What would you do for a Klondike bar? Not a lot, right? Me either — I'm a Snickers man anyway.

OK let me ask this: What would you do for $1 million? I could think of a lot of things I'd do, although for the sake of you, dear reader, I won't elaborate on what those things would be. Maybe you won't run naked down Wisconsin Avenue for $1 million, but $5 million has perked your interest. In sports, as in life, everybody has their price tag. And when someone forks over the cash we'll dance, with a smile and song in our hearts. Money buys happiness, right?

Here's the scenario: You are making $13.5 million a year and are the star of a great basketball team in a demanding basketball town. You are on top of the world. Your wife (or husband) is hotter than the equator in July. You are in your mid-20s, and are the most heralded prodigy since a certain someone from the line of King David. Isn't it great to be a millionaire?

But there's a catch: Tomorrow you will be charged with rape.

Suddenly you'll have to admit to your wife you're "an adulterer." Not in the privacy of your own home, where the average $50-grand-a-year guy does, but in front of ESPN and countless other hoards of media. You'll have to fly back and forth from Eagle, Colo., the town where your case is being tried, and wherever your team is playing that night. I did mention your job takes you all over didn't I? So you should still be happy; after all, you'll see the finest hotels in Atlanta, Indiana, Salt Lake City and roughly 26 other cities.

Sure — you, the reader, and I have both made mistakes before. I'm willing to bet your circle of friends and family has magnified some of them, whether to tease you or make you think about your idiocy. I can tell you my close circle of friends and family has magnified some of my mistakes, for both reasons.

But you aren't the average $50-grand-a-year guy anymore, you are rich. You are worth a potential $200 million in endorsements and team contracts that the government and public know about. So you don't answer to just your closed circuit of family and friends. Now it's ABC, NBC and CNN criticizing you, watching your every move.

Oh right, I forgot, on top of that pesky sexual assault thing, an entire city is depending on you to bring home another NBA championship. You think the media is angry with you now, wait until you don't bring home that championship everyone is salivating over. Out of the four shoo-in hall-of-famers on your team, you're the one who people trust to take a 20-foot jumper at the buzzer. Lead an adulterous life if you must, but lose to San Antonio in the second round, and that's when the fans stop cheering.

Kobe Bryant's trial isn't an indictment of his sex life, it's an indictment of anyone and everyone that can only see the positive consequences of their ultimate goals. Sometimes we get so wrapped up with attaining money, fame, good looks or a sports column in a school newspaper, we forget all the negative effects of what those things bring. Just ask Kobe Bryant how fun it is to be a millionaire right now.