NCAA Redux

     There is an adage in the legal world that difficult cases make bad law—that is, that it is foolish to draw general principles from exceptional circumstances. A number of readers have argued that this is just what I’ve done with the Bomar and McElrathbey examples. After all, most college athletes don’t cheat, and most college athletes aren’t the legal guardians of their little brothers. So why toss out a system that works perfectly well in most cases because of its failures on the margin?

     I think that’s a fair criticism. So let me try again. I don’t agree that Bomar and McElrathbey really are “difficult cases.” Although the particular circumstances in which they ran afoul of the NCAA are unusual, the reason for their predicament is not. In fact, I think, both cases point to a problem that runs through the NCAA’s treatment of just about everyone: the idea that a regulatory agency can have jurisdiction over the entire life of athlete.

     I made this point before, briefly. But it’s worth restating in more detail. McElrathbey is an athlete. He is also a student, a brother and, now the legal guardian of his younger brother. The NCAA’s formal mandate is to govern students in their capacity as athletes. But here, in forbidding McElrathbey from accepting outside donations to help him take care of his little brother, the NCAA has extended its jurisdiction to govern McElrathbey in his capacity as a brother and legal guardian.

     I think that’s outrageous. We all accept the fact that if we attend a high school or a college, that institution can impose a certain behavioral code on us when we are attending that school. But a high school that forbids its students to wear miniskirts or jeans or torn t-shirts cannot extend those restrictions to the way students dress when they aren’t at school. Authority is necessarily tempered by the question of jurisdiction.

     Bomar’s case raises the same issue. His ability as a football player made him a celebrity in Norman Oklahoma. Because of that celebrity, the car dealership that employed him was willing to pay him an extra several thousand dollars (the $18,000 figure initially quoted in some news reports, by the way, is wrong). Was that sleazy? Of course it was. Was it an underhanded way for a booster to get money to a star player? Totally. But working at a car dealership is not playing football, and football the only thing over which the NCAA rightfully has jurisdiction. Sure Bomar got paid for doing little or nothing. But the hallways of Oklahoma—like the hallways of every college in this country—are filled with students who for one reason or another got paid a lot of money on their summer vacation to do little or nothing. (I would include myself in this. In the summer of my junior year the Government of Ontario paid me to do almost nothing at a theater group called Toronto Workshop Productions. Let just say a good time was had by all).

     The NCAA would respond that they have to police Bomar and McElrathbey in all of their various roles and incarnations because they are defending an all inclusive ethic—amateurism. To be an amateur is like being a virgin. It’s not situational. It’s absolute. McElrathbey, the NCAA would say, has to understand that the requirements of amateurism, in his instance, are in unfortunate but unavoidable conflict with the freedom to accept outside financial assistance.

     Fine. In theory, I can buy that argument.

     But wait. Surely if you want to defend an absolute ethic, you have to defend it absolutely. That’s the way it was in the late 19th century, when the principles of amateur sport were first codified. Back then, the games were free. The coaches were volunteers, and certainly no one was pulling down millions of dollars from Bowl Game appearances. The amateur ideal applied to everyone.

      Now? It only applies to athletes. If I’m Oklahoma, I’m allowed by the NCAA to trade on the celebrity created by my football prowess and sign a $500,000 endorsement deal with Nike. But if I’m Oklahoma’s quarterback, I’m not allowed to trade on the celebrity created by my football prowess and make a few extra dollars in my part-time job. If I’m Clemson University, I can pay my men’s football coach $1.1 million a year in salary to coach an “amateur” athletic team. But if my cornerback wants to accept gifts from the public to help raise his little brother, he can’t. Why? Because he happens to play on that “amateur” football team. I repeat what I wrote in that last post. I cannot, for the life of me, make sense of that position.

     I’m not advocating the end of amateurism. I think the NCAA killed amateurism long ago, when it decided that this grand noble “ethic” applied only to athletes, and not the coaches and athletic departments and schools they play for.

Comments

[Patrick Dodge]

Malcom:

Congratulations on parlaying the correct information about the NCAA and more specifically with the unique situation with Clemson University. Job well done and it was interesting to see this story receive the light it should.

[Zack Brown]

What drives me crazy is that the NCAA cracked down so hard on these cases, but let Notre Dame Safety, Tom Zbikowski, box professionally at Madison Square Garden this summer where he received a purse of $25,000.

They said that as long as he didn't receive an endorsement, he wasn't getting special treatment as a college athlete.

Zbikowski fought a tomato can from Akron and knocked the dude out in 49 seconds. The fight wasn't competitive, compelling or even marginally fair. So why was Madison Square Garden booked for the fight and why did the Notre Dame safety get paid 25 grand? Because he's famous for being an amateur college football player.

If a college football player earning $25,000 for 49 seconds of work doesn’t count as special treatment or being ‘over-paid’, then I’m not sure what does.

[Jake]

Have you read this recent article on ESPN about the Elrathbey situation?

http://sports.espn.go.com/ncf/news/story?id=2594996

It seems that clemson has figured out a way around the NCAA's ridiculous system, to do the right thing.

[Kent Anderson]

While I somewhat agree with this, I think we have to remember that many situations are inequitable. If these were research assistants at a university, would we be as upset? Are millions of dollars of value generated by underpaid student research assistants and teaching assistants every year? Yes, definitely. Careers of tenured professors are extended and enhanced, as often as not, by these "exploited" workers. Yet the real issue, it seems to me, is two-fold: 1) Is the deal considered fair? 2) Is the long-term benefit of the current relationship factored in? In the case of the student-athletes, each one knows that subverting themselves to the college game long enough to shine will likely lead to a multi-million-dollar professional contract, or that is at least their hope. In exchange, they agree to poor pay and limitations imposed by the NCAA. Is the deal fair? Sure it is. Who hasn't started out at the bottom of the ladder with an eye toward ascending to the top? It is done in hopes of a long-term payoff. Does Malcolm Gladwell really extract every penny of value from his work on "The New Yorker"? Of course not. He gets paid an amount he thinks is fair, but the owner likely makes much more than that. But he is building a reputation as an author, speaker, and personality that will, over time, make him much better off than he was when he started, yet he will never capture all the value of his work. The same goes for all of us. So, after a fair amount of thought, and despite some ringing rhetoric, I come out thinking this is just a bunch of hand-wringing over a fool who was on his way to being a millionaire and squandered it for short-money from a local car dealer. Ninety-nine percent of NCAA athletes, student employees, TAs, and people taking their first full-time job are smart enough to know that payoff comes later and in negotiated, stair-step fashion, and that you are very unlikely to get back all the value you generate. All you can hope for is a fair deal, and I think this guy got it. He was a fool, and couldn't wait to cash in on his modest celebrity.

[Cory Fox]

Mr. Gladwell,

I completely agree with this post. I'd also like to point out that the athlete's celebrity is, in a large way, created by the University's exploitation of amateurism. If the athlete wasn't clad in Nike, appearing on ESPN in a state-of-the-art football stadium, would he be as famous? I tend to think not.

[Me Myself and Eugene]

Isn't the "YOU TRY IT THEN!" argument exactly the same dumb argument every athlete throws out at journalists when they write about their poor play? It is odd to see journalists doing the exact same thing.

Posted by: Will Leitch | September 30, 2006 at 11:23 AM
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Alas, Young Will, you're missing the point. He said, "you try it, and you'll understand why writers are so sensitive to criticism of works that they poured their hearts into." Not, "you try it, and only then will we grant you permission to speak."

Of course, MG wouldn't have ended the sentence with a preposition.

[jennifer]

Save the big paychecks for the big leagues. I abhor college sports, especially when it involves hero worship. The focus should be on education and not on seeing how much money you can throw at a gigantic oaf who cannot point to the state of New York on a map. Why should American society reward (worship) overpay college athletes and coaches? Why not just poach these athletic boy wonders straight out of high school and allow the college minded set to get on with life in academia without distraction? (I went to graduate school at Penn State - my only regret in life.)

NEWSFLASH: There are plenty of college students out there who have a crack mommy and absent father. Yet we only single out and feel sorry for the ones who can throw a ball. Why?

We should try to keep greed and corruption out of college sports, if boy wonder is any good he will have plenty of time for it after graduation.