tk13
06-05-2005, 01:25 AM
http://www.kansascity.com/mld/kansascity/sports/football/nfl/kansas_city_chiefs/11818311.htm
Be it never so humble, Boomer hunts for a home
For a draft pick with lots of new money, the basement’s the thing
By ELIZABETH MERRILL
Kansas City Star
Toby Keith is twanging through the ride to One Arrowhead Drive, and Boomer Grigsby’s 22-inch chrome rims are spinning to the noise. His girlfriend, Jess, is riding shotgun. His real estate agent is waiting in a silver Lexus.
It’s post-Memorial Day sleepy at the stadium. The veterans have the week off, and the Chiefs’ most flamboyant rookie is tooling around in a GMC Denali that’s worth more than his dad’s annual pay at the Caterpillar plant back home in Illinois.
“Look at this dude right here,” Grigsby says, eyeballing the DVD player in the back seat. “As cool as that is, I don’t even get to use it because I’m always driving.”
Grigsby is new money. Two months ago, the self-proclaimed country boy was watching the NFL draft at his parents’ one-level home in Canton. Today, he’s shopping for $300,000 houses in Overland Park.
He weaves his $60,000 SUV through rush-hour traffic, gets lost, then says he’s not going to be another NFL player who squanders it all away on toys. The pimped-up ride? That was the brainchild of a local car dealer back home. He wanted the town to know Boomer Grigsby shops there, so he cut him a huge deal and loaded the Denali with extras.
There wasn’t a contract, just a handshake and a promise, because that’s the way they do things in Canton.
“I think 75 percent of the NFL leaves broke,” Grigsby says. “That’s why I’m going house shopping right now. If I write a check for $1,000 or more every month and I’m simply renting, I feel like I’m taking that money and lighting it on fire.”
Grigsby shakes the hand of Jim Manning, who’s sold houses to 35 current Chiefs, then follows him to a parking lot in Overland Park clutching a packet of seven listings.
Grigsby’s 23, unshaven and ready to embark upon the adult world. He’s ready to buy a house.
“Let’s do it,” he says.
To understand the buyer, you must first understand the man.
The first time Jess Wedam met Grigsby during their college days at Illinois State, she thought he was obnoxious. He’d drive his Blazer through their neighborhood, windows down, stereo cranking, then hop out shirtless and sweaty. His curly locks were longer then, almost hippyish. His swagger was almost intolerable.
Illinois State, a Division I-AA school in football, didn’t have many athletic heroes. But it had Grigsby, a hard-hitting linebacker and three-time All-American. The media relations department made posters of Grigsby decked out and holding a rose, a la “The Bachelor.”
The posters read, “The Linebacker.”
Everybody knew who that was.
The first time Grigsby worked his charm on Wedam, she vowed she’d never smell the roses. And every time she resisted, the linebacker became more interested. Grigsby called her “the biggest challenge in my college career.” Finally, the future schoolteacher relented.
“I put down the law right away,” Wedam says. “I don’t care if you play football, I don’t care if people love you and think you’re the greatest thing ever. To me you’re just a guy, just another guy.”
Wedam will help Grigsby find a house, but she makes it clear that this is not a joint venture. She’ll go back home to her new teaching job in Illinois; Grigsby will spend his first year in Kansas City enjoying his new bachelor pad. She says he’s still obnoxious, by the way.
He’s 23 going on 12 — Grigsby announces that at least twice — and he’s quickly latched on to second-year defensive end Jared Allen, another fun-loving former Division I-AA star who beat out Grigsby for the 2003 Buck Buchanan award. When Grigsby first came to town, he wanted to live on the Country Club Plaza because he loves to eat out. Then he checked out Allen’s spacious pad in Overland Park and decided he needed one just like that … but a tad better.
Grigsby, who will bring at least 15 family members and friends to each home game, needs a lot of space. That comes cheaper in the suburbs. And he wants a place for his, um, social activities, which means he needs a big basement that preferably has a bar.
He’ll tour seven houses, all of which have four bedrooms, 3½ baths and three-car garages. He’ll take off his shoes at each place and test if the hardwood floors are conducive to sliding and moonwalking in his socks.
“Oh, they’ve got to leave the swing set,” Grigsby says as he stares at the playground in the back yard of one of the houses. “I’ve got to go down that slide.”
His girlfriend tells him to focus.
“That’s not yours,” she says.
The key to a football player’s heart, apparently, is in the basement. It’s the bat cave, the place where foosball tables and leather couches are never gaudy, big-screen TVs are never too loud, and a man can retreat with a bottle and his thoughts.
By the first house, it’s obvious the basement will be a deal breaker for Grigsby. It’s the first place he runs to, the last thing he remembers, and Grigsby immediately puts the house in finalist contention when the basement is spacious and well-lighted. Grigsby can’t stand a dark basement — it’s fine if he wants to take a nap — and is hooked on daylight basements, which is a fancy term for a downstairs with big windows.
The basement with the burgundy carpet and dark lighting gets a short tour. It’s one of the cheaper listings, at $299,000, but Grigsby isn’t even impressed with the entertainment center in the corner, which has at least 15 shelves.
“You can put a picture of your brother or a cup you got from Vietnam there or something,” Grigsby says. “I don’t need that. I just want a big TV.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Manning, who printed the Chiefs’ 2004 schedule on the back of his business card, says rookies are actually some of the easiest people to please. They’ve spent their last four years in dorm rooms and apartments and turn to Manning for Home Ownership 101.
He points to houses he sold to Allen and Jerome Woods on their tour, and when Grigsby’s jaw drops at a mansion along the way, Manning smiles and says that’s something they’ll snag after his next contract.
“I know the Chiefs get a lot of people calling them,” Manning says, “sending them flowers, saying, ‘I’ve got this house listed for a million dollars. It would be perfect for an athlete.’ Well, very few Chiefs players would buy a house for over a million dollars. You don’t have to in Kansas City.
“So many people try to make a quick buck on them because they make a lot of money.”
Grigsby, a fifth-round draft pick, has yet to sign a deal. But the rookie minimum salary is $230,000, and Grigsby can also expect a signing bonus that won’t come close to first-rounder Derrick Johnson’s millions but should allow him to live comfortably in Overland Park.
Grigsby moonwalks in the kitchen of the second house and stares up at the wallpaper. It’s covered in grapes and leaves.
“That doesn’t look like you, Boomer,” Manning says.
Wide-open spaces: That’s what Boomer wants.
He grew up in a small town, population 18,000, and Grigsby spent much of his time in a big yard with a basketball hoop. He wants his kitchen and dining room to blend into one. That would make it more spacious. He wants his bedroom to be massive, but not so big that it makes his guest rooms dinky.
He quickly slides through the tours of houses two through five but finds love in stop No. 6. The house is wide open and filled with soothing mood music. Manning looks at Grigsby and smiles.
“Ready for the basement?”
It’s huge, with a foosball table and good lighting. Manning reminds Grigsby that it’s a lot like Jared Allen’s basement. He agrees, then hops across the carpet doing an air guitar.
“Cool,” Grigsby says. “You can tell this is where you’re going to hang out.”
He walks upstairs and finds a spot roughly 30 feet from the front door, then crouches in a defensive stance.
“I could practice linebacker drills and knock over whoever comes through the front door,” he says.
He tells Jess he wants to replace the fancy chandelier near the door with something ridiculous, maybe something with Mickey Mouse on it. She rolls her eyes.
“Oh whatever,” he says. “I may be a dork, but at least I’m entertaining.”
They pile into the car, and Grigsby asks Manning about house taxes. He feels like he should know this stuff. They have one more place to go, and Grigsby asks how much Allen paid for his place.
“I’ve got to beat him so I can talk (smack) to him,” he says.
A long-haired man answers the door at the last home, and maybe that’s a sign. Grigsby loves this house as much as the last one. The basement is big, sort of, and has a walk-out to the yard. A privacy fence covers the back yard, which could come in handy when Grigsby entertains guests. He wouldn’t want kids watching his buddies drink beer.
He can do without the closet space, which Grigsby says is big enough to hold Puff Daddy’s wardrobe. He’d also ditch the sunflower wallpaper.
He spreads his arms in the air and looks at Jess.
“I think you should keep looking,” she says.
Grigsby sighs.
“Well, that’s a wrap.”
Grigsby has three houses on his wish list now, but he’s not in a hurry. The Chiefs put the rookies up at the Residence Inn until after training camp. With a fireplace and a kitchen, the digs are better than anything he had in college.
He gets lost on Interstate 435, grabs his cell phone and calls Manning for directions. He’s heading back to Arrowhead just before the Royals’ game against the Yankees. The lots are filling up, and a woman at a booth tells Grigsby he has to pay $9 to park.
“I play for the Chiefs,” he says.
She doesn’t believe him, then asks for ID. She’s never heard of him. Grigsby laughs, pleads, then finally gets the green light and pushes his Denali toward Arrowhead. If Grigsby is destined to be another NFL riches-to-rags story, would he care about the nine bucks?
Would he have come back from house-hunting empty-handed?
“I bought a pair of (python-skin) boots when I was in Atlanta before the draft,” Grigsby says. “They were marked down. That’s about the gaudiest thing I’ve bought.
“I’m trying not to be just a 23-year-old who stumbled into a little bit of money. Football has no guarantees. I’ve far from made it.”
He hasn’t even figured out where he’s going to live yet.
Be it never so humble, Boomer hunts for a home
For a draft pick with lots of new money, the basement’s the thing
By ELIZABETH MERRILL
Kansas City Star
Toby Keith is twanging through the ride to One Arrowhead Drive, and Boomer Grigsby’s 22-inch chrome rims are spinning to the noise. His girlfriend, Jess, is riding shotgun. His real estate agent is waiting in a silver Lexus.
It’s post-Memorial Day sleepy at the stadium. The veterans have the week off, and the Chiefs’ most flamboyant rookie is tooling around in a GMC Denali that’s worth more than his dad’s annual pay at the Caterpillar plant back home in Illinois.
“Look at this dude right here,” Grigsby says, eyeballing the DVD player in the back seat. “As cool as that is, I don’t even get to use it because I’m always driving.”
Grigsby is new money. Two months ago, the self-proclaimed country boy was watching the NFL draft at his parents’ one-level home in Canton. Today, he’s shopping for $300,000 houses in Overland Park.
He weaves his $60,000 SUV through rush-hour traffic, gets lost, then says he’s not going to be another NFL player who squanders it all away on toys. The pimped-up ride? That was the brainchild of a local car dealer back home. He wanted the town to know Boomer Grigsby shops there, so he cut him a huge deal and loaded the Denali with extras.
There wasn’t a contract, just a handshake and a promise, because that’s the way they do things in Canton.
“I think 75 percent of the NFL leaves broke,” Grigsby says. “That’s why I’m going house shopping right now. If I write a check for $1,000 or more every month and I’m simply renting, I feel like I’m taking that money and lighting it on fire.”
Grigsby shakes the hand of Jim Manning, who’s sold houses to 35 current Chiefs, then follows him to a parking lot in Overland Park clutching a packet of seven listings.
Grigsby’s 23, unshaven and ready to embark upon the adult world. He’s ready to buy a house.
“Let’s do it,” he says.
To understand the buyer, you must first understand the man.
The first time Jess Wedam met Grigsby during their college days at Illinois State, she thought he was obnoxious. He’d drive his Blazer through their neighborhood, windows down, stereo cranking, then hop out shirtless and sweaty. His curly locks were longer then, almost hippyish. His swagger was almost intolerable.
Illinois State, a Division I-AA school in football, didn’t have many athletic heroes. But it had Grigsby, a hard-hitting linebacker and three-time All-American. The media relations department made posters of Grigsby decked out and holding a rose, a la “The Bachelor.”
The posters read, “The Linebacker.”
Everybody knew who that was.
The first time Grigsby worked his charm on Wedam, she vowed she’d never smell the roses. And every time she resisted, the linebacker became more interested. Grigsby called her “the biggest challenge in my college career.” Finally, the future schoolteacher relented.
“I put down the law right away,” Wedam says. “I don’t care if you play football, I don’t care if people love you and think you’re the greatest thing ever. To me you’re just a guy, just another guy.”
Wedam will help Grigsby find a house, but she makes it clear that this is not a joint venture. She’ll go back home to her new teaching job in Illinois; Grigsby will spend his first year in Kansas City enjoying his new bachelor pad. She says he’s still obnoxious, by the way.
He’s 23 going on 12 — Grigsby announces that at least twice — and he’s quickly latched on to second-year defensive end Jared Allen, another fun-loving former Division I-AA star who beat out Grigsby for the 2003 Buck Buchanan award. When Grigsby first came to town, he wanted to live on the Country Club Plaza because he loves to eat out. Then he checked out Allen’s spacious pad in Overland Park and decided he needed one just like that … but a tad better.
Grigsby, who will bring at least 15 family members and friends to each home game, needs a lot of space. That comes cheaper in the suburbs. And he wants a place for his, um, social activities, which means he needs a big basement that preferably has a bar.
He’ll tour seven houses, all of which have four bedrooms, 3½ baths and three-car garages. He’ll take off his shoes at each place and test if the hardwood floors are conducive to sliding and moonwalking in his socks.
“Oh, they’ve got to leave the swing set,” Grigsby says as he stares at the playground in the back yard of one of the houses. “I’ve got to go down that slide.”
His girlfriend tells him to focus.
“That’s not yours,” she says.
The key to a football player’s heart, apparently, is in the basement. It’s the bat cave, the place where foosball tables and leather couches are never gaudy, big-screen TVs are never too loud, and a man can retreat with a bottle and his thoughts.
By the first house, it’s obvious the basement will be a deal breaker for Grigsby. It’s the first place he runs to, the last thing he remembers, and Grigsby immediately puts the house in finalist contention when the basement is spacious and well-lighted. Grigsby can’t stand a dark basement — it’s fine if he wants to take a nap — and is hooked on daylight basements, which is a fancy term for a downstairs with big windows.
The basement with the burgundy carpet and dark lighting gets a short tour. It’s one of the cheaper listings, at $299,000, but Grigsby isn’t even impressed with the entertainment center in the corner, which has at least 15 shelves.
“You can put a picture of your brother or a cup you got from Vietnam there or something,” Grigsby says. “I don’t need that. I just want a big TV.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Manning, who printed the Chiefs’ 2004 schedule on the back of his business card, says rookies are actually some of the easiest people to please. They’ve spent their last four years in dorm rooms and apartments and turn to Manning for Home Ownership 101.
He points to houses he sold to Allen and Jerome Woods on their tour, and when Grigsby’s jaw drops at a mansion along the way, Manning smiles and says that’s something they’ll snag after his next contract.
“I know the Chiefs get a lot of people calling them,” Manning says, “sending them flowers, saying, ‘I’ve got this house listed for a million dollars. It would be perfect for an athlete.’ Well, very few Chiefs players would buy a house for over a million dollars. You don’t have to in Kansas City.
“So many people try to make a quick buck on them because they make a lot of money.”
Grigsby, a fifth-round draft pick, has yet to sign a deal. But the rookie minimum salary is $230,000, and Grigsby can also expect a signing bonus that won’t come close to first-rounder Derrick Johnson’s millions but should allow him to live comfortably in Overland Park.
Grigsby moonwalks in the kitchen of the second house and stares up at the wallpaper. It’s covered in grapes and leaves.
“That doesn’t look like you, Boomer,” Manning says.
Wide-open spaces: That’s what Boomer wants.
He grew up in a small town, population 18,000, and Grigsby spent much of his time in a big yard with a basketball hoop. He wants his kitchen and dining room to blend into one. That would make it more spacious. He wants his bedroom to be massive, but not so big that it makes his guest rooms dinky.
He quickly slides through the tours of houses two through five but finds love in stop No. 6. The house is wide open and filled with soothing mood music. Manning looks at Grigsby and smiles.
“Ready for the basement?”
It’s huge, with a foosball table and good lighting. Manning reminds Grigsby that it’s a lot like Jared Allen’s basement. He agrees, then hops across the carpet doing an air guitar.
“Cool,” Grigsby says. “You can tell this is where you’re going to hang out.”
He walks upstairs and finds a spot roughly 30 feet from the front door, then crouches in a defensive stance.
“I could practice linebacker drills and knock over whoever comes through the front door,” he says.
He tells Jess he wants to replace the fancy chandelier near the door with something ridiculous, maybe something with Mickey Mouse on it. She rolls her eyes.
“Oh whatever,” he says. “I may be a dork, but at least I’m entertaining.”
They pile into the car, and Grigsby asks Manning about house taxes. He feels like he should know this stuff. They have one more place to go, and Grigsby asks how much Allen paid for his place.
“I’ve got to beat him so I can talk (smack) to him,” he says.
A long-haired man answers the door at the last home, and maybe that’s a sign. Grigsby loves this house as much as the last one. The basement is big, sort of, and has a walk-out to the yard. A privacy fence covers the back yard, which could come in handy when Grigsby entertains guests. He wouldn’t want kids watching his buddies drink beer.
He can do without the closet space, which Grigsby says is big enough to hold Puff Daddy’s wardrobe. He’d also ditch the sunflower wallpaper.
He spreads his arms in the air and looks at Jess.
“I think you should keep looking,” she says.
Grigsby sighs.
“Well, that’s a wrap.”
Grigsby has three houses on his wish list now, but he’s not in a hurry. The Chiefs put the rookies up at the Residence Inn until after training camp. With a fireplace and a kitchen, the digs are better than anything he had in college.
He gets lost on Interstate 435, grabs his cell phone and calls Manning for directions. He’s heading back to Arrowhead just before the Royals’ game against the Yankees. The lots are filling up, and a woman at a booth tells Grigsby he has to pay $9 to park.
“I play for the Chiefs,” he says.
She doesn’t believe him, then asks for ID. She’s never heard of him. Grigsby laughs, pleads, then finally gets the green light and pushes his Denali toward Arrowhead. If Grigsby is destined to be another NFL riches-to-rags story, would he care about the nine bucks?
Would he have come back from house-hunting empty-handed?
“I bought a pair of (python-skin) boots when I was in Atlanta before the draft,” Grigsby says. “They were marked down. That’s about the gaudiest thing I’ve bought.
“I’m trying not to be just a 23-year-old who stumbled into a little bit of money. Football has no guarantees. I’ve far from made it.”
He hasn’t even figured out where he’s going to live yet.