It’s certainly true that the game is fundamentally different
now than it was even a few years ago.
All five starters on this year’s champion Michigan Wolverines were
transfers. Two starters for Curmie’s
beloved Kansas Jayhawks were playing for their fourth different college team. As of this writing, still early in the transfer
window, only three players from the dozen Jayhawks players who logged the most
minutes this season have not either lost eligibility or entered the transfer
portal. One of them is a certain lottery
pick in the NBA draft, so he won’t be back.
The other two totaled a little under 400 minutes in the 2025-26 season
between them; seven individual players had over 600. [EDIT: now one of those two has also entered the portal.] At least three of the five players in the portal
are almost certainly gone. It’s certainly
time to stop pretending that there’s anything “amateur” about any of this.
The first and most obvious of the things that have changed of
late is that now it’s all (as opposed to just “mostly”) about money. Fans can complain all they want how players
now care more about the name on the back of the jersey than the name on the
front, but if you’re a 20-year-old kid, especially one from a poor family, who
gets offered hundreds of thousands (or even millions) of dollars more to play
for Spider Breath Ag & Tech than you were getting at the University of
Southern North Dakota at Hoople… aren’t you going to take the money and run? After all, you know you’re one serious ACL
injury away from never making any money as a player, and chances are you
weren’t in college to get an education in the first place.
The system certainly privileges teams with lots of money,
generally in the form of boosters. This
was already true to some degree—there aren’t a lot of universities that can offer
luxury accommodations for athletes or spend several million dollars a year for
a head coach—but the brave new world is far worse. You could hire a half dozen full professors
for what some universities are paying for a single good but not even Honorable Mention
All-League basketball player. (This is
where you, Gentle Reader, say “and football is even worse,” and Curmie glances
skyward and nods ruefully.)
Finally, the development of players is no longer a
priority. Back in the dark ages (the
2010s), teams would recruit a player, help him get better, and reap the rewards
in his junior and senior years. That
doesn’t happen anymore. There are
exceptions—Purdue’s Braden Smith became the NCAA’s all-time assist leader this
season in large part by also setting the record for most games played in a
Boilermaker uniform—but most of the top players will transfer elsewhere or enter
the NBA draft. Getting a player up to
the level where he can really help a good team be better is now simply allowing
other teams to offer a little more money, or immediate playing time, or
whatever.
NIL and the portal may be a considerable short-term benefit
to players, but they’re not good for the game, and they’re awful for fans. At least in the sports leagues that admit to
being professional—the NBA, NFL, etc.—players sign long-term contracts, so they’ll
stay with the team for a few years; some even insist on no-trade contracts. The NCAA allows unlimited free agency every
year. It’s insane.
Curmie, of course, is not the only one to notice all
this. Many, if not most, fans agree that
the status quo is absurd. One
such person is a guy named Donald J. Trump, and he’s in a position to do
something about it. Or he thinks he, at
least. Curmie acknowledges that Trump’s Executive Order on championship weekend was a). timed to get maximum exposure and b). an opportunity
to distract from any story that includes the words “Epstein,” “Iran,” or “inflation.” Curmie further stipulates that the EO will
certainly be challenged in court; even Jack Marshall,
who has defended some pretty outrageous activity by Dear Leader, says this one is
“flat-out unconstitutional.”
Still, to quote The Athletic’s Ralph D. Russo and Justin Williams, “multiple sources who have contributed to the document told The Athletic before the order was released that its goal was to spur legislative action,” presumably rather than going into effect per se. There is at least one bill, the so-called SCORE Act (that’s the cutesy acronym for the Student Compensation and Opportunity through Rights and Endorsements Act… somebody spent weeks coming up with that title, no doubt) which does some of the things the administration wants, but it’s not assured of passing the House and apparently stands no chance in the Senate.
The major problem, of course, is that the NCAA can’t really
function without some level of antitrust exemption, but, to be frank, the NCAA
can’t be trusted to operate in the best interests of anyone but, well, the NCAA:
not the athletes, not the universities, not the sports, and certainly not the
fans.
OK, but let’s look at what the EO says. The introduction includes the following
argument, about which there is little dispute:
The convergence of enormous pressure to win in football and basketball and the loosening, both by litigation and by State legislation, of consistent rules or limits concerning eligibility, transfers, and pay-for-play schemes has created an out-of-control financial arms race in these sports that is driving universities into debt, threatening to siphon resources from other sports, and damaging student-athletes’ educational and graduation opportunities. The athletics-related financial threats these crucial universities face are substantial: Already, one major athletic program closed fiscal year 2025 with $535 million in athletics-related debt, and another has $437 million in such debt, while others face enormous annual athletics-related deficits. These financial perils will inevitably siphon funds from universities’ educational and research purposes, which could impact their capabilities and responsibilities as Federal contractors and grantees.
It’s worth noting in this regard that only a handful of
universities were actually making money from their athletics programs even prior
to the surge in NIL spending. Yes, they
make pots of money from TV contracts and the like, but the costs are enormous: salaries
for coaches, trainers, and other staff; facilities, including absurdly lavish living
facilities for athletes; travel—not just to games, but to bring prospects to
campus and to send coaches to scout high school players; training meals; the list
goes on and on. And whereas it’s true
that athletics programs often generate donations, more often than not such
largesse is bestowed only on athletics: the wealthy alum who might otherwise have
funded much-needed renovations to the library or the chemistry lab decides to buy
a fancy new scoreboard for the basketball court instead.
Revenons à nos moutons… The highlights of the Executive Order are as
follows:
Outlawing payments to athletes above “fair market value” for
“goods and services” provided by the athlete.
If Curmie is reading this correctly, it means that a fat-cat booster can’t
pay a star player $5 million for doing a radio ad. The intention is great, but this is almost
impossible to enforce without putting a dollar limit on NIL, and that’s
problematic both ethically and, one suspects, constitutionally.
Age-based eligibility limits. It’s difficult to determine the rationale
here. Preventing young girls from
entering college early to help the gymnastics team? Preventing more physically mature players in
their mid-20s from playing sports where bulk matters? (There were a half dozen college football
players aged 25 or older last year; Kansas hoopster Gee Ngala was 26, and was,
if Curmie remembers correctly, the second-oldest player this season.)
“Participation in college athletics is permitted for no more
than a five-year period, with limited exceptions for
military service, missionary service, and other periods
of absence from participation that are in the public interest.” What’s noteworthy here is that whereas voluntary
missionary service qualifies for an exemption, injury doesn’t. This is especially significant in light of
the ruling by a state court judge that Ole Miss quarterback Trinidad Chambliss should be granted an extra year of
eligibility because the NCAA improperly denied his petition for a medical redshirt. (Guess where that judge’s law degree is from…
oh, and he got his law degree before septuagenarian Curmie graduated from high school.)
“Professional athletes cannot return to college athletics.” Three questions here. First, what’s meant by “professional”? There are a number of foreign-born basketball
players who played professionally in their homelands. Baylor’s James Nnagi not only played professionally in Europe, he was drafted by the NBA’s Detroit
Pistons and played for their summer league team. The second question is whether the key word
here is “return.” (Curmie’s mind wanders
to the ancient Greek word ἀποδίδωμι, which sometimes but not always means “return.” He won’t bore you with the relevance to theatre
history, Gentle Reader.) Nnagi didn’t return
to college because he’d never been there, and he never signed a NBA contract per
se. Oh, and guess what… he’s now in
the transfer portal.
Allowing only one transfer within that five-year window per
athlete with immediate eligibility, with a second available if the athlete
earns a four-year degree. This is a reasonable
restriction if it applies only to future transfers, and players who have
already transferred more than once retain their eligibility. Ex post facto, and all that…
“A national student-athlete agent registry and
reasonable protections for student-athletes from excessive agent commissions.” A little creepily Big Brother-ish, but
perhaps sufficiently warranted so as not as to be bad as Curmie fears.
And a bunch of logistical stuff.
On the whole, not a bad set of proposals. A place to start, at least. If only it were… you know… legal, and stuff.
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