Will Ware be stuck with the bill?, by David Sirota (Salon)
Louisville sophomore Kevin Ware’s injury today in the Midwest Regional finals of the NCAA tournament will likely be remembered alongside Joe Theismann’s career-ender as one of the most tragically gruesome in sports history. But that’s not the only tragic and gruesome part of this episode, because unlike Theismann, who was working under a guaranteed contract, Ware was an NCAA athlete helping to generate millions of dollars for the NCAA, but not automatically guaranteed a four-year education scholarship. As in so many other similar cases, that means his injury in service to the NCAA’s multimillion-dollar machine could spell the end of his financial aid and massive healthcare bills to boot.
New Albany is a state of mind … but whose? Since 2004, we’ve been observing the contemporary scene in this slowly awakening old river town. If it’s true that a pre-digital stopped clock is right twice a day, when will New Albany learn to tell time?
Tuesday, April 02, 2013
Ware's place as a cog in the NCAA money machine.
I understand not many hoops junkie readers will want to think about this, but it doesn't mean you should ignore it.
I completely disagree with the concept of paying college athletes as it exacerbates rather than solves a well-known problem. That said, it's fun reading Voccaro being more honest than most coaches, administrators, and a lot of fans.
ReplyDeleteThe Shame of College Sports, by Taylor Branch, The Atlantic
“'I’m not hiding,' Sonny Vaccaro told a closed hearing at the Willard Hotel in Washington, D.C., in 2001. “We want to put our materials on the bodies of your athletes, and the best way to do that is buy your school. Or buy your coach.'
Vaccaro’s audience, the members of the Knight Commission on Intercollegiate Athletics, bristled. These were eminent reformers—among them the president of the National Collegiate Athletic Association, two former heads of the U.S. Olympic Committee, and several university presidents and chancellors. The Knight Foundation, a nonprofit that takes an interest in college athletics as part of its concern with civic life, had tasked them with saving college sports from runaway commercialism as embodied by the likes of Vaccaro, who, since signing his pioneering shoe contract with Michael Jordan in 1984, had built sponsorship empires successively at Nike, Adidas, and Reebok. Not all the members could hide their scorn for the 'sneaker pimp' of schoolyard hustle, who boasted of writing checks for millions to everybody in higher education.
'Why,' asked Bryce Jordan, the president emeritus of Penn State, 'should a university be an advertising medium for your industry?'
Vaccaro did not blink. 'They shouldn’t, sir,' he replied. 'You sold your souls, and you’re going to continue selling them. You can be very moral and righteous in asking me that question, sir,' Vaccaro added with irrepressible good cheer, 'but there’s not one of you in this room that’s going to turn down any of our money. You’re going to take it. I can only offer it.'”