Let Rose Tell You How NBA Player Could Need Money

He has spent almost all of the $500,000 he earned in his first two NBA seasons and has moved back home to live with Mom.

He’s driving his brother’s Jeep because the 1996 Lexus he bought his rookie year was stolen three weeks ago with his wallet, cell phone, pool cue and favorite CDs inside.

He owes his agent $5,000, and his bank account was nearly drained in October, when he was turned away from a New York hotel because his credit card was maxed out.

Malik Rose is not broke as he awaits the end of the lockout, not exactly.

But he’s close.

In the NBA, if you share a bedroom with your 8-year-old brother and live with your mom, you’re broke.

“This is it. I sleep on Rugrats pillowcases,” Rose said as he stood in his temporary bedroom, trying to explain the brightly colored sheets and laughing in horror about what his peers might say.

Rose, a star at Drexel who averaged 2 points and 1.4 rebounds last season for the San Antonio Spurs, is the fiscal antithesis of Kenny Anderson--the millionaire who complained last month that he might have to sell one of his eight cars or cut down on his $10,000 per month “walking around” money.

“I like Kenny as a player and a person, but we can all see how the public took to that story and what’s being said. It didn’t help us,” the 24-year-old Rose said.

“All people hear about are the people making money, Kevin Garnett’s $126 million, Shaquille O’Neal’s $121 million, Michael Jordan’s $33 million, and here I am making the minimum. Even my friends think this is a strike, not a lockout.”

Rose is a journeyman-in-the-making who’s a little too short to be an NBA power forward and a little too low-post oriented to be a prototype small forward. He’s smart enough to have graduated Drexel with a double degree in education and computer information and a grade-point average of almost 3.

He will move on to a different job, perhaps as a math teacher, when his playing days are over, and even considered working as a substitute teacher this fall.

But he does not feel sorry for himself and does not want sympathy. Most of all, he wants to play again so he can provide for his family.

A member of the union’s negotiating committee, Rose explained how a locked-out NBA player could flirt with financial difficulty after making so much money so quickly.

Rose made the NBA minimum salary of $272,500 last season after making $220,000 his rookie year with the Charlotte Hornets.

“First of all, Uncle Sam takes about 40 percent,” Rose said before ticking off a list of monthly expenses that included: mortgage, $900; car payment, $700; his brother’s car payment, $400; clothing, restaurants and miscellaneous expenses: $2,000.

Last season, his monthly rent in San Antonio was $1,500, and his lease on an apartment in Philadelphia over the summer was $1,000 a month. He gave up both of them before moving in with Mom.

In his rookie year, there was his brother’s college tuition, $13,000; an IRS bill, $10,000; his college credit card debt, $15,000; and the down payment on his $45,000 car.

There were “silly” spending sprees, too, he said, including an $800 gold chain he “really didn’t need.”

“I spent all the money my rookie year,” Rose said. “Some of it unwisely, but not a lot.

“You have to understand how some families are. I’m not going to let my aunts, uncles and cousins struggle, because I’m from a tight family. If I have money, I’m going to be generous. I want to see my family do well, also.”

That’s what led him to move his mother and sister out of one of the city’s poorer neighborhoods and into a working-class stretch of townhouses in southwestern Philadelphia. The three-bedroom home has a stocked refrigerator, a 60-inch projection television and satellite dish, and Rose’s retired No. 00 Drexel uniform in a frame.

“I’m not really nervous about missing a whole season because I trust Malik’s judgment and what he has told me,” said his mother, Janet. “Money-wise, the Lord has provided for us up to this point and will continue to do so whether Malik plays basketball or not. I might have to spend a little less, but I’m used to it.”

Most of Rose’s days are spent at his old school, where he works out in the university’s gym and weight room and waits for the season to begin.

Still recognizable to many members of the faculty and administration as he walked around Drexel’s campus, Rose couldn’t answer the question everyone asked: “When will you be playing again?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” was the best answer Rose could give to the campus chaplain and a friend of his father’s who pulled his Cadillac over on Market Street to chat.

Rose said he stashed away enough of his second-year salary to fund a “summer of withdrawals” from the cash machine after his season ended in May.

Still, his bank account was down to $6,000 in October when he found himself standing at the front desk of a hotel after a negotiating session. The rate was $220, his credit card was full and he ended up taking a train back to Philadelphia that night.

“I was a little nervous, but my mother is a spiritual person and always stays positive,” Rose said. “And sure enough, more money arrived.”

Soon after, Rose received the first of two $20,000 checks for his share of the union’s licensing proceeds. He now says he can hold out through next summer if necessary.

But like most players, he believes there will soon be a settlement to save a shortened season of 45 to 50 games.

“I’m not complaining, because there are people around here breaking their backs for $30,000, and people would scrape gum off of chairs for $100,000--less than half the average NBA salary,” he said. “That’s why we get no sympathy from the public.”