If Athletes Had LinkedIn Profiles
What's the best part about being a pro athlete?
Is it the shoes? The standing suite at the MGM? Or just the singular, pant-soiling awesomeness of being paid legal tender to put balls through metal cylinders and/or punch people in the face?
I say none of the above. My guess is it's not having to make a LinkedIn profile.
Being a pro athlete means getting to skip over entire swamps of plebeian mundanity, the muckiest of which being the Internet job search. Unlike the rest of us, sports stars don't have to waste an afternoon rubbing oilcloth over an Internet resume, because it doesn't require an internship and a nine-character password to take it to the rack.
But what if it did?
What if athletes had to suck it up and start panhandling for work on the Interwebs? What would their LinkedIn profiles look like?
For the sake of science, I went ahead and plotted out working profiles for a number of athletes. Some are more qualified than others, but I'll leave it at this: Merrill Lynch is not equipped to handle the new M. Lynch entering the market.
Recruiters value his Twitter skills and ability to dispense random advice, but they'd like to see Joel Embiid beef up the big cat handling/hunting section of his resume. That's just the direction business is going these days.
A pinnacle of fiscal responsibility, Tim Howard saved the USMNT $6,000 in plane tickets by switching to bald eagles.
Johnny Manziel was made for Wall Street—or more specifically, Jordan Belfort pool parties.
Patrick Kane probably isn't fit for residential assistant work, though I've heard he keeps a pristine apartment at Trump Tower.
He is Bartolo. If he can't make your business a happy place, you should just burn it down.
Ronda Rousey. HR department.
Say goodbye to employee complaints.
Every company needs a scapegoat.
[Looks deep into intern's eyes]
"There's always a bull market for Love, baby."
Marshawn Lynch is a self-starter primed and ready to take on an upper management position at this very moment.
Any and all Marshawn meetings will last 15 seconds and consist of Lynch sitting down at the conference table, looking around through his sunglasses and asking "...We cool?"
"Aw yeaaa" is the only acceptable answer.
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