A Lesson In Louisiana

About seven percent of high school football players go on to play in college. Fewer than two percent of college players ever make a pro roster. And the average duration of an NFL career is about three-plus years. How then do we reconcile those numbers with the startling development of NIL reimbursement that now pervades the college ranks, a phenomenon that was born only a few years ago?

Start with this--Grandma always said that all activity in this world comes back to sales.

Last weekend we spent a few days in Baton Rouge for the occasion of my neice's wedding. The entire weekend took on the personality of the newlywed couple- lovely and pleasant.

There was a casual meet-and-greet Friday night, so as to allow the two big extended families to learn each other a bit before the formal wedding ceremony on Saturday evening downtown. Close friends then hosted a bountiful brunch on Sunday morning, allowing more easy social time for a send-off that was smooth and unhurried .

In the midst of all this activity were a number of long moments in which young children along for the weekend needed to be occupied. Three of them were my grandkids, one boy, age 6, and two girls, ages 5 and 3.

My role on Saturday afternoon was to herd them out into the yard where they could burn off some high octane kid energy that would become a problem if they were bottled up inside the house we had rented.

As soon as the kids and I were outside, a loose game of Monster Chase took shape. The kids were zipping around the yard, going from base to base – that is, tree to tree--to avoid the Monster ( that would be me) stumbling around after them. That gambit was good for about 15-20 minutes, when some versions of " I'm tired and I'm bored" were cited as reasons by the kids to head back inside– which was not an option in the grand scheme.

So...what to do?

That's when I realized I had a few one dollar bills in my pocket that might fan the flames of ambition among the young competitors.

It worked. As soon as I dropped one bill on the lawn, one of them instantly scooped it up. The other two were briefly annoyed- until they each found a dropped bill too.

They each bounced back from those fatigue issues they'd faced earlier and became fixated on the cash– how to get the money, how to keep from losing the money , and how to get more money.

Avoiding the Monster was now clearly a secondary goal. And other effects were in play, as with college football. Altered team dynamics, ​distractions, perceived inequities, and lack of regulation were all at work within the group. I tried adding a few more singles, but that move only inflamed the problems born of monetizing a previously pure game of chase.

I had inadvertently set up a mini- collective so as to motivate competitors to play more and play harder. In the process, their goals had been warped from out-competing their opponents to grabbing up the cash.​

The analogy is imprecise of course. These kids were not here under the name of any school or similar entity. They were not here on any time scale other than my hoped-for one hour distraction. And we were talking about only a few bucks.

That said, look at the similarities.

The young'uns are now playing for money. Not just getting paid while they play– they are playing FOR the money. They want to win, sure, but winning became a secondary goal. Making moolah is the primary purpose. They are loyal to that one goal– making money. Family ties, camaraderie and tradition are not primary factors.

Startling as that is, there's an oddly pleasing clarity of the mission here. Recall Greg Maddux' assertion years ago during his playing days that he was not trying to throw strikes, but instead "....trying to get guys out". That crystallization of the highest goal is gloriously authentic, even if also mercenary.

Realize, too, how quickly the business of college football has evolved over the past few years. In 2014, UGA running back Todd Gurley - a leading Heisman candidate that year--was suspended for four games after it was revealed he had received several thousand dollars from a third party who had made money selling items adorned with Gurley's autograph.

Gurley went pro that off- season and went on to a productive NFL career. While he was suspended, and just to emphasize the point, a fellow student at UGA– a senior business major who was a non- athlete made some good money selling T -shirts saying "Free Gurley". The student, named Peyton Bennett, thought it odd that he could profit from Gurley's name, while Gurley himself could not- at least not without jeopardizing his NCAA eligibility. Nowadays, suddenly, a few thousand dollars would be insulting to your average four-star recruit.

One year after Gurley- gate, the National Labor Relations Board declined the bid of a group of Northwestern athletes who had wanted to unionize, discounting the players' claim that they were essentially university employees.

All the while, the piles of money involved in big -time college football were growing ever bigger. As were coaches' salaries. As were university general fund coffers.

But the powers that be held fast to the time- honored notion that D-1 scholarship football players were amateurs whose prime purpose was to get an education. As such, it was held, they were already receiving significant reward for their play.

But the public's enthusiasm and their consequent exuberant financial support for their school seem to have no end. Ticket prices and fundraising tallies continue to rise, with all but the athletes reaping the rich rewards. Until now. About 50 years ago, an attorney named Marvin Miller helped major league baseball players organize in order to more effectively deal with the owners. Miller made the point then that the players were being exploited. That seemed like a stretch to most fans, who knew the players made good money for playing a game about nine months per year. But Miller explained that highly -paid performers could be accurately described as being exploited if they were being artificially underpaid relative to their true market value. And they were.

Similarly, college football players , it turns out , have a market value far higher than the cost of tuition and books.

It was a quick and quiet leap from okaying NIL money to allowing loosely organized , school- affiliated (but not school-owned ) "collectives'' to woo athletes from high school or from other college teams. There might be a " job" requirement associated with the pay, but most often that's only a token requirement that may yield six- figure rewards to highly coveted players. This labor market went from artificially closed tight to wide-open in about three or four years.

The NCAA now stands by , looking a bit like the clueless ref at a Saturday night wrasslin' match--glorified bystanders who remain blind to any possible misdeeds of the combatants , while looking official and harumphing at the right moments.

And where does that leave the fans? Well, we are the hyper- enthusiastic yo-yo's in the front row at that same wrestling ring, shelling out big dough and remaining ever-eager for our faves to win another match. Integrity be damned.

Schools that are still interested in being competitive in the highest level of college football now have no choice but to toe the line and ante up. In combination with the burgeoning use of the transfer portal, the NIL "system " could actually bring a measure of parity to the game, though it will also bring the chaos that comes with rampant roster turnover each season. Being able to handle that roster remake chore, much less master it, is a skill that many good football coaches may not be able or willing to conjure up.

The notion that college athletes are in fact amateurs is so farfetched now that it seems quaint. And the public doesn't seem to mind a bit. In a time and within a sport where all aspects are for sale– from stadium names to uniform styles to scoreboards to bowl games– now, finally, the players themselves are also for sale. Maybe for the better, maybe not, but there's no turning back.

Grandma was right.

Patrick Conarro

RamblinSports.com