College football didn’t just lose its way—it pawned its compass, financed a leased Lamborghini, and told tradition to hit the transfer portal.
What we watched this season wasn’t simply an upset on the scoreboard. Ohio State’s loss to Miami and the earlier seasons embarrassment against Clemson weren’t football anomalies—they were cultural indictments. Losses to what I’ve long (and unapologetically) called thug football: programs built less on education, discipline, and accountability and more on swagger, entitlement, and whatever the latest NIL collective can Venmo before kickoff.
My dear friend SFC John Jordan—a proud, loud, card-carrying Miami Hurricanes fan—has a theory. According to John, Miami’s recruiting strategy is simple: they give the offensive and defensive lines weekend release from the Miami‑Dade County lockup, slap a helmet on them, and tell them to eat quarterbacks. It’s a joke… but like all good jokes, it works because it feels true.
That brand is winning right now. And that should terrify anyone who still believes college football is supposed to be college football.
The Student-Athlete: Extinct, Not Endangered
Let’s stop lying to ourselves. There is no such thing as a student‑athlete in Division I football anymore. That phrase now belongs in the Smithsonian, somewhere between rotary phones and common sense.
What we have instead is a fully professionalized NFL minor league, complete with:
- Free agency (the transfer portal)
- Bidding wars (NIL collectives)
- Agents who insist they’re “just family friends”
- Coaches acting like hedge fund managers with headsets
Yet universities still cling to the fairy tale of amateurism when it’s time to talk about academics, discipline, or—God forbid—accountability.
Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler didn’t coach mercenaries. They coached young men. If either were alive today, they wouldn’t be “adjusting to NIL”—they’d be looking for a headset sturdy enough to throw through a wall.
Show Me the Money—and Everything It Buys
Chrisi and I recently had dinner at The Capital Grille in Columbus, Ohio—right next to Ohio State and within eyesight of The Shoe. What we witnessed was a live‑action documentary titled “NIL: The College Years.”
Outside: luxury cars idling like a rap video casting call. Inside: thousand‑dollar dinners, designer outfits, and young women dressed like the dress code was written by Instagram’s algorithm.
This wasn’t campus life. This was South Beach with a Midwestern accent.
And the cars? Oh, the cars.
If you think I’m exaggerating, let’s add some numbers—because nothing kills a bad idea faster than math.
Ohio State football players—college kids—rolling around in:
- $200,000 Mercedes G‑Wagons
- Range Rover Autobiographies
- Audi A7s
- Custom Ford F‑150s
- Tahoes, Bentleys, AMGs—often rotated more frequently than textbooks
All courtesy of NIL deals with local dealerships. One former quarterback could reportedly swap luxury vehicles every 45 days—because nothing screams “higher education” like changing Bentleys before midterms.
Meanwhile, swimmers, wrestlers, fencers, ROTC cadets, and Olympic‑sport athletes grind every day for scholarships, degrees, and pride—with no NIL money, no swag bags, and no valet parking.
But please, tell me again how this system is “equitable.”
And remember—this isn’t Monopoly money. According to early 2026 NIL valuations, we’re now talking about real millions, for kids who can’t legally rent a car without extra insurance.
## The Numbers Don’t Lie—They Laugh at Us
As of early 2026, the top NIL earners in college football look less like students and more like a Forbes watch list:
- Arch Manning (Texas, QB): $5.3–$6.8 million — apparently the family internship pays well
- Jeremiah Smith (Ohio State, WR): ~$4.2 million — wide receiver, luxury tax bracket
- Carson Beck (Miami, QB): $3M+ annually, with estimates approaching eight figures over time
- Bryce Underwood (Michigan, QB): ~$3 million
- Drew Allar (Penn State, QB): ~$3.1 million
- Sam Leavitt (Arizona State, QB): ~$3.1 million
- LaNorris Sellers (South Carolina, QB): $2.5–$2.9 million
- Julian Sayin (Ohio State, QB): ~$2.5 million
- Diego Pavia (Vanderbilt, QB): ~$2.5 million
Quarterbacks dominate, of course. In today’s college football economy, if you can throw a football and pronounce “NIL,” you’re already halfway to early retirement.
At this point, the only thing separating college football from the NFL is a pension plan—and give it time.
Coaches Aren’t Helping (At All)
Before anyone blames this solely on players, let’s be clear: too many coaches have completely abandoned the role of educator.
Recent high‑profile firings, scandals, and moral flameouts aren’t coincidence. They’re what happens when leadership is replaced with contracts, buyouts, and the unspoken rule that winning cures everything.
When the message from the top is “just don’t get caught,” character becomes optional—and discipline goes straight into the portal.
Our coach and WWII U.S. Navy Commander, Woody Hayes, once punched a player—and, I joke, righteously so—and paid the ultimate professional price. But Woody did turn it around as a NROTC PMS of Naval History at Ohio State with his office overlooking the Ohio Stadium. But today, some coaches punch ethics in the face daily and get a severance package.
Progress, apparently.
## Add Sports Betting to the Mix—What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
Now let’s sprinkle gasoline on this dumpster fire: legalized sports betting.
We’ve created a system where 19-year-olds are handed millions in NIL money, flooded with attention, and then dropped into a gambling ecosystem that tracks every throw, drop, missed tackle, and prop bet.
The risks are obvious:
- Increased temptation for players and staff
- Performance manipulation (missed tackles, dropped passes, “bad” turnovers)
- Erosion of fan trust
- Organized crime sniffing around locker rooms instead of loading docks
This isn’t paranoia—it’s already happening. Recent NCAA investigations have resulted in bans and penalties for athletes caught sharing inside information or manipulating outcomes, often tied to prop bets rather than outright wins and losses.
When you mix NIL money, fragile egos, gambling apps, and zero guardrails, you don’t get integrity—you get opportunity. And not the good kind.
The FBI is involved. Integrity monitoring firms are involved. When federal law enforcement shows up at your tailgate, it’s probably time to rethink the model.
Where Real College Football Still Lives
Ironically, the last pockets of real college football exist in the only places NIL can’t fully infect.
Federal Service Academies
- U.S. Military Academy (Army – West Point)
- U.S. Naval Academy (Navy – Annapolis)
- U.S. Air Force Academy (Air Force – Colorado Springs)
- U.S. Coast Guard Academy
- U.S. Merchant Marine Academy
No NIL. No transfer portal shopping. No Lamborghinis. You sign up, you serve, and Uncle Sam doesn’t care about your Instagram following.
Senior Military Colleges & what I call the “Bud Light Service Academies”
- The Citadel
- Virginia Military Institute (VMI)
- Texas A&M University
- Virginia Tech
- Norwich University
- University of North Georgia
- New Mexico Military Institute
Funny how discipline, structure, and accountability still work there.
And beyond that? Division II and Division III football, where kids still play for:
- Scholarships
- Degrees
- Teammates
- Love of the game
Not endorsement clauses.
If This Is the NFL’s Minor League, Then Act Like It
If Division I football insists on being professional, then let’s stop pretending it’s anything else.
Here’s real reform—not NCAA press‑release reform:
- Mandatory Two‑Year Commitment
Once you sign with a school, you’re there for two years. Just like an NFL rookie deal. No annual hostage negotiations. - End Transfer Portal Free Agency
Transfers only for coaching changes or real hardship—not because a booster found extra cash in the couch. - Academic Enforcement with Teeth
Miss class, miss games. Amazing how standards work when enforced. - NIL Transparency and Limits
If it’s pay‑for‑play, call it pay‑for‑play. Cap it. Track it. Stop winking at everyone. - Separate Football from the University Mission
If schools want pro teams, spin them off. Don’t use higher education as collateral damage.
Final Whistle
College football used to build men. Now it builds brands.
It used to reward sacrifice. Now it rewards leverage.
It used to mean something to wear the uniform. Now it’s just a jersey with resale value.
Woody Hayes believed football was a classroom without walls. Bo Schembechler believed the team was sacred. Neither would recognize today’s version of the game—and neither would be amused.
The student‑athlete isn’t evolving. He’s extinct.
And unless real reform happens fast, college football won’t just lose its soul—it will lose the fans who still remember when Saturdays meant tradition instead of transactions.
Coming Next — Part V: The Booster Class
In Part V, we follow the money upstream—away from the locker room and into the luxury suites.
We’ll look at how NIL collectives became shadow athletic departments, how boosters quietly replaced presidents and ADs as the real power brokers, and why universities are discovering—too late—that the donors they empowered are no longer controllable.
When college football stopped answering to presidents and started answering to Venmo, the endgame was inevitable.
Part V asks the uncomfortable question no one wants to answer: Who actually runs college football now—and what happens when they decide to walk away?
Stay tuned.
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