The Most Valuable Player in Sports is ... this Doctor

By: Chuck Salter Thu Aug 7, 2008 at 7:30 PM

"Sports has become big business, but it can't interfere with medical treatment," Andrews says. | photo by Mark Heithoff

James Andrews has become a hidden force in sports -- rescuing careers, changing the outcome of games, and making billions for stars and teams -- by mending the world's best athletes (like the 62 pros on the previous pages) and driving medical innovation.

Enlarge

"If athletes come back from surgery, word travels like wildfire," says physical therapist Kevin Wilk. "And if they don't, they blame the doctor." | photo by Mark Heithoff

Enlarge

Andrews's 2004 Auburn football SEC Champions ring (part of his collection) signals his hands' imprint on sports. | photo by Mark Heithoff

Related Content

Could be Boras, the agent, who has Andrews's cell on speed-dial. "You better believe I do," he says, "and he has mine." Boras has been sending stars to Andrews for more than 30 years. "You might have a team physician who says, 'I don't think this guy can play,' and Jim's saying, 'He's an outfielder. With a treatment plan, he can make the throws.' Both doctors can diagnose the defect, but only one can tell you whether or not it'll affect the player. That diagnosis may mean a $100 million contract."

When Andrews was with Hughston in Georgia, he made house calls -- in his own house. Football coaches throughout the state and in Alabama would bring injured players over after the clinic had closed. If they required immediate surgery, Andrews put them up. Later, after the family moved into a sprawling Italianate mansion in Birmingham, Andrews's six children got used to famous faces staying in the guesthouse during rehab, including Bo Jackson, who became the doctor's quail-hunting buddy.

Ask Andrews how he makes it work -- the countless calls; leading a medical practice with nearly 40,000 patients annually; the Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays on football sidelines; and the never-say-no philosophy typified by his oft-uttered phrase "Come on" (as in "Come on down, and we'll fit you in") -- and he reverts to self-deprecating mode. "To this day, I don't know how I manage to do it," he says.

Of course, Andrews knows exactly what he's doing. His practice, like most businesses, is rooted in relationships, and he has systematically exploited his network to great effect. "You'd never want to play Jimmy in chess," says Dr. William Clancy, the inventor of an early ACL repair and a surgeon in Andrews's practice. "He'd be 10 moves ahead of you." In the 1970s, Andrews and other young surgeons started the Herodicus Society (named for the ancient Greek physician, considered the father of sports medicine) to collaborate on surgical techniques and develop the next generation of leaders. He cultivated a high profile outside the OR, coauthoring textbooks and research papers and headlining conferences. ("He fills the house," says one equipment maker.)

Andrews understood early on that taking care of high-school, college, and minor-league athletes would create a vast web of referrals and lead to the professional ranks. In Alabama, where you're practically required by law to choose between Auburn and the University of Alabama, Andrews attends both schools' football games, treating Tigers and Crimson Tide alike -- even when they play against each other. In Columbus, he bought the local minor-league affiliate of the Houston Astros and most likely became the only team owner to operate on his players.

The network effect of all these marketing efforts is continuous. This summer, Shaun Micheel, the 2003 PGA Championship winner, had Andrews arthroscopically repair his torn labrum because, yes, Nicklaus endorsed him. As 1976 U.S. Open golf champion and grateful patient Jerry Pate attests, "I've recommended Jim to hundreds of people. Hundreds."

The only time Andrews's nonstop networking and ambition has gotten the best of him came in 2003, when he found himself implicated in the HealthSouth accounting scandal. His partner in Birmingham was the high-flying chain of rehabilitation hospitals, and Andrews served as the company's national medical director, responsible for overseeing quality of care. He was good friends with CEO and founder Richard Scrushy, who helped fund Andrews's America's Cup effort. When federal agents uncovered a $2.7 billion fraud, Andrews says he didn't know about the inflated revenue. "It was a shock to me," he says. "They screwed up the company." But last December, he paid a $450,000 civil settlement that stemmed from allegations that by referring patients to HealthSouth facilities, he'd violated a self-referral law; he was never charged and he wasn't the only doctor to settle. (HealthSouth paid a $14.2 million settlement for its part.)

When the HealthSouth center closed abruptly, his dream of opening a chain of Andrews-designed sports-medicine clinics evaporated. He scrambled to find a new home, leasing space at St. Vincent's. His practice's annual revenue, reportedly $60 million under HealthSouth, shrank by about half; the number of surgeons on his team dropped from 12 to 6.

What saved Andrews was the referral network he'd built. He has become the sort of hub that's rare in any field. Even when another doctor is seeing a big-time athlete, Andrews often has a connection. The team physician or medical director will be a former surgical fellow, one of the young MDs who worked with Andrews for a year before going into practice (with the Cincinnati Reds and Green Bay Packers, among others). Or someone will have collaborated with him on a textbook (New England Patriots and New York Mets, among others). The rehab coordinator (Red Sox) or director of sports medicine (University of Georgia) might have honed his skills at the Birmingham clinic or spoken at one of Andrews's annual conferences (New Orleans Saints).