Post by son of corb on Aug 21, 2008 20:09:55 GMT -6
Thought this was a funny read. Are steroids deductible? ;D
www.portfolio.com/views/columns/the-windup/2008/04/04/The-Accounting-Ultimate-Fighter
Heard the one about the accountant who is asked the color of a horse? "Brown on this side," he answers.
Well, not all accountants are precise, colorless, and as damnably composed as cast-iron lawn dogs. There's Chuck Liddell, a 38-year-old mixed martial artist who, especially at this time of year, dabbles in accounting.
Give Liddell a pocket calculator and sit him behind an office desk, and he becomes as tightly wound as a sofa spring. "When I'm figuring out my personal finances, I try to keep things as simple as possible so that the Feds won't be interested in me," says the former Ultimate Fighting Championship light-heavyweight champion. "They probably would be, if I still did my own taxes."
But put boxing gloves on Liddell's fists and stick him inside the chain-link cage known in the U.F.C. as the Octagon, and he becomes the calm, clearheaded Iceman. "I turn into a total unemotional badass," says Liddell, who is scheduled to face Rashad Evans on June 7 at U.F.C. 85 in London. "I don't mean to inflict pain on my opponents, but I do."
In his world, the only things that are certain are death, taxes, and a straight right to the chops. "No matter who you are, my goal is to take your head off," he says, "I may look like an ax murderer, but I'm just trying to show I'm the best at what I do for a living. Not that anyone can tell I had a formal education."
The 6'2", 220-pound Liddell has a degree in accounting from California Polytechnic State University, in San Luis Obispo. After graduating in 1995, he worked as a bartender and a kickboxing instructor. Ten years ago, a friend suggested that Liddell try ultimate fighting, then an underground sport. Famously called human cockfighting by Senator John McCain, mixed martial arts, or M.M.A., had been banned from TV, as well as in 36 states, including California.
A college wrestler who had been schooled in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Liddell won his first bout on a decision and quickly established a reputation as a striker with a devastating knockout punch. By 2003, he was challenging deposed U.F.C. heavyweight champ Randy Couture for the newly minted light-heavyweight title. Couture won the fight on a third-round TKO.
An accountant, of course, is someone who solves a problem you didn't know you had. Liddell solved Couture in the 2005 rematch by knocking him senseless in the opening round, and in the 2006 rubber match, a second-round KO.
When Liddell doesn't have numbers to crunch, he looks for skulls.
"Nobody comes into a fight more prepared than Chuck," says Dana White, the U.F.C. president, who audits Liddell's stats. (Liddell is 21-5, with nine knockouts).
Liddell knows the fighters in his weight class as well as the tax code. "When I'm watching pre-fight tapes, I'm collecting all my receipts on my opponents, accumulating data," he says. "Once I step into the cage, it's April 15. Everything is due."
Liddell can carry this taxes-as-metaphor business to considerable lengths. "Paying taxes is like losing a fight," he says. "You've got nothing to show for it afterward." At least you can amend your returns three years back, he says: "Once you lose in the cage, it's on your record forever. And if you get decked, you really have to pay." Last May, a first-round TKO by Quinton "Rampage" Jackson cost him his light-heavyweight crown.
Still, Liddell thinks fighting is more rewarding than preparing tax forms. "If I win, my bonus money kicks in," he says. "When I see my paycheck, it's better than any I.R.S. refund."
During his first few years in the U.F.C., he helped prepare, at no charge, income tax returns for a bunch of stablemates who were having difficulty dealing with their tax forms. Sample questions:
If my wife's a stripper, is a boob job a legitimate business expense? (Liddell's answer: "I'd say not.")
Are steroids deductible? ("I don't think so.")
Liddell may have improved his fellow fighters' tax situations, but he didn't do much for their careers. All have either been dropped in the cage or dropped out of the sport.
It wasn't long before Liddell withdrew his services. "I'm not the right guy to break tax stuff down for you. Hire a C.P.A."
He has. "In the old days, my returns were simple," Liddell says. "I wasn't making much money, I wasn't married, and I had two standard deductions." Meaning his children, Trista and Cade.
He's still unwed, but he's now part-owner of two bars in Lincoln, Nebraska (Dillinger's and NZone), and an M.M.A. social-networking website, (MMAJacked.com). "Add in my purses and endorsement money, and I'm making seven figures," he says.
Which helps explain why he no longer prepares his own return. "Fighting is easier," he says. "Taxes make me sweat too much."
www.portfolio.com/views/columns/the-windup/2008/04/04/The-Accounting-Ultimate-Fighter
Heard the one about the accountant who is asked the color of a horse? "Brown on this side," he answers.
Well, not all accountants are precise, colorless, and as damnably composed as cast-iron lawn dogs. There's Chuck Liddell, a 38-year-old mixed martial artist who, especially at this time of year, dabbles in accounting.
Give Liddell a pocket calculator and sit him behind an office desk, and he becomes as tightly wound as a sofa spring. "When I'm figuring out my personal finances, I try to keep things as simple as possible so that the Feds won't be interested in me," says the former Ultimate Fighting Championship light-heavyweight champion. "They probably would be, if I still did my own taxes."
But put boxing gloves on Liddell's fists and stick him inside the chain-link cage known in the U.F.C. as the Octagon, and he becomes the calm, clearheaded Iceman. "I turn into a total unemotional badass," says Liddell, who is scheduled to face Rashad Evans on June 7 at U.F.C. 85 in London. "I don't mean to inflict pain on my opponents, but I do."
In his world, the only things that are certain are death, taxes, and a straight right to the chops. "No matter who you are, my goal is to take your head off," he says, "I may look like an ax murderer, but I'm just trying to show I'm the best at what I do for a living. Not that anyone can tell I had a formal education."
The 6'2", 220-pound Liddell has a degree in accounting from California Polytechnic State University, in San Luis Obispo. After graduating in 1995, he worked as a bartender and a kickboxing instructor. Ten years ago, a friend suggested that Liddell try ultimate fighting, then an underground sport. Famously called human cockfighting by Senator John McCain, mixed martial arts, or M.M.A., had been banned from TV, as well as in 36 states, including California.
A college wrestler who had been schooled in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Liddell won his first bout on a decision and quickly established a reputation as a striker with a devastating knockout punch. By 2003, he was challenging deposed U.F.C. heavyweight champ Randy Couture for the newly minted light-heavyweight title. Couture won the fight on a third-round TKO.
An accountant, of course, is someone who solves a problem you didn't know you had. Liddell solved Couture in the 2005 rematch by knocking him senseless in the opening round, and in the 2006 rubber match, a second-round KO.
When Liddell doesn't have numbers to crunch, he looks for skulls.
"Nobody comes into a fight more prepared than Chuck," says Dana White, the U.F.C. president, who audits Liddell's stats. (Liddell is 21-5, with nine knockouts).
Liddell knows the fighters in his weight class as well as the tax code. "When I'm watching pre-fight tapes, I'm collecting all my receipts on my opponents, accumulating data," he says. "Once I step into the cage, it's April 15. Everything is due."
Liddell can carry this taxes-as-metaphor business to considerable lengths. "Paying taxes is like losing a fight," he says. "You've got nothing to show for it afterward." At least you can amend your returns three years back, he says: "Once you lose in the cage, it's on your record forever. And if you get decked, you really have to pay." Last May, a first-round TKO by Quinton "Rampage" Jackson cost him his light-heavyweight crown.
Still, Liddell thinks fighting is more rewarding than preparing tax forms. "If I win, my bonus money kicks in," he says. "When I see my paycheck, it's better than any I.R.S. refund."
During his first few years in the U.F.C., he helped prepare, at no charge, income tax returns for a bunch of stablemates who were having difficulty dealing with their tax forms. Sample questions:
If my wife's a stripper, is a boob job a legitimate business expense? (Liddell's answer: "I'd say not.")
Are steroids deductible? ("I don't think so.")
Liddell may have improved his fellow fighters' tax situations, but he didn't do much for their careers. All have either been dropped in the cage or dropped out of the sport.
It wasn't long before Liddell withdrew his services. "I'm not the right guy to break tax stuff down for you. Hire a C.P.A."
He has. "In the old days, my returns were simple," Liddell says. "I wasn't making much money, I wasn't married, and I had two standard deductions." Meaning his children, Trista and Cade.
He's still unwed, but he's now part-owner of two bars in Lincoln, Nebraska (Dillinger's and NZone), and an M.M.A. social-networking website, (MMAJacked.com). "Add in my purses and endorsement money, and I'm making seven figures," he says.
Which helps explain why he no longer prepares his own return. "Fighting is easier," he says. "Taxes make me sweat too much."
