer. Jaeger, 39 and single, spends most of her time raising money for the nonprofit organization. "My family and friends were so upset when I got injured, but I knew in my heart that I was called to help kids," says Jaeger. "Everyone could use someone who cares."
Derek Sanderson confidently rattles off phrases commonly heard on CNBC, like liquidity and arbitrage and tax sensitivity, because he knows the Street; he also is on a first-name basis with the streets. For a three-week period in the fall of 1977, money gone, addicted to drugs, celebrated hockey career in tatters, Sanderson was homeless. His scouting report: "Under bridges are the best places to sleep because of shelter from the wind, but you've got to get there early."
Now, in a do-what-l-say-not-what-l-did career, Sanderson preaches wealth-preserving values as a pinstriped vice president and senior investment professional at Boston Private Bank & Trust Co. The irony is not lost on him. In 1972 Sanderson became the highest-salaried athlete in the world when he signed a $2.65 million deal with the Philadelphia Blazers of the World Hockey Association. He estimates he eventually squandered nearly $4.5 million of his career earnings. Before he obtained his financial adviser's license in 1991, Sanderson worked as a golf pro shop assistant, a drug and alcohol adviser to the Boston schools, and a color commentator for Bruins telecasts. Today about 20 current and former athletes, most with ties to New England, where Sanderson spent nine of his 13 pro seasons with the Bruins, entrust their money to the most spectacularly undisciplined player of his era.
"Someone said that if I had taken the $4.5 million I lost and reinvested it in bonds, I'd be worth a ridiculous sum today," says Sanderson, 58. "But it wasn't in the cards, was it? If I'd done that, I wouldn't be the same person. I've had a great life, and I'm not afraid to die. Dying...been there, done that."
One Fred Brown committed perhaps the biggest gaffe in NCAA tournament history, making an errant pass to North Carolina's James Worthy with :08 left in the 1982 championship game and his Georgetown team down by one point. The other Fred Brown was one of the best players in Seattle SuperSonics history, retiring as the franchise's alltime leader in games (963), points (14,108), field goals (6,006) and steals (1,149). The two have never crossed paths, but each is often mistaken for the other.
Georgetown's Brown still lives in the Washington, D.C., area, where he runs a real estate company that buys and renovates residential and commercial properties, primarily in D.C. and upper Manhattan, then resells them. "The thing most people say is, 'I lost a lot of money on that game,' " says Brown, 43, married and the father of four, "and I tell them, 'Well, you shouldn't have been gambling.' "
The Sonics' Brown retired in 1984 and remained in Seattle, where he is a senior vice president for Bank of America. One of his colleagues enjoys getting in the same dig at the company picnic every summer. "He tells anyone who will listen that I passed the ball to James Worthy in the final," chuckles Downtown Freddie Brown, 56 and married with three grown sons, "and I say, 'No, no, no, that wasn't me.' "
No man is an island, but Konishiki, who, at 630 pounds, was the heftiest sumo wrestler ever, is rumored to have shown up on navigational charts of the Pacific. Though he retired from sumo in 1997, his celebrity remains immense in Japan. What really endears him to the public is his TV show, Nihongo de Asobo (Let's Play in Japanese), in which he introduces small fry to traditional Japanese sayings. Konishiki plays a singing, dancing, blond-wigged blob born out of the unholy union of a palm tree and a Hawaiian volcano. "The costume is totally funky," he says. "I look like a giant orange."