Pay per play.

• Author: Noland, Terrence
• Position: Jacksonville, NC native and National Football League player Marcus Jones - Cover Story

Scoring big in the NFL depends on how you play the game - and not just the one on the field.

Marcus Jones is on the prowl. He has sat for an interview the last two hours, and now his mind is focused on only one thing: food. He had some bologna slices earlier. No mustard. No bread. Just bologna. That only whetted his appetite.

So now this giant man is a whirlwind, whizzing around the spacious kitchen of his splendid new home north of Tampa. Refrigerator and cupboard doors are flying, drawers banging. He's in a panic. All this kitchen and nothing to eat.

"What'cha need, Marcus?" comes a voice from the living room. It's his mother, Emma Thomas.

"I'm hungry," he bellows.

You're always hungry. The pantry's over there for food.

"Oh," he says, breathing a big sigh. "I thought there wasn't any."

Within a couple of minutes, he's got a pan of Chef Boyardee on the stove. Unable to contain his glee, he breaks into a whistle. It's the theme from The Andy Griffith Show. But even as he stirs his Beefaroni, Jones knows it won't hold him for long.

"STAR-VING," he suddenly announces in a loud sing-song. "Momma, cook dinner," he pleads. "I'm dying."

Jones won't go hungry. Not after the contract he signed in July with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. The rookie defensive tackle, an All-American at Carolina last season and a first-round draft pick, will get $5 million over five years, with possibly $500,000 more in incentives. Of course, fame and fortune are fleeting in the National Football League. But Jones has a financial plan in the works that should leave him affluent for the rest of his life even if he gets injured tomorrow and never plays again. He is 23.

So how does a country boy from Jacksonville find himself in such an enviable position? Sure, it has a lot to do with his size (6-foot-5-and-a-half, 290 pounds), his strength (he can bench-press 530 pounds) and his knack for terrorizing quarterbacks (he broke Lawrence Taylor's career sack record at Carolina). But it also stems from assembling a capable team - not one agent but two - to prepare him for the draft, negotiate his contract, handle his finances and, in general, guide him through the bewildering and hectic transformation from college student to NFL rookie and multimillionaire.

It's a curious process, this transition. You're treated like a commodity, then lavished with millions of dollars. You sweat for years to reach this point, then find that your fate - where you'll work and how much money you'll make - is largely out of your hands. But that's how this business works. "People just see the end product, they see you get drafted," Jones says. "They don't understand exactly what you have to go through. It's been a trying experience."

Jones' indoctrination began his junior year. That's when he started getting calls from agents. The National Collegiate Athletic Association prohibits players only from signing with agents and taking money or gifts from them before their eligibility is up. But UNC's own rule goes further: Agents aren't allowed to contact athletes before their final game.

Some agents use "runners" - college-age kids paid and even sent to school to buddy up to top prospects. "These people don't come around wearing three-piece suits," says Dick Baddour, UNC's executive associate athletic director. "They come around wearing jeans and basketball shoes, and they look like they live next door." They'll take the player out to dinner, buy him shoes. Then, when time comes to choose an agent, there's this guy they know.

For a first-round prospect like Jones, a consensus first-team All-American his senior year, there was no shortage of suitors. "There are a lot of people out there who want a part of you," he says. He got calls routinely from agents his final two years. He would warn them not to call again. If they did, he reported them to UNC's athletic department and scratched them off his list. He kept his circle of friends tight, never letting it expand to where he didn't know everyone's full name. "The most offensive thing in the world," he says, was that someone would try to take part of his dream before he had achieved it.

His selection process started Dec. 3, a week after the regular season ended, with Carolina's agent day. Each year, the school invites in about a dozen reps and a handful of financial planners to pitch their services to seniors with pro potential. With Jones coming out, the big guns were there - IMG, Falk Associates, ProServ and others. But so were some smaller agents.

One was James "Butch" Williams, a Durham-based lawyer who splits his time between his criminal-defense practice and representing athletes (not always mutually exclusive these days). A former Marine captain and graduate of N.C. Central's law school, Williams, 42, has developed a niche representing Carolina football players. His clients also include Clemson alum Chester McGlockton, a Pro Bowler with the Oakland Raiders, and former Wake Forest star Rodney Rogers, his only National Basketball Association player.

Williams earned his reputation at Carolina not so much for handling top prospects but for helping those drafted low or not at all. He'd make calls, get the kid a tryout and a shot at his dream. In all, Williams has 10 clients in the NFL, but few are marquee players. And that's what an agent needs to make a name - and money - for himself in this business.

He targeted Jones before the season started. He didn't attend a single Carolina game for fear he'd be accused of bird-dogging. UNC's agent day was the first time he met formally with Jones and his mother. But Jones knew of Williams already. He represented some of Jones' former teammates - Oscar Sturgis, William Henderson, Bucky Brooks, guys he looked up to. "I knew through their dealings with him that he was a straightforward guy, no-nonsense," Jones says. And he liked that Williams was local.

He also got a pitch through the mail from a new guy in the business, 28-year-old Greg Williams. This Williams, no relation to Butch, is a former Wachovia branch manager who started Cary-based Vanguard Sports Management in 1994. He has three partners - his wife and two bankers - but few clients. He handles Carl Reeves, drafted by the Chicago Bears out of N.C. State in 1995, and does financial planning for hurdler Allen Johnson, an Olympic gold medalist who lives in Chapel Hill.

Jones was ready to sign with Butch. But Donnie Thompson, UNC's defensive-end coach and a mentor to Jones, figured a likely first-rounder would need more financial expertise. He suggested the two Williams package their services. Butch was used to working alone, but he knew Greg - had helped him get started in the business - and trusted him.

So on a Monday evening in mid-January, they met Jones at a Darryl's in Durham and pitched him a plan. Butch would be the primary agent, leading contract talks and endorsement work. Greg would assist with negotiations and handle financial planning. Butch's cut would be 2% of Jones' contract (he normally takes 3%), and Greg would get 1%. The players' union limits NFL agents to no more than 4%.

"I'm ready to go," Jones told them. "But y'all got to talk to my mom first." The only thing was, she was in Jacksonville. So they piled into a limo (one of Greg's partners owns a car service) and drove down that night. They got there about 9.

"It was very tense for about the first two hours," Butch recalls. To break the ice, he asked Emma Thomas for one of the gum drops in her candy dish. "See, you're begging already," she shot back. Then one of Greg's partners got up to use the bathroom. Not so fast; she told him...