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My Appetite for This Change Is Almost . . . Nil

The transformation of college athletics is also changing the fan experience.


By Dennis Boone


That time of year again when the weather in Missouri and Kansas takes on blast-furnace dimensions. For fans of college athletics, though, it’s a time of hope: In football, especially when players assemble for training camp, and every one of the NCAA’s 134 Football Championship Series schools is undefeated.

If you’re like me, the annual rite of anticipation is giving way to a gnawing anguish. Something profound is changing the nature of the game, and it’s not just roster changes following graduation ceremonies or the NFL Draft.

We’re heading into Year VI of the Name-Image-Likeness era, which arrived in July 2021 and changed the nature of college athletics—quite likely forever, as this genie won’t go gently back into the lamp. I’ve always believed that in 85 cases for football teams and 13 more for basketball, a college degree complete with room and training-table board was a pretty good ROI for the grueling experience of playing ball at that level.

A long, long time ago, when an unproven fellow named Snyder became head football coach at my alma mater, my youngest brother saw an opportunity and walked on to play at the worst Division I program in the U.S. in terms of all-time losses. He logged three seasons as a middle linebacker but only his final one as a scholarship player. Although he wasn’t very big, he had the gift of being slow afoot. But he knew the game, understood positioning, angles of attack and the value of watching opponent film, and did OK for himself.

Seeing the fresh, bloodied divots on his hands every Saturday made me wonder, for the first time, whether the athletes were getting a fair shake, even if they got a diploma out of the deal. (And more than a few failed to get even that, dropping out short of a degree when their eligibility was exhausted and never playing professionally.)

The vast sums—billions—in television revenues hoovered up by the NCAA for the two main revenue sports seemed wildly disproportionate. Nobody from the association’s front office was getting knocked into next Tuesday every week on the field, after all. Surely there had to be a better way to share the blessings of television advertising.

Then came NIL. But I’m not sure it’s a better way. Last month, for example, dear old State turned heads nationwide with a $2 million NIL deal to secure the talents of a very promising 6-foot-10 forward for the coming basketball season. But consider this: That figure for one season tops the median lifetime earnings for a male worker in the United States, according to the Social Security Administration. Did the pendulum swing too far?

I’m not knocking the young man for securing that deal while it was available. He’s a knee injury away from never making bank on his talents professionally.

What does concern me is the knock-on effects of NIL. Two years ago, that same program lost a point guard to Miami, which offered a bribe—excuse me, an NIL deal—of $800,000. Almost unheard of at the time, but again, you can’t blame a college-age kid for securing his best deal while he can.

Around this region, KU, Mizzou and K-State all place in the second 20 of NIL funding by school, the NCAA says: KU at No. 32, MU at No. 35 and KSU next at 36. All place fairly close to each other at around $7.2 million in NIL funding. That’s a far cry from the $20 million-plus in the Texas-Ohio State-LSU stratosphere, but it allows the locals to attract sufficient talent that, combined with the right coaching, might get the football team into a nice bowl game most years and, on occasion, into the expanded 12-team playoff format that starts this year.

But at a cost. It seems unlikely we’ll ever follow a program that can bring in talented freshmen whom fans can follow for four seasons as they mature into championship-caliber players. In K-State’s case, the transfer portal—the evil twin of NIL—wiped out virtually the entire basketball roster two years ago and again this spring.

When they take the court this fall, my fan interest will be less “How good can we be?” and more “Who the hell are these guys?”

NIL is here to stay, so fans had best get used to it. But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s been lost in this process.

Much as I felt long ago watching Junior get his skull thumped by national championship teams from Colorado and Washington, something tells me there has to be a better way. If the NIL experience is any guide, we should shudder to think of what that might be.

But, hey, at least the Chiefs are red-hot.

For now, anyway.

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