Is There Life After Football? (4 page)

Stories like these may be part mythology, but they are so commonplace that their underlying truths can't be discounted. Consider, for example, how University of Michigan quarterbacks Denard Robinson and Devin Gardner reflected on their recruiting experiences. On one visit to an SEC school, one of them arrived at his hotel room, only to discover two attractive coeds in the room, already in his bed. “It was weird, man.” On another trip, one of them was given a rental car and told, “You don't have to return that.” Another SEC school offered to pay for a relative's tuition. “Man, am I the only one to do it clean?” lamented
Gardner. “Michigan didn't give me anything!” he continued in mock outrage. “This place sucks.”
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Such perks have been dangled in front of recruits for decades. Hakeem Chapman, an all-city player from the West Coast in the 1950s, tells his recruiting tale: “I was offered money, cars, women, by all the big schools. My mom asked me what everyone was promising me and I told her. She asked, ‘What did [one college] say they'd give you?' I said, ‘They didn't offer anything.' ‘Good,' she said. ‘That's where you're going.'”
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The inducements offered “back in the day” may be small change by today's standards, but they were ubiquitous. For decades we've probably seen a mere tip of the inducement iceberg, generally when a school gets caught violating NCAA rules.
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Some college recruiters will say or do just about anything to entice a prospect. In addition to material inducements, college football programs are willing to “overlook” recruits' academic deficiencies in order to bring them into the program. Many players are enrolled with grades and/or test scores far below those of regularly admitted students. A 2008 study conducted by the
Atlanta Journal-Constitution
found that for a cross section of FBS schools, football players were admitted with mean (average) SAT scores that were 220 points below the mean of the full student body. The largest gap was at the University of Florida, where the average SAT score for football players was 890 (out of a possible 1600 points), compared to the university's 1236 average—a gap of 346 points.
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Instances of individual players being enrolled without minimal academic qualifications are legendary. Dexter Manley—who went on to an 11-year NFL career (but who was also suspended for life for repeated drug use)—provides an egregious example. Manley confessed that he was functionally illiterate when he enrolled at Oklahoma State University. He had scored an 8 on the ACT (the equivalent of 400 on the SAT).
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Journalist William Rhoden has adopted the term “conveyor belt” to characterize how the big-time collegiate athletic/financial machine captures and co-opts young athletes. He argues that the best are funneled into college programs via the conveyor belt, which runs through
a feeder system of youth leagues, camps, clubs, clinics, summer leagues, and scholastic leagues. “The Conveyor Belt transports young athletes from the innocent fun and games to clubs and specialized leagues—where they find increasingly rigorous competition and better training and coaching—and finally to colleges and pro leagues. . . . The contemporary Conveyor Belt is a streamlined mechanism for developing players and offering training and showcases where talented players display their talents for college scouts.” Unfortunately, precious few of them succeed in fashioning NFL careers, notes Rhoden, and even those who make it to the pros pay a steep price in terms of personal autonomy and identity. By the time an elite player is ready for college, he may already be convinced that he is entitled to the opportunity—and a whole lot more.
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While Rhoden is skeptical about the conveyor belt and what it ultimately does to young athletes, there's no doubt that, in recent years, players have eagerly jumped on board. Their sense of entitlement aside, many have studiously mapped out the realization of their dreams. That route now runs through weight rooms, nutritional supplements, elite summer camps, personal trainers, and recruiting gurus and street agents.
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For top-flight teenaged players, football is more than a dream. It's a full-fledged commitment. And by the time a player signs a college letter of intent, he's likely convinced that he's an exceptional player and a special person. He goes on national TV to announce his college choice. His self-esteem is on steroids.

Most elite players go to college to play ball. Were it not for football, most big-time players wouldn't have attended the universities where they enrolled. College educations and degrees are valuable perks, but they aren't the main course on players' menus. Football is
the
centerpiece of the college experience, and being a top-tier player requires nearly total investment of time, energy, and attention. George Koonce was typical.

Football was pretty much year-round. Spring training ran February through April. June and July consisted of working out, running, and conditioning. In season, we played from late August through December. . . . I would get to the stadium around 2:00 p.m. each day and leave after study hall around 9:00 p.m. . . . Somewhere, we'd fit in dinner. . . . I'd go to bed dead tired. Get up the next morning and do it again
.
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Twenty years later, a midseason day for Michigan quarterback Denard Robinson provides a variation on the same theme. Up at 6:30 a.m. to make it to Schembechler Hall (the football facility) by seven for treatment for his swollen knee. An hour for Kenesio taping, electrical shock treatments, stretching, ultrasound treatment, and laser therapy, then into to another training room for rehabilitation exercises. After this, a trip to the cold tub to reduce pain and swelling. By 9:00 a.m., Robinson was in the swim tank. At least this was warmer. Finally, like all other players, he had his ankles taped to be ready for that afternoon's practice. From 10:00 a.m. to 2 p.m., it was classes and lunch. Then Robinson was back in the cold tub. At 2:30, he had a quarterbacks' position meeting and film study. Then practice. After practice, he headed immediately for the training room for more treatment. A quick dinner at 7:30, then back to Schembechler Hall for unsupervised film study. Robinson finally left the building at around 10:30. There he ran into autograph hounds for whom he signed photographs ostensibly for charities and children (but in all likelihood, to be sold as Michigan memorabilia, with no cut given to Robinson). He was in bed by 11. That's a 16-hour work day, 11 hours devoted to football-related activities. The next day would be different. He had to fit in “study table.”
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In 1991, the NCAA instituted rules limiting actual practice/contact hours for varsity sports to 20 hours per week during the season. Organized off-season workouts were also severely restricted. Nevertheless, the widespread practice of “voluntary” conditioning and film sessions, plus time devoted to physical therapy and rehabilitation, mock the 20-hour rule. Denard Robinson's 11-hour football days were all legitimately within
guidelines.
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A few years back, an NCAA survey of football players at FBS programs reported that players devoted an average of 44.8 hours per week to football. Moreover, during the past two decades, the college schedule has been extended from ten games to 12 (or even 13 in special circumstances) plus approximately 35 postseason bowl games for the top 70 teams.
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The college football season itself extends for nearly six months for some players—and this doesn't count spring and fall practices. Even summers are far from “free,” with individual voluntary workouts paired with organized activities to make football a full-time, year-round enterprise.

So it goes in pursuit of the dream. Of course, there are compelling reasons to forge on. An athletic scholarship and a college education are themselves integral parts of the playing package—a valuable inducement, opportunity, and reward in its own right. Even though it's not the
ultimate
dream for many players—after all, the NFL is still the Holy Grail—it's a precious commodity, worth tens of thousands of dollars over the course of a college career. But as we discuss the value of athletic scholarships—and how they are used and misused—let's be crystal clear on one point. College football players put an extraordinary amount of time, energy, and sacrifice into their sport. They literally lay their bodies and futures on the line. The sport is typically both an emotional cornerstone for the college and the source of immense revenue for athletic departments. But even though they often put in 40-plus-hour work weeks on top of being full-time students, football players aren't directly paid a penny for their labor. They get free tuition and comfortable living arrangements, but colleges don't come close to covering all reasonable living expenses or compensating players for their contributions to the financial enterprise. College football is big business, and players are cheap labor.
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The basic reward for playing college football is an athletic scholarship—a grant-in-aid. The
2012–13 NCAA Division I Manual
specifies that a full grant-in-aid, more commonly known as the “full ride”—cannot exceed the typical “cost of attendance” for a particular institution. This is the amount calculated by an institution's financial aid office, using
federal guidelines, that includes the total cost of tuition and fees, room and board, books and supplies, transportation, and other expenses typically considered in the cost of attending a college.
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Tuition, room, and board are the “big ticket” items, but there are a variety of other minor benefits to which student-athletes are entitled, including medical insurance, a small number of complimentary tickets provided by the university, institutional awards (and gifts) given to all team members, and summer school and preseason training expenses, among other things. All grants-in-aid are awarded on a one-year basis, so no player is actually guaranteed a four-year college education. If a player is a bust on the field, his scholarship can be terminated.
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The standard grant-in-aid at an FBS school is worth about $50,000 annually, give or take a few thousand dollars. Near the top of the heap, for example, a full scholarship at the University of Southern California (USC)—a private institution and perennial football powerhouse—might cost more than $62,000: $45,602 for tuition, $13,000 for room and board, $1,500 for books ands supplies, plus other sundry expenses. Among private schools, Stanford, Miami, and Duke are a little less expensive. At top public institutions such as the University of Texas, out-of-state tuition is only $34,000, helping to keep costs down, while Alabama weighs in with an economical tuition rate of $23,000 a year.
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Nevertheless, full-ride scholarships fail to cover many typical college expenses and don't provide players with funds for minimal discretionary spending.

Why should we have to go to class if we came here to play FOOTBALL, we ain't come to play SCHOOL classes are POINTLESS

Third-string Ohio State quarterback Cardale Jones's 2012 tweet caused a social media buzz when it openly proclaimed sentiments many have long suspected regarding how big-time college athletes approach their educational opportunities.
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Public perception—right or wrong—holds
that college football players are single-minded, “dumb jocks” for whom education is more of a nuisance than reward or opportunity. While Cardale Jones does nothing to dispel this belief, let's not single him out for castigation. As legendary Alabama coach Bear Bryant once put it, “At the level we play, the boy is an athlete first and a student second.”
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“Student” Athletes?

The student-athlete situation is even more complex than these comments suggest. In general, Division I football players enter college less qualified and less prepared than their non-athlete counterparts.
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Nevertheless, Division I players graduate from college at rates only slightly lower than comparable college students in general—about 59 percent compared to 63 percent. Black college players graduate at substantially higher rates than their black student counterparts. At the same time, however, many elite football programs have substantially lower graduation rates.
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“Dumb jock” image aside, college players are relatively successful students, not all that different from members of their age cohorts. Martin Willis, who played 16 years in the NFL, sounds just like the computer geek next door as he recounts his college experience: “I majored in computer science. I always loved math, and I got involved in a couple of computer classes back in high school. When I got to college, I already knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a software analyst . . . so I immediately pursued computer science, and that's what I graduated with my degree in.”
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Stories like this—of direction, purpose, and success—aren't uncommon among former NFL players.

Still, they aren't as common as tales of indifference, lack of preparation, and neglected opportunities. In many respects, George Koonce's college experience was typical. He dutifully attended classes, followed a recommended course of studies, maintained his eligibility, and set school aside after his eligibility ran out. The dream took precedence over school: “
After my last season, I signed up for classes my spring semester, but I didn't go to class. I was enrolled in four courses and got four incompletes. I needed to be enrolled so I could have access to the dorm and the meal plan while
I worked out trying to get ready for the draft.”
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Koonce, however, did eventually earn bachelor's and master's degrees, and received his Ph.D. from Marquette after his NFL playing days were over.