As soon as his plane hits the Pittsburgh tarmac at 2:20 p.m. on a gray November Monday, Drew Rosenhaus calls to make sure we’re waiting at the Hertz counter. By 2:45 we’re rushing along Highway 279 in a Ford Escape, headed for Heinz Field, where the Steelers will soon take on the Ravens. Rosenhaus, the world’s most notorious sports agent, represents major players on both teams. In the passenger seat, he sends text messages with the dexterity of a 15-year-old girl while talking into the wired headset that dangles from his right ear. These devices ring and vibrate with a persistence matched only by the nasal hammering of his voice.

Rosenhaus never stops talking. During the 30-minute drive, he speaks with at least three clients, leaves two messages for a Dr. Lombardo, closes a two-year contract extension with $10 million in new money for a receiver you’ve never heard of, then calls the receiver to pitch the deal. “We’re not a starter, and we’re not a free agent. Looking at our stats, this deal is a spectacular accomplishment for us.” Pause. “If you get 1,000 yards receiving? Sure, you’ll get a new contract.”

Rosenhaus is on a mission, has been for the past 19 years. Though he is not an NFL player, team owner, or coach, he is well en route to becoming the most powerful agent in the sport. In 1995 he told the Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel that his goal was to represent 100 players so he could “control whether some teams win or lose.” Now, 13 years later, he represents 97 (dozens more than any other agent), including some of the league’s top marketing draws. “In terms of determining who wins or loses,” he says, listing trades and signings that have changed the competitive face of the league, “that’s a reality.”

In other words, when you tune in to the Super Bowl this month, there will be a man behind the scenes who believes he is controlling the game to some degree—like a little kid moving toy players around a make-believe field. This off-season, Rosenhaus’ list of clients will continue to grow, meaning his influence will only rise next year. It also means the questions that have long surrounded him will reach a fever pitch: Is he saving the NFL? Or is he destroying it?

The Hating Game
He is not a beloved figure. A Google search for “Drew Rosenhaus” and “asshole” generates 1,460 hits. “Rosenhaus should do us all a favor and die,” reads one post. On urbandictionary.com, his name is invoked to illustrate the definition of “douchebag.” But no one hates him as much as his peers. Fellow agents have called him a sleazeball and scumbag. “He doesn’t give a crap,” says one rival, who asked not to be named. “He’s flamboyant as hell. He feels he’s Teflon. He feels nobody can touch him.”

Rosenhaus is the first celebrity sports agent, famous enough to star in his own Burger King commercial. In his 19 years in business, the 41-year-old has negotiated more than $1 billion worth of contracts. This coming off-season, he plans to handle another $500 million. Every day, he wakes up alone in the Miami Beach mansion he bought from client Warren Sapp. Outside a 34-foot sport boat sits idle, like the Maserati coupe that languishes in the garage until the next time he needs to impress a woman. “I’m more of a Dodge Ram guy,” he says. “After I’ve gone out with them a couple of times, they get in the truck.” He recently broke up with a 21-year-old cheerleader and law student who tolerated his lifestyle for six months before realizing it would never get better.

Growing up in a country club family in Miami, Rosenhaus had two obsessions: the Dolphins and comic books. His father, Robert, was an entrepreneur who encouraged him and his younger brother, Jason, to play football. But Rosenhaus was more interested in karate and comic books. He still makes frequent references to Batman and Spider-Man.

From 1984 to 1987, Rosenhaus attended the University of Miami, where he tutored football players during the Hurricanes’ heyday. He became a man-groupie to guys like future Hall of Famer Michael Irvin, who led him to his calling. “You’re a smart guy,” Rosenhaus recalls Irvin saying. “I’m not crazy about the agents I’m talking to. I wish you were an agent.” Rosenhaus took Irvin’s advice and hasn’t looked back.

In 1989, during his second year at Duke Law School, Rosenhaus invited ESPN to film contract negotiations for his first client—Robert Massey, a defensive back out of North Carolina Central who went to the Saints in the second round. By 1997, he’d penned an autobiography, A Shark Never Sleeps, in which he boasted of bluffing teams, manipulating the media, and picking fights with rivals. “I drooled at the thought of being able to pummel his face into the frozen dirt,” he wrote of an unnamed competitor, describing a confrontation at the 1995 combine in Indianapolis. “I wanted red snow.”