“Are you advocating that you should be paid more than other players?” Jordan asked.
“No. What I’m trying to do is figure out how you think it should work,” I said and could see Jordan’s confusion. “Let’s just agree that the schools aren’t going to start paying players like they are in professional sports.”
“Why not? Why not give student-athletes a living stipend at the very least?” she asked.
“How much money are we talking?” I asked.
“I don’t know. How about a thousand a month?” Jordan suggested.
“Let’s call it $10,000 per year to make the math easy.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
“Because of Title IX, you couldn’t pay only the revenue sports like football and basketball, or you would get sued. I think I read that there are 400,000 student-athletes nationwide. That’s four billion dollars a year. At an average university like Kansas, for example, they have 17 sports and over 700 student-athletes. Their bill would be at least seven million a year. Most middle-of-the-road university athletic departments are either running at a deficit or barely breaking even.
“I realize that they have donors that make up the difference. I’m just saying that I don’t see pay-for-play happening in college athletics,” I explained.
“So, you don’t think student-athletes should be paid?” Jordan asked.
“No, I didn’t say that at all. I said that the universities won’t pay them. I think they should follow the Olympic model and allow star athletes to sign individual endorsement deals and sponsorships.”
She took a moment to absorb what I’d said. If they did that, it would make this whole FBI situation go away. There would no longer be an incentive to do under-the-table deals. Just bring it out into the open and let capitalism work. That would stop the ‘black market’ from needing to exist.
“Something else I think is that student-athletes should have the same rights as other students. Suppose a computer student develops a new app on his own time and without using university resources other than the library. In that case, he can start a business and get paid. On the other hand, suppose a student-athlete should happen to be an actor and make a movie. In that case, they typically can’t endorse that movie without risking the loss of their eligibility,” I added.
“Is that what your waiver is about?” Jordan asked.
“I can’t talk about that,” I said with a straight face.
“Would you be surprised to learn that the state of California is pushing a bill that would allow its student-athletes to earn income from endorsements or sponsorships?”
“If that law survives the NCAA’s challenge, it might be the first step in getting athletes paid,” I said, and then thought about it for a moment. “The NCAA might even welcome it. I don’t see any way they will ever agree to direct payments to players from the schools. But there is precedent with Olympic athletes. I would suggest that’s the road map they should follow to solve this problem. It’s only a matter of time before the NCAA is forced to do something. If I were them, I would want to get out in front of it. I’d want to have some say in what happens instead of letting there be fifty different laws enacted around the country with fifty different rules,” I said.
Our time was up, so we said our goodbyes.
◊◊◊
When I got back to Rita’s, Halle was waiting for me at the door.
“Pick me,” she said excitedly as she waved an engraved invitation in front of my face.
It announced that Chubby Feldman would be hosting a pre-Oscar party at his mansion tonight. Getting an invitation to one of his legendary parties was how many celebrities measured their star power. The who’s who of Hollywood would be at tonight’s festivities. I’d been invited because of my role in Chubby’s upcoming Bond film. The invitation was for David A. Dawson plus one.
“Of course,” I said.
Halle bounced up and down and grabbed both Scarlet and Lexi’s hands.
“Come help me pick out an outfit,” she said as she dragged them upstairs.
I really must have been a ‘stupid boy’ because Lexi stuck her tongue out at me to remind me what I would be missing by picking Halle. Ah, well, that was what making choices was about. Each path taken meant others were passed up—at least in the short-term. That last thought seemed to keep Mr. Happy from being totally disappointed in me, at least.
◊◊◊
We arrived at Chubby’s right on time. It was a Midwestern thing. My parents had hammered into me since I was little that it was rude to be late. Halle explained that we should come later so we could make an entrance. It didn’t matter, though, because the place was already packed, something atypical for LA. Most people usually followed Halle’s plan and showed up late. The difference was, everyone wanted to be at this party.
