 Jim Harbaugh walked out of Ann Arbor a champion. Sherrone Moore inherited the trophy case, the stadium, and a fanbase that still thinks development beats NIL. His first year? Respectable. Not electric. Michigan finished 8–5, beat Alabama in a bowl game, and kept The Game streak alive. It was a safe season.
But 2025 is not a test of survival. It’s a test of ambition. Because this schedule, despite the media spin, isn’t hard. It’s curated. Michigan dodges Oregon, Penn State, and Illinois. They get Central Michigan, Purdue, and a Northwestern program so battered that they’ve outsourced home field to Wrigley Field. The illusion of difficulty is strong. But Michigan’s real challenge won’t be who they face. It’ll be how far they’re willing to push themselves. Michigan's NIL & Portal Strategy: Safe, Predictable, and Falling Behind While Ohio State is handing out Lamborghinis and Oregon has figured out how to legally run a hedge fund out of its athletic department, Michigan is still posting graphics about “transformational experiences.” The 2025 transfer class includes:
No splash. No starters who tilt the field. Michigan’s philosophy remains “build from within,” which is great for morale and terrible for beating teams with 22-year-old SEC linebackers. The Quarterback Choice: Jake Garcia vs. Bryce Underwood Michigan’s 2025 ceiling lives under center. Jake Garcia A steady grad transfer who won't panic on third-and-five, but also won’t make plays against teams that matter. Garcia is the human embodiment of a 9–3 season. Bryce Underwood Five-star prodigy. In-state phenom. Elite arm talent. Can extend plays, stretch defenses, and wake up a stale passing game. Also? A freshman. With all the volatility that comes with it. Moore’s decision here isn’t about who’s safer. It’s about whether he wants to finish 12th in the playoff or crash the party with a Heisman finalist. 2025 Michigan Football Schedule: Game-by-Game Breakdown Let’s cut through the marketing. This schedule isn’t a gauntlet. It’s a trampoline disguised as a landmine. Here’s the real story. Aug 30 – vs. New Mexico Prediction: Win (1–0) A live-action scrimmage. The Lobos are bad, broke, and flying halfway across the country for a payday. This is a 45–7 glorified practice. Sept 6 – at Oklahoma Prediction: Loss (1–1) The only truly elite team on Michigan’s regular-season schedule. Fast, angry, and loud. Unless Underwood channels 2019 Joe Burrow, this ends with Moore blaming execution in the postgame. Sept 13 – vs. Central Michigan Prediction: Win (2–1) Central’s defensive line is undersized, and its offense is allergic to third downs. Expect 250 yards rushing, no injuries, and your least-watched BTN replay of the season. Sept 20 – at Nebraska Prediction: Win (3–1) Matt Rhule's rebuild is in its third year. Translation: a roster full of transfers still learning each other’s names. Michigan will win this by running the ball 40 times and letting Nebraska beat itself with penalties and procedural errors. Oct 4 – vs. Wisconsin Prediction: Win (4–1) Luke Fickell still hasn’t decided whether Wisconsin should throw the ball or bury it underground. Michigan will win ugly. Think 23–13, with 14 combined punts and 1 ejection for targeting. Oct 11 – at USC Prediction: Loss (4–2) Lincoln Riley doesn’t care about defense, but he has five-star athletes at every skill position. Michigan’s linebackers will spend most of this game looking confused while Riley throws 45 times. Expect a moral victory quote from Moore. Oct 18 – vs. Washington Prediction: Win (5–2) Washington is rebuilding after the DeBoer departure. They’ve got quarterback questions, trench questions, and no clear identity. Michigan wins this one by attrition, probably 27–17, with most of the game being quietly competent. Oct 25 – at Michigan State Prediction: Win (6–2) Sparty is still paying off the Mel Tucker disaster and fielding a roster that looks like the Island of Misfit Toys. This will be close for a quarter before Michigan’s physicality drowns them. Nov 1 – vs. Purdue Prediction: Win (7–2) Purdue was scary when Jeff Brohm was around. Now they run the most forgettable offense in the league and play defense like it’s optional. This game will be over before the band sits down. Nov 15 – at Northwestern (Wrigley Field) Prediction: Win (8–2) A novelty game in a baseball stadium against a team that hasn’t had real home-field advantage since 1996. Northwestern is in a constant state of rebuilding and will likely be out of bowl contention by October. Michigan wins by three scores. The only tension will be whether the field dimensions allow for proper punt coverage. Nov 22 – at Maryland Prediction: Win (9–2) Maryland in November is like a grocery store rotisserie chicken at 11 PM. It was hot once, but the magic is gone. Locksley’s team will start fast and fold by the third quarter. Nov 29 – vs. Ohio State Prediction: Loss (9–3) Ohio State has spent three straight off-seasons preparing for this moment. They’ve added elite transfers, flipped five-stars, and brought in Chip Kelly to finally call plays like it’s 2014 again. Michigan fights. Then fades. Final Regular Season Record: 9–3 (7–2 Big Ten) This is what “safe” looks like. Win all the games you should. Lose all the ones that require imagination, explosion, or a quarterback who can freelance under pressure. A 9–3 record with this schedule isn’t failure, but it’s not ambition either. It’s the floor dressed up as a ceiling. If Michigan fans are happy with that, they’re not being honest about what they used to be. Conclusion: This Isn’t a Test. It’s a Mirror. Michigan doesn’t face a gauntlet in 2025. It faces an identity crisis. The program claims to want to compete with the best. But its roster strategy, quarterback decision, and schedule all suggest it’s trying to avoid embarrassment rather than chase greatness. If Bryce Underwood starts, things could get messy—or magical. If Jake Garcia starts, things will stay stable—and stagnate. Either way, this season tells us whether Sherrone Moore is trying to build his own Michigan... or hold on to Harbaugh’s.
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 As college sports continue to evolve in the era of Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) deals, the University of Minnesota has emerged as a measured yet strategic player in the new landscape. With a growing emphasis on both institutional and individual support, the Golden Gophers have taken meaningful steps to stay competitive in the Big Ten. However, when compared to their peers, Minnesota still faces significant financial and structural hurdles.
Institutional Support: The Gopher's Strategic Approach to NIL At the heart of Minnesota's NIL efforts lies a coordinated framework designed to ensure long-term success. The University of Minnesota has implemented a practical NIL strategy that benefits both student-athletes and the athletic department. This vision is supported by a range of initiatives, including collectives, partnerships with local businesses, and support from major corporate sponsors. The M Club Collective plays a central role in helping athletes monetize their personal brands. Through this platform, athletes receive structured support in securing deals while maintaining NCAA eligibility. The collective not only helps with athlete compensation but also builds connections between Minnesota athletics and the wider business community. Minnesota has also benefited from its location in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area, home to major corporations such as Target, Best Buy, and General Mills. These brands offer a business ecosystem with long-term NIL potential; however, competition for athlete attention in the professional sports market remains fierce. Major Individual Donors: Essential but Less Prominent Than Peers Compared to top Big Ten schools, Minnesota's individual donor network is functional but not elite. While the Gopher Fund and benefactors like Richard and Jane Hyo or Mark and Susan Housley have significantly supported athletic initiatives, the scale of giving is modest relative to what programs like Michigan, Ohio State, or Penn State enjoy. At Ohio State, for example, top donors have funded not only facilities but also ongoing NIL pools that provide athletes with competitive financial opportunities. Michigan and Oregon have robust donor-driven NIL collectives that operate with near-professional marketing teams. Minnesota's donor base, while loyal, has not yet demonstrated that level of aggressive, coordinated funding. In terms of infrastructure, the Golden Gophers' athletic facilities are solid but not flashy. The 2020 renovation of Athletes Village has improved training and recovery resources, but newer projects at Illinois, Michigan State, and USC dwarf Minnesota's in scale and cost. NIL in Recruiting: The Big Ten Hierarchy In the Big Ten's NIL ecosystem, Minnesota finds itself in the middle tier. The top echelon—Michigan, Ohio State, Oregon, and USC—regularly secures high-profile athletes with NIL packages that exceed six figures. Penn State and Michigan State follow closely behind with expansive collective support. Minnesota's NIL deals are often more modest in value and focus on local opportunities or social media monetization. For football and men's basketball in particular, this places the Gophers at a disadvantage when competing with schools offering multi-year NIL guarantees. The gap is most evident in football. In 2023, Minnesota secured fewer transfers than Nebraska or Wisconsin, both of which leaned heavily on NIL to retool their rosters. PJ Fleck's staff has focused more on developmental players and retention rather than splashy portal acquisitions. That approach may be sustainable, but it lacks the immediate impact that high-value NIL targets can bring. Where Minnesota Can Compete Despite structural disadvantages, Minnesota has key strengths. Hockey remains a premier program, where NIL funding is smaller nationally, and tradition still carries significant weight. In sports like volleyball and wrestling, the Gophers consistently develop homegrown talent that can compete nationally without requiring massive NIL budgets. Additionally, Minnesota's academic reputation and urban setting help attract student-athletes who value life beyond sports. NIL opportunities through media internships, startup incubators, and regional networking offer a distinct appeal compared to the traditional booster-funded NIL approach. Looking Forward: Catching Up, or Falling Behind? Minnesota must decide whether to scale up its NIL investment model to compete with the top third of the Big Ten or continue its measured approach. Athletic director Mark Coyle has publicly emphasized sustainability over spectacle. Still, the broader NIL market may not wait for patience to pay off. Suppose the Gophers want to recruit elite talent in football and basketball. In that case, they will need to increase NIL incentives, expand donor engagement, and potentially restructure collective efforts to become more aggressive and visible. Without that shift, Minnesota risks becoming a developmental stop rather than a destination. Conclusion While the University of Minnesota has made impressive strides in establishing a functional NIL ecosystem and engaging key donors, the reality is that in the arms race of Big Ten athletics, Minnesota remains a mid-tier player. Competing with the likes of Michigan, Ohio State, and Oregon requires more than tradition—it requires scale, speed, and strategic coordination in NIL. Whether Minnesota can close that gap depends not only on institutional priorities but also on how quickly its donor class and corporate partners are willing to invest. Until then, the Gophers remain respectable competitors in the Big Ten but are not yet built to dominate.  The 2024 season brought relief to Nebraska fans. After seven consecutive losing seasons, the Cornhuskers finished 6–6. They earned a victory over Boston College in the Guaranteed Rate Bowl, marking their first bowl win since 2015. Despite this progress under head coach Matt Rhule, the upcoming 2025 campaign leaves no room for complacency or continued rebuilding.
With the Big Ten now featuring 18 teams, including Oregon, Washington, USC, and UCLA, the conference's competition level has risen dramatically. Rhule enters his third year facing one of the most demanding schedules in college football, and expectations from new athletic director Troy Dannen, fans, and donors are higher than ever. This season is about proving belonging in the top half of the elevated conference, not merely survival. A High-Stakes Season in a Changed Big Ten When Rhule was hired in December 2022, he was touted as a program builder capable of instilling culture, discipline, and preparation, based on his experiences at Temple and Baylor. However, fan patience has its limits, and Nebraska's new athletic director, Troy Dannen, did not hire Rhule. That places additional pressure on the coach to deliver results. The Big Ten's expansion means Nebraska faces more top-tier teams and fewer easy victories. Now, a six- or seven-win season requires beating not only historic rivals but also national contenders on both coasts. Adding complexity to Rhule's challenge is his aggressive use of the transfer portal. Nebraska brought in over 20 portal players this offseason, with the goal of addressing deficiencies at key positions, including wide receiver, linebacker, and offensive tackle. While this influx of talent boosts the ceiling, it also raises chemistry questions. With so many new players needing to integrate quickly, the risk is that the team may not gel in time to compete in early-season matchups. Continuity can be a decisive edge, and Nebraska may struggle to establish it before Big Ten play begins. On the NIL front, Nebraska's 1890 Initiative has kept the program competitive. However, it is still middle-of-the-pack in the new Big Ten pecking order. Schools like Michigan, Oregon, and USC outpace Nebraska in NIL compensation and collective reach, which limits Rhule's margin for error in portal recruiting and roster retention. Nebraska's 2025 Schedule: Game-by-Game Analysis Week 1 – Cincinnati (Neutral site): A rare Thursday opener in Kansas City against a once-respected opponent now trending downward. Cincinnati is still rebuilding under Scott Satterfield, and Nebraska's more complete roster and continuity should give them the edge in the matchup. Look for a conservative offensive approach early, with a second-half surge to pull away. Prediction: Win Week 2 – Akron (Home): A significant talent mismatch. Nebraska should dominate both lines of scrimmage and rotate in younger players by the third quarter. This is a chance to refine red zone execution and test situational defense. Prediction: Win Week 3 – Houston Christian (Home): FCS-level program visiting Memorial Stadium. This game will showcase depth and allow for experimentation with offensive tempo and defensive sub-packages. It is not about winning. It is about cleaning up mistakes before conference play. Prediction: Win Week 4 – Michigan (Home): The Wolverines lose key stars but reload yearly. Michigan will likely control the line of scrimmage unless Nebraska's front makes a surprising leap. If Nebraska falls behind early, its offense lacks the explosiveness to play catch-up. Anything closer than a two-score loss could still be encouraging. Prediction: Loss Week 5 – Michigan State (Home): Both programs are rebuilding, and this is the definition of a toss-up. Michigan State has experienced defensive instability and will be introducing a new quarterback. If Nebraska avoids turnovers and plays clean in special teams, it could tilt the field. A tone-setter for bowl aspirations. Prediction: Slight edge to Nebraska, but truly 50/50 Week 6 – Maryland (Road): Maryland consistently generates explosive plays, especially at home. Their offensive speed will challenge Nebraska's linebackers and safeties. Unless Nebraska controls time of possession and wins the turnover margin, they will struggle to keep up. This prediction, although controversial, will likely stand up. Prediction: Loss Week 7 – Minnesota (Road): The Gophers have been a thorn in Nebraska's side, often winning ugly. Their run-first, slow-paced style puts pressure on opponents to be efficient. Nebraska must be better on third downs and avoid back-breaking penalties. This is a critical game to prove toughness on the road. Prediction: Win Week 8 – Northwestern (Home): The Wildcats are a program in decline, plagued by turmoil, limited NIL funding, a poorly-conceived offensive scheme, and a severe lack of talent. Nebraska's roster is superior across the board. However, this game often turns into a slog. Nebraska must start fast and avoid letting Northwestern hang around. Prediction: Win Week 9 – USC (Home): Lincoln Riley's squad will test Nebraska's defensive backfield with elite quarterback play. Unless Nebraska can pressure the quarterback without blitzing, this will be a long day. Still, home-field advantage could make it interesting for three quarters. Prediction: Loss Week 10 – UCLA (Road): A tricky road game with a West Coast trip. UCLA has speed and tempo but often lacks physicality. If Nebraska can slow the game down and win the turnover battle, it can steal this one. Still, playing in Pasadena favors the Bruins. Prediction: Loss Week 11 – Penn State (Road): Among the most demanding environments in the country. Penn State's defense is relentless, and its offense is more balanced than it has been in past years. Unless Nebraska's offensive line has made a significant leap, it will struggle to keep up. Prediction: Loss Week 12 – Iowa (Home): The rivalry returns to Lincoln. Iowa's traditional formula of elite punting, physicality, and mistake-free football combines with a Tim Lester led offense featuring more talent behind a massive offensive line. Nebraska must be nearly perfect to win. A missed field goal or turnover could be the difference. Prediction: Loss Projected Record: 5–7 Regular Season This outlook assumes wins against Cincinnati, Akron, Houston Christian, Northwestern, and Minnesota. Michigan State remains a toss-up, and a win there could salvage bowl eligibility. Losses to elite teams like Michigan, Penn State, and USC are expected. At the same time, road challenges at UCLA and Maryland add difficulty. Iowa looms as the critical game and potential spoiler. Implications for Rhule's Future A 5–7 season puts Rhule in a precarious position. With a new athletic director and rising NIL support from the 1890 Initiative, patience will begin to fade if progress stalls. Nebraska fans will tolerate rebuilding only if clear signs of development are visible in close losses and improved consistency. Rhule's defenders can point to competitiveness and schedule strength. Still, critics will note that three years is a relatively short period to show an upward trajectory. The optics of finishing behind UCLA or Maryland, while also losing to Iowa again, could shift sentiment rapidly. Conclusion Nebraska's 2025 schedule is unforgiving. Rhule's ability to beat the teams Nebraska should beat, and occasionally steal one it should not, will define his tenure. A second straight bowl berth is possible but far from guaranteed. This year is about more than wins. The goal is to demonstrate that the trajectory is upward.  Humans have spent centuries congratulating themselves for being at the top of the pyramid of intelligence. We build cities, send rockets into space, and create abstract works of art. We use these achievements to claim dominance over the rest of the natural world. However, this view overlooks growing scientific evidence that animals are also sentient beings with their forms of intelligence. The belief in exclusive human supremacy rests not on fact, but on confirmation bias and selective definitions that favor our strengths.
Animals Feel, Think, and Choose Neuroscience and animal behavior research demonstrate that many animals exhibit complex emotions and make conscious decisions. Mammals, birds, cephalopods, and even insects display behaviors that reflect memory, emotion, and social understanding. Elephants return to the bones of their dead. Crows make and use tools to solve puzzles. Dolphins recognize themselves in mirrors and address one another with distinctive whistles that resemble their names. Dogs comfort humans in distress. Pigs’ complete memory and learning tests that rival those of chimpanzees. These examples demonstrate that animal consciousness extends across species and phyla, not just those most closely related to us. The Cambridge Declaration on Consciousness, signed by leading neuroscientists, stated that animals possess the exact neural mechanisms required for consciousness. Octopuses, for instance, have distributed brains and use their limbs independently. Their behavior shows curiosity, problem-solving, and even mischief. These are not random instincts. These are signs of sentience. Intelligence Looks Different Outside the Mirror Humans measure intelligence by how well something resembles us. That bias shapes our definitions and excludes the cognitive strengths of other species. We favor language, tool use, and abstract math, then label other species as inferior because they don't score well on human-designed tests. But intelligence develops through evolution and ecology. A migratory bird doesn’t need to read, but it navigates thousands of miles with no map. A squirrel remembers the locations of hundreds of hidden nuts across a forest. A spider builds webs using geometric precision and knowledge embedded in its body, not in equations. Cognition does not follow a ladder with humans at the top. It spreads out across the tree of life. Each species evolves mental abilities that help it survive. Judging their intelligence by how closely they imitate us tells us more about our vanity than about their minds. Human Bias Distorts the Picture Humans define the rules and then claim victory. That is the core of our confirmation bias. We create tests that require spoken commands, hand dexterity, or written symbols. We ignore how a bat processes sound in three dimensions or how a fish communicates with electrical fields. We did the same with marginalized human groups in the past. White colonizers used flawed “intelligence tests” to claim superiority over others. Male scientists declared women less rational. We now reject those views, but we still treat animals with that same prejudice. The problem lies not in the animals, but in our inability to value intelligence that does not look like our own. Sentience Brings Moral Obligations Once we acknowledge that animals experience pain, joy, fear, and love, we confront an ethical crossroads. Our food system relies on treating sentient creatures as mere machines for meat production. Industrial farms confine pigs in crates that are too small for them to turn around. Chickens live in darkness and filth. Calves scream for mothers who never return. These conditions reflect convenience, not necessity. If animals suffer, and we can avoid causing that suffering, then moral logic demands a change. We don’t need to grant animals the same rights as humans. But we must recognize their capacity to suffer and act accordingly. Progress begins with empathy. As we once expanded moral concern to people of other races, genders, and nations, we now must consider species beyond our own. Self-Destruction Characterizes Humans A bigger issue is the demonstrable record of self-destruction, including genocide, slavery, wars, and intentional and thoughtless pollution that characterizes the rise of humanity. Behaviors such as these are unknown among animal species. Redefining What It Means to Be Human Recognizing animal sentience does not diminish the importance of humans. It makes us more honest. It invites humility. We did not evolve in isolation. We evolved in a web of other minds, other feelings, other forms of life with their own stories and perceptions. Human intelligence deserves respect. But so does the wisdom of the elephant herd, the language of the whale pod, the memory of the crow, and the emotion in a dog’s eyes. We share this planet with minds we still barely understand. Our future moral progress depends not on congratulating ourselves, but on widening our circle of empathy. It is time to see animals not as tools, toys, or tests, but as fellow sentient beings living conscious lives beside us. The Illusion of Perfection: Why People Flaunt Wealth, Beauty, Fame, and Family on Social Media7/9/2025  In the age of Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook, it is common to see users regularly post about their glamorous vacations, luxury goods, sculpted bodies, and even their perfect relationships. From yacht photos in Greece to filtered selfies and anniversary posts that read like Hallmark scripts, social media has become a stage for portraying the ideal life.
But what is the truth behind these polished representations? Are people as rich, beautiful, famous, and happy as they appear online? Empirical research suggests otherwise. These posts often mask deeper insecurities, strained relationships, or emotional distress. What appears flawless on-screen may be hiding dysfunction, debt, or self-doubt. The phenomenon of bragging on social media runs contrary to conventional form, which encourages humbleness over braggadocio, and quiet enjoyment over advertising wealth, fame, and being fabulous. Fortunately, it appears those representations are inversely correlated with the truth, that the prevarication is a sure clue the truth is exactly opposite. The Drive to Perform: Psychology of Social Media Bragging A 2020 study published in Personality and Individual Differences found that frequent posting about wealth, beauty, or success correlates strongly with narcissistic traits, particularly grandiose exhibitionism. These users rely heavily on external validation and are more likely to define their self-worth through others' perceptions. A 2021 University of Texas study revealed that people who consistently highlight their appearance or possessions report higher levels of anxiety and lower authentic self-esteem. The constant performance becomes exhausting. These users fear being ordinary, so they curate a sense of perfection to avoid rejection. In other words, many of those who post the most often about how amazing their lives are do not feel amazing at all. Fake Wealth and the Appearance of Affluence The illusion of wealth is one of the easiest to create online. In 2017, Vice reported that influencers were renting fake private jets and luxury sets for Instagram photo shoots. For under $100, you could look like a globe-trotting millionaire without ever leaving Los Angeles. A 2022 survey by Credit Karma showed that 42 percent of millennials admitted to buying luxury goods primarily for social media display, even if it meant going into debt. HypeAuditor found that more than 60 percent of Instagram travel photos tagged luxury hotels or resorts that the user did not actually stay at. Online wealth is often a mirage. The people showing off the most may be the ones struggling hardest financially. Filters and the Beauty Illusion FaceTune and similar photo editing apps have been downloaded hundreds of millions of times. More than 70 percent of Gen Z women report editing their appearance before posting. They smooth skin, shrink waistlines, and brighten eyes in an effort to meet impossible beauty standards. A 2020 study by the American Psychological Association found that people who regularly use filters experience greater body dissatisfaction and a disconnect between their real and digital selves. The more they curate beauty, the less confident they feel in real life. Social media tells users that perfection is achievable. Reality says perfection is an illusion. Fame by Association and Inflated Status Some users try to appear important by tagging celebrities, attending exclusive events, or boasting about professional affiliations. But a 2022 paper in the Journal of Cyberpsychology found that these tactics often backfire. Users who exaggerate connections or inflate follower counts tend to suffer the steepest declines in well-being and authenticity. Curating a false sense of fame or influence may generate clicks. But it often leads to emotional burnout and a sense of fraudulence. Happy Couples and Picture-Perfect Families Not all digital illusions are material. Many involve emotional or relational performance. Social media is filled with “happy couple” selfies, anniversary tributes, and loving family portraits. But how many of these represent real harmony? A 2019 study in Journal of Social and Personal Relationships found that couples who post the most about their relationship tend to report lower relationship satisfaction and higher levels of insecurity. These users often use public displays of affection to compensate for private doubts or conflict. Similarly, family accounts that portray highly curated scenes of happiness, order, and joy may reflect aspiration more than reality. Psychologist Sherry Turkle argues that the more effort families put into appearing perfect online, the more pressure they feel to mask imperfections offline. Studies have also shown that frequent “family perfection” posting is linked to parental stress, particularly among mothers. The curated family aesthetic can create unrealistic standards, not only for viewers, but for the poster themselves. It turns out that people who are truly happy or secure may feel less need to constantly prove it online. The Mental Toll of Curation Across every category—wealth, appearance, fame, and relationships—social media rewards perfection and punishes vulnerability. Users feel pressure to perform, edit, and compete. That pressure comes at a cost. Harvard and Stanford researchers have both linked frequent social media posting and comparison to increased anxiety, depression, and body dissatisfaction. The very platforms that promise connection often intensify loneliness and insecurity. What we see online is rarely the full truth. The person posting designer shoes may be deep in debt. The influencer showing flawless skin may be struggling with confidence. The couple writing love poems in captions may be on the verge of a breakup. Conclusion Social media thrives on idealized images. But those images often reflect performance rather than truth. People post about wealth, beauty, fame, and relationships not just to share—but to be seen, validated, and admired. Understanding the motivations behind these posts can help viewers protect their own self-esteem. Comparison loses its power when you realize that much of what you’re comparing yourself to is staged. The next time someone appears to have it all, remember that perfection is easy to capture in a photo. It is much harder to live.  The University of Iowa has long been recognized for its gritty athletes, loyal fans, and proud traditions in football and wrestling. That foundation remains strong, but the business of college athletics has undergone significant changes. Success now depends not only on tradition and coaching but also on how well an athletic department can compete financially. At Iowa, this means a growing reliance on both major donors and a functional NIL structure that can deliver value to athletes immediately.
Private giving has been a critical part of Iowa athletics for decades. A notable recent example is the $10 million donation from Will and Renee Moon. Their 2021 gift created a $5 million endowment for the head football coaching position and funded both the Football Excellence Fund and the north end zone renovation of Kinnick Stadium. The head coach position is now officially titled the Moon Family Head Football Coach, a visible reminder of donor impact. Other significant gifts have contributed to the development of Iowa’s athletic infrastructure. A $3 million donation funded the Roy G. Karro Athletics Hall of Fame, while multiple anonymous gifts have contributed to the Kinnick Edge campaign and the development of Olympic sports facilities. The I-Club, the University of Iowa’s primary athletic donor network, brings in millions annually from small and mid-tier donors who support scholarships, operations, and access to postseason travel benefits. These capital campaigns and infrastructure improvements have kept Iowa competitive in facilities. But with the rise of NIL, long-term capital investments are no longer enough. Athletes today expect to be compensated for their name, image, and likeness from the moment they step on campus. For Iowa to keep up, it has had to pivot quickly toward a more agile NIL operation. The centerpiece of that operation is the Swarm Collective, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit launched in 2022 to organize NIL deals for Iowa athletes. In its first full year, the Swarm raised just over $2 million, with roughly $1 million going directly to athletes across football, basketball, wrestling, and Olympic sports. Its most significant contributor so far is Elite Casino Resorts, which has given $400,000, demonstrating how regional businesses are stepping up in support of the Hawkeyes. The Swarm model blends NIL income with charitable appearances, making it compliant with NCAA guidance while offering athletes a tax-advantaged way to earn. This structure has helped retain key players, especially in women’s basketball and wrestling. But Iowa’s total NIL support still trails the Big Ten leaders. Schools like Michigan and Ohio State reportedly channel between $5 and $10 million annually through their NIL collectives, while Iowa operates on a fraction of that amount. This funding gap is now becoming apparent. The Hawkeyes have lost athletes to the transfer portal, with some heading to schools offering more lucrative NIL packages. While Iowa still thrives in culture and coaching, recruits and returning players increasingly consider the value of NIL when making decisions. Programs that cannot offer competitive compensation risk falling behind, even if they win on the field. Leading the effort to change that trajectory is Beth Goetz, who was named Iowa’s permanent athletic director in August 2023 after serving in an interim role. Goetz brings a strong background in compliance, Title IX, and modern athletic administration, having previously worked at Ball State, the University of Minnesota, and the University of Connecticut. Since taking the helm, she has been direct about Iowa’s NIL position. In multiple public statements, Goetz has emphasized that NIL support is not optional but essential to the university’s long-term athletic goals. Under her leadership, Iowa has expanded collaboration between the Swarm Collective and internal university departments. Goetz has also prioritized transparency with donors, encouraging them to consider supporting NIL in the same way they would a building campaign or scholarship endowment. Her approach balances tradition with pragmatism. She has maintained Iowa’s strong emphasis on athlete development and academic excellence while pushing for innovation in areas like branding, social media engagement, and fundraising strategy. Iowa’s NIL approach also stands out for its cross-sport equity. The Swarm Collective distributes support to a wide range of programs, not just football and men’s basketball. Wrestlers and women’s basketball players have benefited significantly, and the university has made clear that NIL is not just a tool for stars but a support system for the entire athletic community. Still, Iowa’s competitive position will ultimately depend on increased donor buy-in. With Big Ten expansion bringing in USC, UCLA, Oregon, and Washington, the league’s financial arms race is intensifying. Legacy alone will not sustain competitiveness. Recruits want NIL structure. Parents want transparency. Coaches want the ability to retain athletes who develop within their programs. Iowa’s fan base has shown loyalty across generations. Now that loyalty must translate into NIL investment. Whether through one-time gifts to the Swarm Collective or long-term pledges that link traditional giving with athlete compensation, the next five years will determine whether Iowa remains a contender in the new era of college sports. Beth Goetz and the Swarm Collective have given the Hawkeyes a framework to compete. The facilities are built. The culture is strong. What remains is a question of scale. If Iowa can turn its donor enthusiasm into NIL dollars, the black and gold will continue to matter on Saturdays, Sundays, and every day in between.  While Delaware, Nevada, and South Dakota often draw criticism for helping the wealthy conceal their assets, North Dakota has built a similar system with far less attention. This quiet, rural state now plays a significant role in the global strategy employed by billionaires to shield their fortunes from public view, taxation, and legal consequences. Thanks to uniquely favorable trust laws, North Dakota has become a go-to destination for preserving wealth across generations and keeping assets out of government oversight.
How North Dakota Built a Billionaire's Trust Paradise North Dakota rewrote its trust code in 1995, aiming to attract a slice of the global wealth management industry. Since then, the state has allowed dynasty trusts, self-settled asset protection trusts, and directed trusts. Each of these tools gives the ultra-wealthy unprecedented control over their money and shields it from taxation, creditors, lawsuits, and prying eyes. Dynasty trusts stand out the most. These legal structures can last indefinitely and keep assets protected from estate taxes or capital gains obligations. That means billionaires can transfer real estate, private equity stakes, business holdings, or intellectual property into a North Dakota trust and ensure those assets remain untouchable for centuries. The state also permits quiet trusts. These keep beneficiaries in the dark, often for decades. In such arrangements, heirs may not even be aware that a trust exists, while trustees operate with near-total secrecy. This feature, combined with minimal fiduciary oversight, makes North Dakota an ideal choice for families seeking to transfer substantial wealth without attracting public attention. Global Billionaires Now Look to North Dakota Foreign elites increasingly turn to American trust jurisdictions to avoid financial scrutiny. North Dakota fits perfectly into this strategy. Unlike many offshore tax havens, the United States does not follow the international Common Reporting Standard, a framework for financial transparency. This exemption allows North Dakota to host global wealth without triggering disclosure to foreign governments. Billionaires from overseas can place assets in North Dakota trusts, take advantage of U.S. legal protections, and remain invisible to both domestic and international investigators. In many cases, the trust owner avoids taxes not just in the U.S., but also in their home country. Wealth managers, law firms, and family office consultants are well aware of this. They actively promote North Dakota as a top-tier destination for stealth wealth. For their clients, the state offers a blend of legal legitimacy, deep secrecy, and almost no regulatory interference. The Impact on Inequality and Accountability This two-tiered legal structure widens the gap between the rich and everyone else. Ordinary families must go through probate court, follow disclosure rules, and pay estate taxes. In contrast, the ultra-wealthy avoid all of it by routing assets through North Dakota. These trusts reduce the tax base, weaken public finances, and limit the government's ability to invest in infrastructure, healthcare, or education. On a broader scale, they make it nearly impossible to track how large fortunes pass from one generation to the next. As wealth becomes more concentrated, so does power. North Dakota's system also damages global transparency. When foreign billionaires use the state to conceal their assets, it becomes more challenging to trace corruption, enforce sanctions, or recover stolen public funds. Even when the money originates from legitimate sources, its concealment poses serious risks to both U.S. interests and global accountability. No Appetite for Reform Despite the growing criticism, neither state nor federal leaders show any serious interest in fixing this loophole. Congress has failed to pass any legislation that would regulate trusts at a national level. Proposals for trust registries or mandatory disclosures remain stalled. Lobbyists representing estate planners and wealth managers continue to resist every attempt at reform. North Dakota lawmakers frame the trust industry as a legitimate financial service that boosts the state economy. With billions in assets pouring into its trust institutions, local officials view the system as a win rather than a threat. Until national policymakers intervene, North Dakota will continue to provide billionaires with the tools they need to operate in the shadows. The legal system serves them by design, giving them ways to protect their money with fewer consequences than most Americans face when they miss a tax filing. Conclusion North Dakota built a trust framework that appeals directly to those seeking invisibility. Through complex legal structures and near-zero oversight, the state has become a financial bunker for global elites. As money flows through these trusts and out of public reach, the rest of the country bears the cost in the form of more profound inequality, fewer public resources, and a growing sense that the law no longer applies equally. The problem isn't just the secrecy; it's that the secrecy works so well.  The legal concept of habeas corpus, which translates to "you shall have the body," has long protected individuals from unlawful imprisonment. In an increasing number of cases, animal rights attorneys are now utilizing this powerful legal tool to challenge the confinement of animals used in research, entertainment, and private ownership. These lawsuits mark a significant shift in how the legal system addresses animal cruelty, moving beyond treatment standards to question whether certain animals should be held captive at all.
Legal Advocacy Redefining Animal Rights The Nonhuman Rights Project has led this movement by filing habeas corpus petitions on behalf of chimpanzees, elephants, and other cognitively complex animals. In 2013, attorneys filed a petition on behalf of a chimpanzee named Tommy, who was living alone in a cage in upstate New York. The legal team argued that Tommy should be considered a "legal person" with the right not to be confined without cause. Although the courts rejected Tommy's petition, the case sparked international debate over animal legal standing. Similar petitions followed across the country and overseas. One of the most notable involved Happy, an elephant kept at the Bronx Zoo. Lawyers argued that Happy's social isolation and restricted environment violated her fundamental rights. While the New York Court of Appeals ultimately ruled against her release, two judges dissented, acknowledging that the law may eventually evolve to recognize limited rights for animals. Courts in Argentina and Colombia have already taken further action. Judges declared animals such as Sandra the orangutan and Chucho the bear to be "nonhuman persons," acknowledging their entitlement to some form of liberty. These rulings, although not binding elsewhere, set a precedent for a global reevaluation of animal status in law. From Welfare to Freedom Traditional animal cruelty laws primarily focus on regulating the treatment of animals. These rules prohibit unnecessary pain or suffering but still allow animals to be confined, used, or killed as long as minimal standards are met. Habeas corpus lawsuits shift the conversation. They ask whether certain animals should be held in captivity at all, regardless of how well they are treated. By filing habeas petitions, attorneys force judges to consider whether keeping an intelligent animal in a cage violates fundamental principles of autonomy and freedom. Even in defeat, these lawsuits reshape legal arguments and deepen public awareness of the issues at stake. Major industries reliant on animal captivity have responded with alarm. Research institutions, zoos, and agricultural groups argue that granting animals legal rights threatens scientific progress, food systems, and traditional relationships with animals. However, advocates counter that the law has constantly evolved. Just as society expanded rights to formerly excluded human groups, the time has come to rethink how the law treats animals with proven intelligence and social capacity. Legal Challenges Drive Public Pressure Habeas corpus efforts have not directly freed many animals, but they have sparked broader changes. Public support for animal rights continues to rise, particularly in response to images of primates in cages or elephants confined to concrete enclosures. Several major universities have shut down their primate labs. Circuses featuring wild animals have faced declining ticket sales and tighter regulations. California has banned the use of exotic animals in circuses. Other states have introduced limits on animal testing. In Europe, countries such as the Netherlands and the UK have ended or significantly restricted primate research. These actions reflect a growing consensus that sentient animals deserve more than basic welfare—they deserve a measure of freedom. Future of Animal Personhood Despite these shifts, U.S. law continues to classify animals as property. Habeas corpus remains a complex and often unsuccessful legal path. But each case brings more public attention to the issue, and each dissenting judicial opinion hints at the possibility of change. The courts may not fully embrace animal personhood soon, but they are no longer ignoring the question. Legal theorists suggest a middle ground. Rather than extending all rights to animals, the system could develop a tiered framework. Animals with higher cognitive ability, such as chimpanzees or elephants, might gain limited rights to bodily liberty. Courts would then review their confinement under stricter standards, particularly in private zoos or labs. Less cognitively advanced animals might still fall under traditional welfare laws. This approach would acknowledge meaningful differences between species while still moving away from the idea that all animals exist solely for human use. It would also create legal tools to challenge the most egregious forms of captivity and experimentation. Rethinking Legal Boundaries Habeas corpus petitions on behalf of animals are not legal stunts. They challenge deep assumptions about power, ownership, and the limits of legal personhood. They also reveal how far society has come in recognizing animal sentience, and how far the law still needs to go. As neuroscience continues to uncover the emotional lives of animals, and as courts grapple with this evidence, the legal system may soon face a moral crossroads. Will it continue treating intelligent animals as things, or will it begin to recognize their interest in freedom as more than a sentimental notion? If law reflects moral progress, then habeas corpus for animals may one day mark a turning point not just in how humans treat animals, but in whether society finally admits that freedom should not belong to one species alone. Packed Houses and Bottom Lines: How Stadium Size and Ticket Sales Shape Big Ten Athletic Budgets7/8/2025  In the world of Big Ten athletics, especially football, success is often measured not only by wins and losses but also by the ringing of the cash register. While television contracts and sponsorships bring in eye-popping figures, ticket sales—particularly from home football games—remain a foundational pillar of athletic department budgets. And ticket sales don't exist in a vacuum; they're directly tied to the size of the stadium and a program's ability to fill it.
This article examines the relationship between stadium size and ticket sales revenue in the Big Ten Conference, the contribution of these revenues to athletic department budgets, and the reasons why this often reinforces the financial and competitive hierarchy among Big Ten schools. Stadium Size and Ticket Revenue: A Direct Correlation In the Big Ten, football is king, and the home stadium is its throne room. Michigan Stadium ("The Big House") seats over 107,000 fans, while Rutgers' SHI Stadium holds fewer than 53,000. That disparity alone—over 54,000 seats—translates to tens of millions of dollars in annual ticket revenue potential. According to recent NCAA financial disclosures and USA Today's annual athletic department revenue database, gate receipts can account for anywhere from 10% to 25% of a Big Ten school's athletic revenue. For powerhouses like Michigan, Penn State, and Ohio State, football ticket sales alone often surpass $50 million annually, even before factoring in luxury suites, club seating, or personal seat licenses. Let's compare:
Contrast that with:
The gap between the top and bottom ends of the ticket revenue spectrum is vast, and it compounds annually. The Broader Impact on Athletic Budgets Football gate revenue is often unrestricted, unlike donor gifts earmarked for specific facilities or sports. This provides athletic directors with flexibility to fund non-revenue sports, pay coaching salaries, or cover increasing travel and recruiting expenses. And for departments trying to keep up in the NIL era, unrestricted funds are gold. Michigan's 2023 athletic department budget exceeded $220 million, with football accounting for approximately half of the total. Of that, gate receipts comprised a significant portion, alongside TV and sponsorship revenue. Similarly, Ohio State and Penn State operate at that same financial scale. Their large, sold-out stadiums aren't just about tradition—they are revenue-generating engines. Meanwhile, smaller programs, such as those in Indiana or Maryland, have to make do with less. Indiana's Memorial Stadium holds approximately 52,000, and while attendance has improved in recent years, it still can't match the scale of top-tier programs. This limits their internal funding for facilities upgrades, retention of coaching staff, and investment in sports science or recruiting infrastructure. These are all areas where ticket money can make a direct, visible difference. Premium Seating: A Hidden Booster Stadium size alone doesn't tell the whole story. The rise of premium seating, encompassing luxury suites, club seats, and loge boxes, has enabled schools to extract greater value per seat. While Michigan and Ohio State fill their massive stadiums with a mix of students, alums, and corporate fans, schools like Iowa, Minnesota, and Nebraska have focused on maximizing per-seat revenue through premium experiences. At Nebraska, Memorial Stadium (capacity ~85,000) has been sold out for every game since 1962. Although their base ticket prices are lower than those of Michigan or Ohio State, the sellout streak provides consistent revenue and community engagement. Nebraska has also invested heavily in club seating and enhanced fan amenities to increase per-capita ticket value. Purdue and Illinois, with mid-tier stadiums (~60,000 range), have embraced more minor, more modern renovations focused on increasing the ratio of premium seating. While they won't match Michigan in raw numbers, their strategy is to extract higher yield from a smaller base. Empty Seats: The Opportunity Cost One underdiscussed issue is unused capacity. A school with a 70,000-seat stadium that averages 45,000 fans per game is leaving millions in potential revenue on the table. Northwestern exemplifies this: despite being in the wealthy Chicago metro area, its football attendance has often hovered around 30,000. The planned rebuild of Ryan Field into a smaller, more boutique stadium (~35,000 capacity) reflects an acknowledgment that consistent sellouts at a lower capacity may be more profitable and less embarrassing than cavernous, half-empty stands. Similarly, Maryland has struggled to fill SECU Stadium despite being in the populous D.C. metro area. Attendance has rarely exceeded 40,000 in recent years. This has kept their ticket revenue relatively flat, despite strong media market potential and Big Ten affiliation. Attendance shortfalls aren't just a missed financial opportunity—they affect game-day atmosphere, recruiting optics, and booster enthusiasm. And they have budgetary consequences for smaller schools trying to climb the Big Ten ladder. Television vs. Ticket Sales With the Big Ten's new media deal reportedly worth over $1 billion annually, some argue that ticket sales are no longer as vital. That's a mistake. TV revenue is shared equally across all member schools. What separates Michigan or Ohio State from Rutgers or Northwestern financially isn't the television check—it's ticket sales, local sponsorships, and donor engagement, much of which is driven by football attendance and game-day culture. In that context, ticket sales are one of the few areas where schools can gain an advantage. A packed stadium every Saturday doesn't just bring in more money, it signals cultural and alums buy-in, which spills over into donor behavior and collective strength in NIL. A Feedback Loop of Success and Spending The relationship between stadium size, ticket sales, and competitive success is self-reinforcing. Schools with larger, consistently filled stadiums can afford higher coaching salaries, better facilities, and larger recruiting budgets. That, in turn, leads to more wins, which drives up ticket demand, ticket prices, and donor enthusiasm. Rinse and repeat. This feedback loop partly explains why traditional powers like Michigan, Ohio State, and Penn State remain dominant. It also shows the structural disadvantage faced by programs like Northwestern or Rutgers, which may share the same TV money but can't replicate the scale of gate receipts. Conclusion: The Value of Butts in Seats Ticket sales are more than nostalgia—they are a strategic asset. In the Big Ten, stadium size and attendance have a direct impact on budget flexibility, donor momentum, and overall athletic department stability. As the college sports landscape shifts further into the era of athlete compensation and mega-media deals, the ability to consistently sell tickets remains a key differentiator. For Big Ten programs, bigger houses mean bigger budgets—and that can make all the difference on the scoreboard and the balance sheet.  Purdue University has long adopted a development-first approach to athletics, especially in football and basketball, building competitive programs on internal improvement rather than relying on splashy recruiting headlines. That strategy has served them well in the past. But in the NIL era, where top-tier talent often follows the money, the Boilermakers are finding it harder to keep pace.
For years, Purdue has relied on the steady support of the John Purdue Club, which facilitates donor contributions to athletic scholarships, facilities, and operations. The club brings in over $20 million annually and has played a central role in funding recent capital improvements, including the Ross-Ade Stadium Renovation Project, which added premium seating and modernized fan amenities. Longtime supporters, including the Koch family, Tom Spurgeon, and Bob and Connie Bowen, have driven these efforts, maintaining Purdue's infrastructure in a respectable and aligned state with its Big Ten peers. But in today's college sports environment, facilities are no longer the tipping point. NIL (Name, Image, and Likeness) compensation has become the new competitive frontier, and Purdue entered that race slowly. The university's primary NIL initiative is the Boilermaker Alliance, a nonprofit collective established in 2022, which creates NIL opportunities through charitable partnerships. While well-intentioned and aligned with Purdue's values, the Boilermaker Alliance has struggled to scale. In its first year, the collective raised just over $1 million, supporting deals primarily in the $5,000 to $15,000 range for athletes across football, basketball, and Olympic sports. Compared to the rest of the Big Ten, this puts Purdue at a significant disadvantage. Programs like Michigan, Ohio State, and Penn State have NIL collectives—such as The Foundation, Valiant Management, and Success With Honor—that command $5 to $10 million annually. Even second-tier Big Ten programs, such as Iowa and Michigan State, have surpassed Purdue in collective fundraising and athlete compensation. Some football players at those schools now receive six-figure annual NIL packages; in contrast, Purdue athletes often earn less than a graduate assistant's salary. This funding gap shows up in both recruiting and retention. In the transfer portal, Purdue has seen talented players depart for better NIL opportunities elsewhere. Coaches have acknowledged, both privately and publicly, that NIL limitations are hindering their ability to compete for top talent. Purdue is no longer losing players solely to SEC powerhouses; it's losing them to peers within its own conference. The hiring of Barry Odom as head football coach in late 2024 signaled a desire for change. Odom, who led a revival at UNLV and brings experience from the SEC and Big 12, understands the importance of NIL not just as a recruiting perk but as a strategic tool. His staff has reportedly pushed for deeper alignment between the athletic department, the Boilermaker Alliance, and high-level donors. But the dollars haven't followed at the pace needed. To address this, Purdue launched its "More Than a Game" campaign in 2024, a hybrid fundraising model that combines traditional athletic giving with direct NIL support. Donors can now contribute to both scholarship funds and athlete NIL pools in a single transaction, a model that has been successfully deployed at schools like Tennessee and Arkansas. It's a step forward, but so far, it hasn't closed the financial gap. Alum support remains a potential X factor. Purdue legends like Drew Brees, Glenn Robinson, and Robbie Hummel have endorsed the Boilermaker Alliance, and there's speculation that some may help build corporate NIL partnerships behind the scenes. Yet, Purdue has not produced the kind of marquee NIL deal that captures national attention or shifts perceptions among top recruits. Purdue's NIL infrastructure isn't broken—it's just undercapitalized. The Boilermaker Alliance has a structured framework, comprehensive compliance protocols, and community engagement initiatives built in. What it needs is more buy-in, greater urgency, and additional funding. Until that happens, Purdue risks becoming a developmental stop on the way to more lucrative destinations. In the new Big Ten landscape, with the addition of USC, UCLA, Oregon, and Washington, resources matter more than ever. Television contracts are ballooning. Travel costs are soaring. And NIL is the glue holding rosters together. Purdue's traditional strengths, innovative coaching, strong development, and loyal fans remain key assets. But they no longer offset a $5 million NIL gap. If Purdue wants to stay relevant in the Big Ten, its donors must begin to view NIL not as a novelty but as a necessity. Capital projects still matter, but the top programs are now prioritizing NIL as their first ask, not their last. For the Boilermakers, the question isn't whether they can compete, it's whether they're willing to invest in doing so.  American beer culture has undergone a dramatic transformation over the last two centuries, and one of the least understood but most defining aspects of this evolution is the use of adjuncts, ingredients other than malted barley, in brewing. Today, many of the most recognizable domestic beer brands in the United States are made with significant proportions of corn or rice, earning them the nickname “corn beer” or “adjunct lager.” But how did this happen, and how much of your favorite cheap beer is made from corn?
The Birth of American Lager and the Rise of Adjuncts To understand how adjuncts became a staple of American brewing, one must go back to the late 1800s. When German immigrants brought lager brewing techniques to the U.S., they encountered a problem: American-grown barley was often too protein-heavy and less suitable for producing the light, crisp lagers popular in Central Europe. Corn and rice, both abundant and inexpensive in the U.S., were introduced as adjuncts to lighten the body and flavor of the beer, making it more palatable to a broad audience. These fermentable ingredients helped create the smooth, easy-drinking lager that would become the foundation of American beer for the next century. By the early 20th century, the use of adjuncts had become common. Even before Prohibition (1920–1933), large breweries such as Anheuser-Busch, Pabst, and Schlitz incorporated corn or rice into their flagship beers. When the beer industry recovered after Prohibition, adjunct lagers returned as the dominant style. Adjuncts and the Economics of Cheap Beer Adjuncts are not just a matter of flavor: they are fundamentally about economics. Barley is expensive, and replacing a portion of it with cheaper starch sources, such as corn, can significantly reduce production costs. American brewers discovered that they could maintain consistent alcohol content and shelf stability while reducing their ingredient costs. Today, adjuncts remain a core part of the business model for macrobreweries. Beers like Budweiser, Miller Lite, Coors Light, and Busch all rely on adjuncts, with corn syrup, corn grits, or rice making up between 25% and 40% of the fermentable sugars in the brew. These products are not trying to hide it either; Budweiser proudly markets itself as using “rice for a clean, crisp taste.” At the same time, MillerCoors defends the use of corn syrup as a fermentation aid rather than a sweetener. So How Much Corn Is Actually in Your Beer? The numbers vary by brand, but they are substantial. Busch Light, for example, has been documented to contain up to 40% corn-derived fermentable. Miller High Life and Keystone Light fall into a similar category. Budweiser uses about 30% rice, while Natural Light and Milwaukee’s Best contain comparable adjunct levels, typically leaning heavily on corn. The Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) does not require breweries to disclose exact ingredient proportions unless additives affect flavor, color, or nutritional content. However, brewers do report their grain bills internally and to agricultural economists for research purposes. According to data from the USDA and industry analysts, as much as 40% of all domestic beer brewed in the United States relies heavily on corn. So yes, if you’re drinking a cheap American lager, there’s a good chance you’re drinking a corn beer. Craft Beer and the Adjunct Rebellion For years, craft brewers marketed their products as a return to “pure” beer, often invoking the German Reinheitsgebot (beer purity law of 1516), which allowed only water, barley, and hops (and later yeast). The use of adjuncts was seen as a symbol of industrial compromise. However, as the craft beer industry matured, attitudes toward adjuncts softened. Brewers began to embrace non-traditional ingredients for creativity rather than cost-cutting. Today, you’ll find craft beers made with everything from oats and rye to fruit purées, maple syrup, and, yes, even corn. However, the key difference lies in intent: craft brewers utilize adjuncts for complexity and experimentation, rather than maximizing profit margins. Some craft breweries have even reclaimed corn as a regional ingredient, paying homage to pre-Prohibition recipes and American agricultural heritage. Corn lagers, especially in the Midwest, are increasingly recognized for their distinctive flavor profile, slightly sweet, grainy, and light-bodied, when crafted intentionally with high-quality corn varieties. The Future of Adjunct Beer in the U.S. The dichotomy between adjunct and all-malt beer is fading, but the economics haven’t changed. If barley remains relatively expensive and large-scale production demands cost efficiency, adjuncts, especially corn, will remain a core feature of domestic beer. Yet as consumer awareness grows and younger drinkers gravitate toward transparency and local ingredients, even microbreweries may need to shift the narrative. What was once seen as corner-cutting may now be reframed as American tradition. Whether you're sipping a Busch Light at a tailgate or trying a craft corn lager at a taproom, you're drinking a piece of American brewing history.  For years, the University of Wisconsin–Madison athletics department was viewed as a model of stability. With its packed Camp Randall Saturdays, a dominant women’s hockey program, and a history of Big Ten consistency, Wisconsin projected the image of a well-oiled, donor-fueled machine. But in the rapidly evolving world of college sports, where NIL funding, player mobility, and media money have redrawn the map, Wisconsin now finds itself at a crossroads.
Much of the department’s past success has been powered by traditional philanthropy. Leading the charge is Milwaukee businessman Ted Kellner, whose total giving to the university exceeds $25 million. Alongside his wife, Mary, Kellner has been instrumental in reshaping facilities, such as Kellner Hall, and supporting student-athlete initiatives, including Badgers Give Back, which connects athletes to community service and leadership programs. These are not cosmetic donations—they’ve shaped the physical and cultural foundation of Wisconsin athletics. For decades, this kind of legacy giving was enough to keep the Badgers competitive. Facility upgrades were steady, scholarship funding robust, and teams across sports held their own in Big Ten play. But that stability masked deeper issues, some of which can be traced back to the heavy-handed influence of former head football coach and athletic director Barry Alvarez. Alvarez is often credited with building modern Wisconsin football, and to be sure, his tenure as head coach in the 1990s and early 2000s lifted the program from irrelevance. But his transition into administration introduced complications. As athletic director, Alvarez struggled to relinquish control, most notably during the tenure of his hand-picked successor, Bret Bielema. According to numerous accounts, Alvarez frequently meddled in football operations, second-guessing coaching decisions and budget priorities. The relationship soured, and in 2012, Bielema stunned the college football world by leaving for Arkansas, a program with less tradition but more autonomy. In hindsight, Bielema’s departure wasn’t just a personal move; it was an indictment of Alvarez’s unwillingness to modernize Wisconsin’s approach to football management. That moment planted the seeds for the stagnation that would follow: cautious hires, conservative budgets, and a growing gap between Wisconsin and the more aggressive programs rising around it. Nowhere is that gap more visible than in NIL. Unlike Ohio State or Michigan, which embraced the name, image, and likeness era with well-funded collectives and marketing strategies, Wisconsin was slow to catch up. The university’s two main NIL initiatives, Varsity Collective and YouDub, weren’t launched until well after the NIL floodgates had opened nationally. Varsity Collective, spearheaded by former athletes and alumni, aims to provide structured, character-driven NIL opportunities. YouDub, a more sport-specific platform, focuses on channeling support to individual teams. Both have had some success, but Wisconsin’s NIL numbers remain modest. Athletes at the University of Wisconsin continue to earn significantly less in NIL compensation than their peers at rival programs. Despite fan loyalty and a strong regional brand, Wisconsin lacks the agile infrastructure and donor flexibility to compete with the more aggressive NIL machines in the Big Ten. In football, this shortfall has already contributed to roster retention issues and challenges in recruiting blue-chip prospects. Athletic director Chris McIntosh, a former player under Alvarez, has acknowledged the challenge publicly. He has urged alumni to recognize that NIL is no longer a luxury but a requirement. Yet his tenure has also been defined by the difficulty of escaping the Alvarez legacy, where tradition, control, and caution remain dominant values. It’s no coincidence that programs thriving in the NIL era, such as Oregon, Michigan, and USC, have leaned into innovation, rather than institutional nostalgia. Wisconsin still enjoys a robust donor base. The Badger Champions Circle and Legacy Society continue to attract six- and seven-figure gifts that fuel scholarships, facilities, and wellness programs. However, these traditional pipelines don’t address the current moment, where players expect more than just locker rooms and nutrition—they expect a return on their brand investment. Without a meaningful shift in how Wisconsin’s donors, administrators, and boosters approach athlete support, the Badgers risk falling from Big Ten relevance. The new media deals, which are pouring billions into the conference, won’t help if the university remains hesitant to adapt. At a time when money, mobility, and branding define the sport, the same conservatism that once brought stability to Wisconsin may now be holding it back. The question now is whether Wisconsin can let go of its Alvarez-era reflexes and reinvent itself for the realities of modern college sports. The answer won’t be found in plaques or nostalgia. It’ll be found in NIL contracts, transfer portal wins, and whether the next generation of athletes sees Madison as a destination, not just a memory.  For decades, Iowa wrestling was the gold standard of college athletics—a dynasty defined by tenacity, team discipline, and championships. But as the dust settles on the 2024–25 season, the once-proud program now appears to be in decline. And with rising dysfunction on and off the mat, head coach Tom Brands is facing the most serious questions of his 18-year tenure.
From failed recruiting coups to alleged favoritism, a culture many call outdated, and growing pressure from a new athletic director unwilling to tolerate stagnation, the writing may be on the wall for the Brands era in Iowa City. A Crumbling Foundation: Performance No Longer Matches Prestige The most apparent sign of Iowa’s slippage is its declining results. In March 2025, the Hawkeyes finished fourth at the NCAA Wrestling Championships, behind Penn State, Nebraska, and Oklahoma State. While a top-four finish might be commendable for some programs, for Iowa, it highlights a stark contrast with its championship legacy. Since 2011, Iowa has claimed just one national title (2021), while Penn State has won 11. Offensively, the team struggled to generate points against top-tier competition. Multiple starters were visibly passive on the mat, and the team’s once-feared intensity was inconsistent. Iowa crowned just one national champion, Stephen Buchanan at 197 pounds, while elite programs left with multiple individual titles and broader roster depth. The Bo Bassett Blow: A Generational Recruit Walks Away The program’s recruiting strategy is also in crisis. The biggest gut punch came in June when Bo Bassett, the top high school wrestler in the 2026 class, announced his decommitment from Iowa. In a statement, Bassett cited the program no longer aligning with his growth as a wrestler or as a person. It was a quiet but devastating indictment of the culture inside the Iowa room. Bassett’s departure didn’t happen in a vacuum. Sources close to the situation have pointed to conflicts over his training preferences, friction regarding his involvement with the Hawkeye Wrestling Club, and a larger philosophical mismatch between modern athletes and Brands’ grinding, authoritarian coaching style. The fallout likely ends Iowa’s pursuit of Bassett’s younger brothers as well. For a program once known for turning young men into champions, Iowa is now struggling to convince the very best that it’s still the right fit. The Gabe Arnold Controversy: A Culture Under Scrutiny Nowhere is the internal dysfunction more apparent than in the case of Gabe Arnold. A prized recruit and former Fargo champion, Arnold was dismissed from the program in the offseason. Shortly after, he revealed he had been battling depression during the season, raising serious questions about how mental health is addressed within Iowa wrestling’s notoriously unforgiving culture. Multiple sources have suggested that part of Arnold’s downward spiral stemmed from a coaching decision that angered many inside the locker room: he was allegedly forced to wrestle up a weight class at 184 pounds for most of the season, a move some believe was designed to leave the 174-pound spot open for Brands’ nephew, Nelson Brands. This perceived favoritism damaged team morale and added to a growing sense that decisions were being made for reasons other than merit. Arnold, wrestling out of position and without consistent success, became the lightning rod for a team already cracking under the pressure of unmet expectations. Worse, it’s fair to ask whether Iowa’s old-school, "grind them down" coaching philosophy contributed to Arnold’s deterioration. The Hawkeyes have long been known for their punishing style of practice and competition. While that approach built champions in the 1980s and 1990s, it may no longer resonate, or be sustainable, in the era of athlete empowerment and psychological health awareness. Enter Beth Goetz: A New Sheriff in Town If there’s one person who may ultimately decide Tom Brands’ fate, it’s Iowa Athletic Director Beth Goetz. Installed as the full-time AD in early 2024, Goetz has already demonstrated a distinct kind of leadership: one that prioritizes modernization, accountability, and alignment with broader institutional objectives. Goetz has made it clear she is not beholden to legacy or sentiment. Her athletic department has undergone multiple leadership evaluations, and her comments have consistently centered on innovation and performance. Coaches across Iowa’s programs have lauded her willingness to make hard decisions. That does not bode well for a wrestling program that seems increasingly disconnected from the trajectory of elite collegiate athletics. The Future: An Inevitable Reckoning? Tom Brands remains a Hawkeye legend. His status as a national champion, Olympic gold medalist, and fiery figurehead of the Iowa Way is secure in the program’s history books. But dynasties do not last forever. And the truth is that Iowa wrestling is no longer feared. Its recruiting has lost its edge. Its tactics are outmoded. Its locker room is fractured. And its greatest weapon, an uncompromising, hard-nosed culture, is now being questioned as a liability rather than an asset. In a Big Ten where Penn State sets the standard, and Nebraska is surging, the Hawkeyes seem like an aging afterthought. Nationally other programs are becoming more competitive, most notably Oklahoma State, who, under a new coach with no head coaching experience, surpassed Iowa within one year. Iowa no longer appears to be a leader; it seems like a program trying to recall what leadership once was. If Tom Brands cannot pivot, culturally, competitively, and personally, his tenure may come to an end not with a roar, but with an uncomfortable silence. And Beth Goetz, with a vision for Iowa’s athletic future, may be the one to turn the page.  The Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century fractured the religious unity of Western Christendom and redefined theological discourse for centuries to come. At the center of this upheaval was the contentious debate over justification: could salvation be achieved through faith alone (sola fide), or were good works and adherence to ecclesiastical sacraments necessary for divine grace?
This article examines how the dichotomy between faith and works functioned as the fulcrum of the Reformation, focusing on theological developments, scriptural interpretations, and the sociopolitical implications of this divide. Particular attention is given to Martin Luther’s doctrinal assertions, the Catholic response at the Council of Trent, and the broader consequences of this theological divergence on Christian identity and European society. The Protestant Reformation, ignited by Martin Luther’s 1517 Ninety-Five Theses, challenged the core theological and institutional structures of the Roman Catholic Church. While ecclesiastical corruption and papal overreach were central grievances, the fundamental doctrinal question concerned how a sinner could be justified in the eyes of God. Luther’s assertion of sola fide, that salvation is attained by faith alone, independent of human merit, stood in direct opposition to the Catholic emphasis on the cooperation of grace and works. This distinction between faith and works did not merely represent a theological nuance; it functioned as the fulcrum upon which the entire Reformation turned. I. The Medieval Context: Sacramental Theology and Works Before the Reformation, the prevailing Catholic soteriology emphasized the synergistic model of justification. Drawing from Augustine’s theology of grace, the Church taught that while initial justification was a work of divine grace, the individual was obliged to cooperate with that grace through good works, penance, and participation in the sacraments, especially the Eucharist and confession. The scholastic theology of Thomas Aquinas further elaborated on this framework, positing that infused righteousness enables the believer to perform meritorious acts that contribute to salvation. The practical implications of this doctrine were substantial. Indulgences, pilgrimages, acts of charity, and monastic discipline were all means by which the faithful could accumulate merit. By the late Middle Ages, however, this system had calcified into what many perceived as a transactional spirituality, vulnerable to abuse and often detached from inner transformation. II. Luther and the Doctrine of Sola Fide Martin Luther’s theological breakthrough occurred through his reading of Romans 1:17—“The righteous shall live by faith.” His existential struggle with the unattainable demands of righteousness led him to a new understanding of justification as forensic, not transformative. In contrast to the Catholic view, Luther taught that righteousness is imputed to the believer by faith, not infused through sacramental grace. This justification was not a process but a declaration--simul justus et peccator (at once justified and a sinner). In his 1520 treatise On the Freedom of a Christian, Luther wrote: “A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.” Here, Luther established the paradox of Christian liberty: faith alone justifies, but true faith inevitably produces good works. Works are not the cause of salvation but its fruit. III. Catholic Response: The Council of Trent and the Affirmation of Works The Catholic Church responded with theological precision and institutional reform at the Council of Trent (1545–1563). The Decree on Justification, issued in 1547, anathematized the Reformation teaching of sola fide. The Council reaffirmed that justification begins with grace but is sustained and increased through human cooperation—faith formed by love (fides caritate formata). Canon IX stated explicitly: “If anyone says that the sinner is justified by faith alone... let him be anathema.” While rejecting sola fide, Trent did not endorse Pelagianism. It maintained that works were only meritorious because they were empowered by grace. Still, the essential distinction remained: justification was not solely the declaration of righteousness but also its internal infusion and transformation. IV. Scriptural Hermeneutics and the Epistle of James The Reformation sharpened the question of scriptural authority. Luther famously criticized the Epistle of James as an “epistle of straw” because of its apparent contradiction with Paul’s theology: “You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone” (James 2:24). Protestants generally resolved the tension by distinguishing the justificatory role of faith before God (Paul’s concern) from the vindication of faith in the eyes of men (James’ concern). Catholic exegetes, by contrast, viewed James as affirming the necessity of good works for justification, arguing that faith without works is dead and cannot save. This divergence in biblical interpretation underscored more profound differences in theological method, with Protestants emphasizing the perspicuity of Scripture and Catholics emphasizing the interpretive authority of the Church. V. Faith, Works, and the Sociopolitical Fallout The theological disagreement over faith and works had vast implications beyond the pulpit. The Protestant rejection of ecclesiastical mediation led to the rise of national churches and individual conscience as the arbiter of faith. This contributed to increased literacy, the translation of Scripture into vernacular languages, and a new emphasis on personal Bible reading. In contrast, the Catholic reaffirmation of sacramental mediation and ecclesial authority reinforced hierarchical structures, but also fueled significant internal reforms, including the establishment of new religious orders (e.g., the Jesuits) and improvements in clerical education. The Reformation's emphasis on sola fide also intersected with emerging notions of individual autonomy and proto-capitalist work ethics, particularly in the Calvinist tradition. Max Weber would later argue that the Protestant ethic, rooted in assurance through faith and the demonstration of election via industrious living, contributed to the development of modern capitalism. Conclusion The debate over faith and works was not a peripheral skirmish but the theological axis of the Protestant Reformation. It divided Christendom, reshaped Western theology, and influenced centuries of ecclesiastical and cultural development. While Protestants emphasized salvation by faith alone and the sufficiency of Christ’s merit, Catholics maintained a holistic view of justification that included faith working through love. Though ecumenical dialogues in the twentieth century—such as the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification (1999)—have sought to bridge these differences, the legacy of the Reformation’s central fulcrum remains a vital topic of historical and theological inquiry.  Northwestern University athletics has long walked a tightrope, balancing elite academic expectations with the pressures of Big Ten competition. In recent years, this balance has increasingly depended on financial support, both from major capital donors and, more recently, through name, image, and likeness (NIL) funding. While Northwestern's top-tier donors have delivered impressive gifts, particularly for infrastructure, the school's approach to NIL remains noticeably behind the curve.
At the center of Northwestern's fundraising legacy stands the Ryan family. Patrick G. Ryan, a 1959 graduate and former insurance executive, and his wife Shirley have donated more than $480 million to the university. Their generosity has fueled a wide range of initiatives, most notably underwriting the ongoing $800+ million redevelopment of Ryan Field. That stadium project, one of the most expensive in the country, is a visual testament to Northwestern's capital fundraising power, even if it has drawn controversy among local Evanston residents and sparked questions about priorities in college athletics. The Ryan Field overhaul isn't the university's only big-dollar success. J. Landis Martin and his wife, Sharon, donated $15 million to support the lakefront athletic complex and secure naming rights for the soccer and lacrosse stadium. Kip and Sara Kirkpatrick contributed $5 million to build a new softball stadium, set to open in 2026. Other alums like Rory Clark have offered planned gifts, ensuring that Northwestern's athletic infrastructure continues to grow long after the latest wave of media contracts and donor campaigns. For decades, this donor class—wealthy, loyal, and committed to the institution—has carried the burden of athletic competitiveness at Northwestern. But the ground has shifted under their feet. The era of NIL has introduced a new kind of donor economy, one that prizes flexibility, fast action, and direct engagement with athletes. And on that front, Northwestern has struggled to adapt. Unlike its Big Ten peers in Columbus, Ann Arbor, or Lincoln, Northwestern entered the NIL space cautiously. Its official NIL platform, TrueNU, was rolled out well after most conference rivals had already established robust collectives. While TrueNU now represents the majority of NIL income at Northwestern, the total volume remains modest by national standards. According to public interviews and internal reporting, many Northwestern athletes receive far fewer opportunities or direct compensation than their counterparts elsewhere in the conference. TrueNU has had some successes, including the Lift for Life charity event hosted by the football team, which raised over $45,000 for rare disease research. But these kinds of community-based activations, while commendable, are not the type of high-impact NIL deals that retain blue-chip recruits or attract significant transfers. Coaches like Chris Collins have publicly acknowledged the challenge. While Northwestern has managed to retain some top talent in-house, especially in basketball, the program's NIL resources are significantly less competitive than those of the Big Ten's heavyweights. This disparity matters. In today's college sports ecosystem, NIL is no longer optional; it's foundational. The top schools aren't just building new weight rooms; they're building compensation pipelines that operate parallel to official scholarship offerings. NIL funds serve as recruiting tools, retention bonuses, and relationship builders with local and national businesses. And while Northwestern's institutional donors remain deeply committed to capital projects, few appear to be pivoting toward NIL as a strategic priority. Even the Wildcat Fund, relaunched in 2022 as a flexible donation pool for general athletics support, has focused more on operational enhancements than NIL competitiveness. While it supports over 500 student-athletes in areas like nutrition, travel, and academics, it doesn't directly translate to NIL support or athlete-directed income streams. And given Northwestern's elite private school tuition and high cost of living, the school's underperformance in NIL support risks making it an increasingly tough sell for top-tier talent. The result is a growing gap between the high-gloss presentation of Northwestern Athletics—the sleek facilities, the Lake Michigan skyline, the new Ryan Field—and the practical financial realities facing its athletes. The donor model remains strong, but it is rooted in a different era. The modern student-athlete isn't just looking for locker rooms and study halls; they're looking for deals, branding, and the ability to monetize their value. In that race, Northwestern is starting from the back of the pack. Without a strategic shift in how its donor class thinks about athlete support, Northwestern risks falling behind. Capital gifts build stadiums, but NIL wins games—and increasingly, the schools that understand that distinction are the ones making postseason runs.  For generations, Nebraska Cornhuskers athletics has stood as a symbol of Midwestern grit and national pride. But beyond the Sea of Red in Memorial Stadium and the dominance of Husker volleyball lies an influential and often understated engine powering the athletic machine: its donors. From multimillion-dollar gifts to grassroots fundraising campaigns, these donors shape facilities, coaching staffs, and athlete experiences alike.
As the financial demands of college athletics increase, the University of Nebraska–Lincoln's (UNL) ability to compete in the Big Ten and beyond increasingly depends on its top-tier benefactors. Let's take a closer look at the major individual and corporate donors who have transformed Husker Athletics into a national brand. Howard Hawks: The Most Powerful Name in Nebraska Athletics? Few names carry as much weight in Nebraska donor circles as Howard Hawks, a successful Omaha businessman and former University of Nebraska Regent. Hawks and his family have played a central role in multiple facility enhancements, including the Hawks Championship Center, Nebraska's indoor football practice complex completed in 2006. Hawks was also instrumental in financing Haymarket Park, home to both Nebraska baseball and the Lincoln Saltdogs. His support has gone beyond infrastructure—he has served on the university's Board of Regents. He continues to wield significant influence in state and university affairs. Within Husker Nation, the Hawks' name has become nearly synonymous with high-level philanthropic support. Alex Gordon: From College Star to Donor Champion Former Husker All-American and Kansas City Royals All-Star Alex Gordon returned to his Lincoln roots with more than just good memories. In 2011, Gordon donated $1 million to Nebraska Athletics, which funded the construction of a state-of-the-art baseball training facility now known as the Alex Gordon Training Complex. The gift enhanced the program's competitive edge in recruiting and player development, reaffirming Nebraska baseball's position as a serious contender in the Big Ten and on the national stage. Gordon's contribution also highlights a growing trend among professional alums returning to give back to the programs that launched their careers. The Legacy of Ione Bowlin While not a household name, Ione Bowlin left an enduring legacy in women's athletics. Her estate gift helped fund Nebraska's softball complex, which today bears her name: Bowlin Stadium. Opened in 2002, the facility is among the most advanced in the conference, underscoring how estate planning and philanthropic vision can reshape athletic programs beyond football and men's basketball. Sid and Hazel Dillon: Supporting Women's and Olympic Sports The Dillons, known for their successful Nebraska car dealership empire, have been crucial contributors to Nebraska's Olympic and non-revenue sports. Their names are attached to portions of the Barbara Hibner Soccer Stadium and Tennis Complex, which opened in 2015. The Dillons' support has provided athletes in traditionally underfunded sports with facilities that rival those of top-tier programs. The Nebraska Leadership Society: Millionaire Boosters Quietly Shaping the Future While the names above are visible through facility naming rights, a large portion of Nebraska's athletic lifeblood flows through the Nebraska Leadership Society (NLS). This donor recognition group, managed by the Huskers Athletic Fund, honors individuals or corporations who contribute $25,000 or more annually or who have reached $1 million or more in lifetime giving to Nebraska Athletics. These NLS members often operate behind the scenes but play vital roles in underwriting coaching salaries, funding athlete nutrition and wellness programs, and backing new facility upgrades such as the recent Go Big Project, which included the $165 million expansion of North Stadium. Although many members prefer anonymity, the group includes a who's who of Nebraska's agricultural, financial, energy, and real estate elites. Their cumulative impact is impossible to overstate. NLS members collectively account for over one-third of all annual donations to Husker Athletics. Corporate Backers: Building Nebraska's NIL and Infrastructure On the corporate side, major Nebraska-based businesses, including Union Bank & Trust, First National Bank of Omaha, and Nebraska Furniture Mart, have all supported Husker Athletics through advertising, facility sponsorships, and, more recently, Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) initiatives. Though NIL is technically separate from university fundraising, companies such as Runza and Werner Enterprises have entered into NIL deals with athletes while also remaining visible contributors to broader Husker sports branding. These partnerships signal a future where the line between traditional donor support and athlete-focused corporate backing continues to blur. Giving Days and Grassroots Power Events like Glow Big Red, Nebraska's annual giving day, have demonstrated the breadth of support across Husker Nation. In 2025 alone, more than 1,000 individual donors contributed over $150,000 to Nebraska Athletics in a single 24-hour period. While these gifts may not rival the seven-figure donations of elite boosters, their cumulative impact funds scholarships, travel budgets, and day-to-day operations across all 24 varsity sports. Conclusion: The Donor-Driven Era of Husker Athletics Whether it's through multimillion-dollar capital gifts or recurring support from loyal fans, Nebraska Athletics remains deeply donor-driven. Facilities, coaches, and competitive programs aren't possible without the vision and dollars of benefactors ranging from billionaire industrialists to everyday fans. As the Big Ten continues its transformation into a billion-dollar media empire, schools like Nebraska must lean on their most loyal supporters to keep pace. In the world of college sports, loyalty matters. But money talks. And in Lincoln, the most prominent voices are those writing the biggest checks.  Big-time college football appears to be a golden ticket, offering national TV exposure, full scholarships, team gear, and packed stadiums. But for most NCAA FBS scholarship athletes, the rewards end when their eligibility does. The reality after graduation is far grimmer: no professional contract, a degree often shaped by athletic scheduling needs, and long-term income that lags behind their non-athlete classmates. Despite powering a multi-billion-dollar industry, the majority of former FBS athletes struggle to convert their on-field value into lifelong financial security.
Only 1.6% of NCAA football players make it to the NFL. For the other 98.4%, graduation marks the end of athletic compensation and the beginning of a job market for which they are often poorly prepared. While NCAA officials tout graduation rates and “life skills” development, those numbers rarely reflect economic outcomes. In fact, the most reliable data suggests that many former athletes earn less, not more, than their classmates over the long term. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, the median annual income for all bachelor’s degree holders over age 25 is approximately $69,000. However, a study by the National Bureau of Economic Research found that former Division I athletes, especially in football and basketball, often earn significantly less. In some cases, the median income five years after graduation was below $40,000 for former football players who did not go pro, well below the national average for degree-holding peers. Part of the problem lies in the athletic experience itself. While full scholarships provide tuition, housing, and meals, they come at the cost of time. FBS football players often devote 40 to 50 hours per week to their sport, leaving little bandwidth for internships, networking, or double majors. Degrees are frequently steered toward more manageable workloads to preserve eligibility, not maximize post-graduate income potential. As a result, many graduates have less job market preparation than their peers, despite having arguably worked the hardest of anyone on campus. Even worse, the financial benefits of their labor during college were captured mainly by others. In 2022 alone, the top five FBS football programs generated over $600 million in revenue. Head coaches routinely earn $5–10 million per year. Meanwhile, the players who create the product on the field typically receive nothing beyond their scholarship, and often fall short of even covering their full cost of living. A 2011 study by Drexel University estimated the actual market value of an average FBS football player at $120,000 per year. The actual scholarship value they received was closer to $23,000, leaving them hundreds of thousands of dollars short by the time they graduate. This pay gap doesn’t just disappear after college; it echoes across a lifetime. For many athletes, the years immediately after graduation are financially precarious. Without NFL income or job-ready credentials, they often bounce between short-term gigs, delayed graduate school, or uncertain career paths. Others struggle with physical ailments from years of competition—chronic pain, concussions, surgeries—that can limit long-term earning potential. Many individuals lack health insurance once their scholarship ends, adding financial strain as they attempt to establish their careers. The recent advent of Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) rights has begun to shift the landscape, but the benefits are still highly concentrated. Most FBS athletes receive minimal NIL compensation, if any—some studies estimate the average to be around $1,200 annually. Only top-tier stars or social media influencers are pulling in serious money. For the majority of players, NIL has not materially altered their economic trajectory. The long-anticipated $2.8 billion NCAA settlement may finally provide some revenue sharing to athletes. But for those who already graduated or whose eligibility expired under the old system, the damage is already done. Years of unpaid labor, limited career development, and physical wear have left many former FBS players behind the very classmates they once towered over in fame. This is not just a story of broken promises; it’s a structural failure. College football athletes are told they are being compensated with an education. But that education is often narrowed and compromised by the demands of the sport. When the cheering stops, they are expected to enter a competitive labor market with a degree shaped around eligibility rather than employability. If the NCAA and its member institutions are truly committed to education and equity, they must address this disparity. That means not only continuing to expand NIL rights and revenue sharing, but also rethinking the academic and career resources provided to athletes. It means ending the charade that a “full ride” is adequate compensation for what is, in every respect, professional-level performance. Until then, the scoreboard remains lopsided on and off the field. The universities win. The coaches win. The broadcasters win. The players? Most of them leave with little more than sore knees, a framed jersey, and a future that pays far less than it should.  Indiana’s astonishing 11–2 finish in 2024 was one of the great outlier seasons in modern college football. It delivered the school’s first College Football Playoff berth and a flood of national attention. Still, it also raised eyebrows across the Big Ten. How did a program with no history of sustained success suddenly vault into the national spotlight? The answer lies in a perfect storm: a favorable schedule, heavy reliance on short-term portal talent, and exceptional performances from transfer quarterback Kurtis Rourke and a handful of out-of-nowhere stars.
As the Hoosiers enter 2025, the narrative shifts from celebration to skepticism. The roster has undergone significant turnover. Rourke, who played through injury, is gone. So are several key contributors on both sides of the ball. Indiana again turned to the transfer portal, bringing in quarterbacks Fernando Mendoza (Cal) and Grant Wilson (ODU), running back Roman Hemby (Maryland), and tackle Zen Michalski (Ohio State). While these players bring experience, expecting instant cohesion and consistent production is a gamble. And unlike 2024, the schedule offers little margin for error. Indiana opens its season with three easy non-conference tuneups: Old Dominion, Kennesaw State, and Indiana State. Wins in those matchups are expected. But once Big Ten play begins, the tone shifts dramatically. Illinois comes to Bloomington in Week 4, and that’s where trouble starts. Despite being a home game, Illinois brings a bruising, veteran defense that’s a bad matchup for a rebuilding Indiana offense. That’s followed by a brutal trip to Iowa, a place where Indiana has rarely competed well, and then an even more challenging road game at Oregon, one of the most complete teams in college football. The back half of the schedule isn’t forgiving, either. A Halloween weekend home game against a traveling UCLA team is winnable, but not a guaranteed win. November brings another gauntlet: road games at Maryland and Penn State, a physical clash with Wisconsin, and the season-ending rivalry at Purdue. The trip to Happy Valley looms especially large. Penn State returns a top-tier defense and elite athleticism that could overwhelm Indiana’s reshuffled offensive line. These are not contests that Indiana is built to win, especially not in back-to-back weeks. Add it all up, and the path to even eight wins looks much steeper than it did a year ago. While head coach Curt Cignetti deserves credit for maximizing the transfer portal and building short-term success, it’s clear the 2024 season was more illusion than revolution. The Hoosiers benefited from a soft schedule and a locker room of experienced, older players. That’s not the reality in 2025. Even the recruiting momentum is lukewarm. Indiana’s 2026 class currently ranks just inside the top 35, respectable but hardly a sign of a surging program. And while some core players return on defense, the depth behind them remains questionable. The offensive identity is unclear. The quarterback situation is unsettled. The trenches, especially on defense, are thin. A fair projection puts Indiana at 3–0 to start, but just 4–5 the rest of the way. A 7–5 regular season would be a success given the landmines ahead. At the same time, anything above that likely requires major overachievement from multiple transfer players and a bit of luck. More realistically, a 6–6 or even 5–7 record is in play, especially if the Hoosiers stumble in early conference games and struggle on the road. Last year, Indiana caught lightning in a bottle. This year, they may come crashing back to earth. The question isn’t whether 2024 was a bubble. The question is how long it takes Indiana to recover once it bursts.  As sleepless nights continue to plague millions of adults, the search for safe, effective solutions has led many to rediscover an unconventional yet promising therapy: hypnosis. While often associated with stage shows and pop culture caricatures, clinical hypnosis is increasingly recognized by sleep researchers and behavioral health professionals as a legitimate tool for managing chronic insomnia.
Hypnosis, in the medical sense, involves guiding a person into a deeply relaxed, highly focused state in which the mind becomes more receptive to therapeutic suggestions. In the context of insomnia, this technique is used to reduce anxiety around sleep, recalibrate dysfunctional beliefs about rest, and encourage physiological relaxation. Unlike pharmacological interventions, which can produce dependency or diminish in effectiveness over time, hypnosis aims to retrain the mind-body connection to restore healthy sleep patterns from within. Research from institutions such as the University of Zurich and Stanford University has demonstrated that hypnosis can significantly increase the time spent in slow-wave (deep) sleep, which is critical for restorative rest. In one study published in Sleep, participants who listened to a 13-minute hypnotic audio recording experienced 80% more deep sleep compared to those who did not. Another 2018 meta-analysis in Sleep Medicine Reviews concluded that hypnosis could meaningfully reduce sleep onset latency, improve sleep duration, and enhance subjective sleep quality, especially when combined with cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT-I). The hypnotic process typically involves an induction phase, where the practitioner uses calm, rhythmic language to help the patient relax and focus. This is followed by deepening techniques and targeted suggestions such as “your body is becoming heavier and calmer,” or “your mind is ready to let go of the day.” Some sessions focus on metaphor and imagery, like floating on a cloud or walking through a peaceful forest, to ease the mind away from stress and into a restful rhythm. Critically, hypnosis does not "put people to sleep" in a literal sense during the session. Instead, it helps calm the hyperarousal that often underlies insomnia. Patients report that even after a single session, they feel more in control of their sleep and experience less distress from nighttime wakefulness. Over time, this can interrupt the vicious cycle of anxiety, sleep deprivation, and rumination that characterizes chronic insomnia. Hypnosis is not a magic solution, and it may not be effective for everyone. Success often depends on a person's level of suggestibility, their openness to the process, and the practitioner's skill. That said, its non-invasive nature, lack of side effects, and compatibility with other behavioral treatments make it an attractive option, especially for individuals wary of long-term drug use. For those interested in exploring hypnosis for sleep, options range from working with a certified clinical hypnotherapist to using well-reviewed self-hypnosis audio programs. As the stigma fades and scientific validation grows, hypnosis is fast emerging not just as a novelty but as a viable therapeutic pathway toward better, deeper sleep.  Catholicism as Ethnicity: America’s Unspoken Cultural Identity
In the United States, Catholicism is widely seen as a religious affiliation. However, for millions of Americans, particularly those with immigrant ancestry, it operates as something more profound—a shared cultural identity. From parochial schools to political behavior, family customs, and naming patterns, Catholicism in the U.S. has long functioned as a quasi-ethnic group, blending faith with tradition and fostering generational continuity. This isn’t simply a matter of theology. Catholic Americans exhibit cohesive traits such as rituals, social networks, and cultural behaviors that persist even when religious observance declines. Whether you’re talking about Irish Catholics in Boston, Hispanic Catholics in Texas, or Filipino Catholics in California, the outlines of a durable ethnic identity emerge: communal, ritualistic, hierarchical, and distinct from the mainstream Protestant individualism that shaped the broader American culture. Ritual, Symbol, and Tradition: The Ethnic Heart of Catholicism Catholic customs often begin in the church but frequently end at home. Baptisms, First Communions, and weddings are not just religious rites—they are cultural touchstones. Family gatherings, ethnic dishes, saint days, and naming conventions turn these events into celebrations of heritage. Whether it’s an Italian-style wedding reception or a Mexican quinceañera tied to Marian devotion, Catholic ritual blends seamlessly with ethnic pride. These practices aren’t confined to Sunday. Many Catholics wear crosses or scapulars, keep crucifixes in their homes, mark their foreheads on Ash Wednesday, and abstain from meat on Fridays during Lent. These habits create an embodied sense of belonging, a “feel” of being Catholic that persists even when formal belief wanes. And let’s not forget the vocabulary: “Catholic guilt,” “parish life,” “offer it up,” and “sacrament” are all part of a distinct linguistic world. You don’t just believe in Catholicism, you live it. Parishes as Ethnic Micro-Communities Historically, Catholic parishes in U.S. cities were often explicitly ethnic, with parishes such as Irish, Italian, and Polish parishes, all located within blocks of each other. These parishes served as ethnic villages, transmitting culture through worship, language, and community. Even today, urban dioceses often organize parishes around language groups, such as Spanish-speaking Masses, Vietnamese Catholic communities, or Haitian Creole liturgies. Parish life is not just a Sunday affair. Festivals, sports leagues, fish fries, and volunteer societies form the glue that holds Catholic communities together. Catholicism’s territorial structure—assigning individuals to a parish based on geography reinforces this embeddedness. It’s more than attending a church; it’s belonging to a neighborhood tribe. Education and Social Mobility One of Catholicism’s most potent tools of cultural preservation has been its school system. Catholic schools, especially in the urban North and Midwest, served as engines of upward mobility for Irish, Italian, and Polish immigrants. Today, Hispanic Catholics are following a similar trajectory. Catholic schools pass on not just doctrine, but also cultural norms, including uniforms, order, religious holidays, respect for authority, and shared rituals. According to Pew Research, about 32% of U.S. Catholics hold a college degree, higher than evangelical Protestants and Black Protestants, but lower than Jews and Hindus. Catholic education, however, plays an outsized role in producing professionals, public servants, and civic leaders, many of whom maintain cultural ties to their Catholic upbringing even if they no longer attend Mass regularly. Historical Bigotry Strengthened Catholicism as Ethnicity Historical anti-Catholic bigotry in the United States has paradoxically helped solidify Catholicism as a distinct cultural identity by fostering tight-knit communities built around shared adversity. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, Irish and Italian immigrants faced widespread discrimination, with “No Irish Need Apply” signs and violent nativist movements like the Know-Nothing Party seeking to marginalize Catholic influence. Catholic schools and parishes became sanctuaries where customs, language, and faith could be preserved against a hostile mainstream. Events such as the burning of Catholic convents in Boston in the 1830s or the 1928 presidential campaigns of Al Smith and John F. Kennedy, who were smeared for their Vatican ties, reinforced a sense of cultural siege and group cohesion that endures today. Catholic Social Behavior: A Distinct Worldview Catholicism also shapes distinctive patterns of social behavior. Catholic social teaching emphasizes collective responsibility, care for the poor, labor rights, and institutional solutions—values that set Catholics apart from the more individualistic ethics of Protestant America. This communitarian outlook has historically aligned Catholics with working-class politics, especially in the Northeast and Midwest. Irish and Polish Catholic labor unions, Mexican-American Catholic civil rights groups, and Catholic Charities have all served as parallel institutions to support their communities just as ethnic enclaves often do. Even secular Catholics tend to carry a particular lens: a respect for tradition, an instinct toward guilt over sin, and a cultural memory of priests, nuns, Mass, and “the right way” to celebrate holidays. These are not just religious habits, they’re tribal ones. Ethnic Catholicism in the 21st Century While some ethnic boundaries have blurred, new ones have formed. Hispanic Catholics now make up one-third of the U.S. Catholic population. Their influence is visible in everything from liturgy to food to public witness. Filipino Catholics have brought vibrant devotions like Simbang Gabi, and African Catholics have introduced charismatic styles of worship. Across these groups, a core remains: Catholicism is not just a set of beliefs, it’s a framework for living, marking life stages, understanding authority, and sustaining memory. And because these behaviors and customs are shared across generations, Catholicism in America acts as a durable, ethnically inflected identity. Conclusion: Faith as Cultural Inheritance To speak of Catholicism solely as a religion is to miss its function in American life. It is a culture, a heritage, and for many, a birthright. Just as we recognize Jewish identity as both religious and ethnic, we must acknowledge that Catholicism in the U.S. performs similar work: defining social belonging, transmitting values, shaping behavior, and anchoring memory. In a nation built on waves of migration and the blending of old-world traditions with new-world realities, Catholicism has proven to be more than a church. It is an ethnicity of practice, carried in the blood as much as in the creed.  It’s almost impossible to imagine a pro sports game without beer. Whether you’re watching from the couch or the stands, beer and sports seem inseparable—but that wasn’t always the case. The modern fan experience, the economics behind it, and even the cultural rituals surrounding sports have been profoundly shaped by one of the most influential forces in advertising history: the beer industry.
Starting in the 1970s, breweries such as Anheuser-Busch and Miller saw an opportunity. Their core consumers were already watching the games. So why not make sports the centerpiece of their marketing strategy? What followed was a multibillion-dollar shift that transformed the way sports are played, broadcast, and consumed. By the 1980s, beer brands weren’t just buying ad slots; they were embedding themselves in the DNA of professional sports. Budweiser plastered its name across NFL and MLB broadcasts. At the same time, Miller Lite built iconic ad campaigns around ex-athletes and humorous one-liners. These weren’t just commercials; they were cultural events. They gave the games a sense of occasion and turned advertisers into co-authors of the fan experience. That investment paid off handsomely. Television rights, once modest and manageable, ballooned in value as beer companies lined up to buy airtime. Broadcasters could afford to pay leagues more, and in turn, leagues paid players more. Beer ads indirectly helped boost salaries, build new stadiums, and turn sports franchises into billion-dollar enterprises. The ripple effects were enormous. Inside stadiums, the influence of beer became even more visible. Naming rights deals, such as Coors Field or Miller Park, demonstrated how closely tied the brands were to the identity of the teams and cities. Meanwhile, exclusive pouring rights ensured that even on game day, the revenue stream flowed as freely as the taps. Beer wasn’t just along for the ride—it was steering the business. Of course, all that visibility came with some cultural consequences. The image of the “rowdy beer-drinking fan” became part of sports folklore, but also raised safety and public health concerns. Leagues responded with mixed efforts, limiting alcohol ads in some cases while still banking on the enormous ad spend that beer brands offered. Critics argued that marketing alcohol during games watched by families and young fans set a problematic example. Still, the influence hasn’t waned. While newer industries, such as sports betting and energy drinks, have begun carving out space in the advertising rotation, beer remains the king. The rise of craft breweries has added a local flavor to the mix. However, big brewers still dominate in terms of sponsorships and visibility. In the end, beer didn’t just sponsor sports: it helped define what professional sports became in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. It reshaped the business model, altered the in-game atmosphere, and left a cultural legacy that continues to unfold today. What began as a smart ad buy turned into one of the most impactful partnerships in modern entertainment history. For better or worse, beer helped build the sports world we know now, and it’s not giving up its front-row seat anytime soon. Chris Collins, Calmer Cats: Northwestern Bets Big on an Old-School Coach in a New-Age Game6/27/2025  Chris Collins has always coached like a man who wants to choreograph every possession. At Northwestern, where margins are thin and national attention is rare, his methodical approach has at times brought order to chaos—and at other times, strangled his own team’s momentum. Now, with a new contract extension locking him in through 2030, the university is doubling down on a man whose style—and sideline antics—seem more rooted in the past than the pace-and-space era that defines modern college basketball.
At the heart of Collins’ basketball identity is a deliberate, slowdown style that prioritizes half-court defense, disciplined rotations, and controlling the tempo. During Northwestern’s recent NCAA Tournament appearances in 2023 and 2024, this approach proved effective against more athletic opponents. The Wildcats frustrated teams like Indiana and Wisconsin with their plodding pace and smothering ball screens, winning not with superior talent but with strategic suffocation. But those same tactics can backfire. Northwestern ranked near the bottom of Division I in adjusted tempo over multiple seasons, often turning games into 58–55 rock fights. In a conference that increasingly features transition-heavy teams and high-octane scorers, Collins' scheme can feel like a relic—something from the coaching playbook of 1998, not 2025. The slowdown philosophy mirrors Collins’ long-standing sideline demeanor. Animated, combative, and never still, he has long embraced a performative intensity—barking at referees, pacing the bench like a caged animal, and occasionally letting emotion override calculation. The most infamous example came during the 2017 NCAA Tournament, when a critical technical foul assessed to Collins during a comeback attempt against Gonzaga helped seal Northwestern’s exit. The pattern repeated itself in January 2024, when Collins was ejected in a game against Purdue and fined $5,000 by the Big Ten. These moments have led to ongoing questions about whether his volatility on the sidelines undermines the very discipline he preaches to his team. To critics, it’s a coaching persona that feels out of step with modern leadership. While passion is valued, there’s a difference between fire and friction. In an era when players are increasingly empowered by NIL, mental health awareness, and professional development opportunities, Collins' old-school volatility can appear less motivational and more archaic. He often reminds observers of Bobby Knight: demanding, dictatorial, brilliant in preparation, but prone to outbursts that distract rather than inspire. That model of leadership has faded from the college landscape, replaced by tacticians who blend emotional intelligence with trust in their players. And yet, for all the baggage Collins carries, his survival at Northwestern has been anything but accidental. After the program’s historic NCAA Tournament appearance in 2017, the Wildcats endured five consecutive losing seasons. Fan frustration mounted, recruiting stagnated, and Collins appeared out of answers. In 2022, new athletic director Derrick Gragg made a bold move that set the stage for a turnaround: he placed Collins on a formal performance improvement plan. The directive was clear, change the culture, improve the results, or the university would move on. Rather than resist, Collins adapted. He overhauled his staff, most notably hiring veteran assistant Chris Lowery, known for his defensive mind and strong player relationships. He leaned further into analytics, altered recruiting tactics, and delegated more authority to his assistants. The transformation was swift and undeniable. Northwestern stunned the Big Ten in 2023 with a 12–8 conference record and a second-place finish. That success was no fluke. In 2024, the Wildcats returned to the NCAA Tournament, solidifying the sense that Collins’ program had not only stabilized but re-emerged as a legitimate middle-tier Big Ten force. The performance improvement plan, once seen as a last-ditch effort to salvage a dying tenure, became the catalyst for Collins’ most impressive stretch of coaching. The Northwestern Wildcats men’s basketball team finished the 2024–25 season with an overall record of 17‑16, including a 7‑13 mark in Big Ten play, which placed them 12th in the conference standings. Coached by Chris Collins in his 12th year, the Wildcats struggled with injuries to key players like Brooks Barnhizer and Jalen Leach, and ultimately declined to pursue any postseason opportunities following their loss in the Big Ten Tournament. Chris Collins enters the next season season at Northwestern with an all-time record of 194–190 (.505), making him the second-winningest coach in program history behind Dutch Lonborg. After back-to-back breakthrough campaigns critics speculate that regression could simply reflect a reversion to the mean. Last season’s results may well represent a return to Northwestern’s historical baseline. In 2025, Northwestern extended Collins' contract through 2030, with the contract not formally disclosed as Northwestern is a private institution, with a value believed to be worth approximately $6 million annually, placing him among the highest-paid coaches in the Big Ten. More than just a reward, the deal signals a strategic pivot for Northwestern: an acknowledgment that basketball, not football, offers the more immediate and cost-effective path to national visibility. The extension also includes increased resources for assistant coaching salaries, NIL support, and program infrastructure, essential upgrades for a school still competing with the likes of Indiana, Michigan State, and Illinois. But with those resources come expectations. The university is banking not just on Collins’ tactical mind, but on his willingness to continue evolving. The days of haranguing refs and micromanaging every offensive set may still appear in flashes, but Northwestern’s recent success was born out of trust, modernization, and maturity. The key question now is whether Collins can sustain that growth, or whether his old instincts will reassert themselves when the pressure rises. As the Wildcats look ahead to another season in the highly competitive Big Ten, their head coach presents a fascinating case study. His style is slower, his sideline antics less polished, and his demeanor more throwback than trendsetter. But his teams win ugly, and at Northwestern, that might be the most valuable currency of all. Still, as the rest of the sport accelerates into the future, Collins will need to prove that an old-school coach, with just enough new tricks, can still keep pace.  When universities ponder where to invest their limited athletic dollars, the gravitational pull of Football—big stadiums, packed Saturdays, and lucrative TV deals—is hard to resist. But beneath the roar of the gridiron lies a quieter economic truth: building a successful basketball program, particularly in both the men's and women's games, offers a far more cost-effective path to national exposure, athletic prestige, and NCAA revenue sharing.
From a management consultant's point of view, the favorable economics of basketball, combined with lower barriers to entry and faster turnaround times, make it the smarter play for most institutions outside the Power Five football elite. In a landscape where budgets are tight, NIL spending is surging, and Title IX compliance remains non-negotiable, basketball delivers more bang for the buck. The Economics of Basketball vs. Football Let's begin with cost structure. Football requires massive up-front capital: 85 full scholarships, multimillion-dollar coaching staffs, a sprawling support apparatus of analysts and strength coaches, and nine-figure stadium renovations. In contrast, Division I basketball teams field around 13 scholarship athletes. Facilities for hoops are smaller, cheaper to build and maintain, and generate year-round utility via concerts, student events, and women's games. Operationally, football programs typically run deep in the red, with only about 20 FBS programs turning a net profit annually, primarily clustered in the SEC and Big Ten. Meanwhile, a well-run basketball program—even in a mid-major conference—can become revenue-neutral or profitable, especially when it regularly reaches March Madness. The NCAA's basketball-centric revenue distribution model reinforces this. Each unit earned in the men's NCAA Tournament (by simply making it and advancing) is worth roughly $2 million spread over six years. A deep run by a school like Florida Atlantic or Loyola-Chicago can yield as much as $10-15 million for their conference, boosting the school's prestige and the league's negotiating leverage for media rights. Women's basketball is also growing rapidly, thanks to the popularity of players like Caitlin Clark and Angel Reese. The 2024 women's NCAA Tournament broke viewership records. It attracted significant sponsorship dollars, creating a growing ROI potential for universities willing to invest early and smartly. Key Ingredients for Building a Basketball Program The blueprint for building a competitive basketball program is refreshingly straightforward compared to Football: 1. Smart Coaching Hires: The right head coach changes everything. Basketball programs hinge heavily on one individual's ability to recruit, develop, and scheme. Coaches like Dusty May (Florida Atlantic), Kelvin Sampson (Houston), and Kim Mulkey (LSU) turned dormant or underachieving programs into national contenders through culture, recruiting networks, and tactical innovation. 2. Strategic Facilities Investments: A $30 million basketball-specific practice facility can match or even exceed the impact of a $150 million football stadium upgrade. These investments pay dividends in recruiting, team development, and university branding. 3. NIL Optimization: Basketball NIL spending is efficient—$100,000 can secure a star point guard, while that same sum barely moves the needle in football recruiting. A strategic NIL collective can elevate a program quickly with just a handful of well-compensated players. 4. Dual-Gender Commitment: Investing in both men's and women's programs maximizes facility utilization, compliance with Title IX, and ROI from branding and community engagement. Schools like South Carolina and Stanford have shown that success in women's basketball builds its own passionate following. 5. Conference Leverage: Schools with strong basketball programs gain outsized influence in conference realignment talks. Gonzaga and UConn have been courted by power conferences despite lacking football heft, solely because their basketball success enhances media rights deals. Case Studies: Hoops Turnarounds Done Right Houston Cougars (Men's Basketball): A decade ago, Houston was an afterthought in the American Athletic Conference. Then they hired Kelvin Sampson, invested in the Fertitta Center, and committed to recruiting Houston's deep talent pool. The result: Final Four appearances, top-10 rankings, and a seamless entry into the Big 12. LSU Tigers (Women's Basketball): LSU was floundering in women's hoops until the administration made a bold hire in Kim Mulkey. Within two years, they were national champions. The program's visibility has exploded, and women's basketball now plays a central role in LSU's athletic identity. Florida Atlantic (Men's Basketball): With modest facilities and a low NIL budget, FAU made the Final Four in 2023, proving that with smart coaching and developmental focus, mid-majors can break through. Their run raised the school's national profile, spurred donations, and positioned the athletic department for broader investments. South Carolina (Women's Basketball): Under Dawn Staley, South Carolina became a national powerhouse. The university invested heavily in branding and media access for the team, creating one of the country's most visible and successful programs. It paid off in championships, attendance, and nationwide recruiting dominance. UConn (Men's and Women's Basketball): The Huskies' return to the Big East was driven by basketball. Their football team is floundering in independence, but their dual basketball dynasties have maintained national relevance and provide a robust identity for the university's athletics. The Football Trap Football remains essential for some schools, but for the vast majority of FBS institutions, chasing gridiron glory is a financial sinkhole. Take UMass, which poured millions into football upgrades to pursue FBS relevance, only to face humiliating records, fan apathy, and minimal ROI. Similarly, programs like New Mexico State and Eastern Michigan spend lavishly to maintain their football status. In contrast, their basketball programs often go underfunded. Even in the Power Five, schools like Indiana and Illinois—storied in basketball but middling in Football—derive more cultural cachet and donor excitement from the hardwood. Conclusion: Bang for Your Buck Basketball success is cheaper, faster, and more reliable than football success. It requires fewer bodies, less capital, and a sharper focus on talent development and branding. In an era of NIL economics, athlete empowerment, and conference volatility, basketball offers schools a competitive edge without breaking the bank. For universities willing to invest intelligently—through high-impact coaching hires, NIL alignment, and gender-balanced program growth—basketball remains the best dollar-for-dollar investment in college sports. Hoops, not helmets, should be the blueprint for the next generation of athletic excellence.  Michigan State University's athletic department has long projected a dual identity as resilient and gritty in competition, yet historically vulnerable behind the scenes. On the field, the Spartans have claimed Big Ten championships, Final Four berths, and a national football playoff appearance. But off the field, a series of catastrophic governance failures has shaken the institution's credibility, from the Larry Nassar abuse scandal to the more recent Mel Tucker debacle. As a management consultant would frame it, Michigan State now finds itself amid a high-stakes turnaround effort, one in which smart hiring, institutional reform, and cultural realignment are not optional, but existential.
A Solid Financial Base, but Competitive Volatility In terms of resources, Michigan State is well-positioned. The athletic department's annual revenue approaches $170 million, placing it in the upper-middle tier of the Big Ten. It enjoys strong donor support, impressive facilities, and a loyal fan base. Yet, while financial inputs remain stable, competitive outputs have become erratic. Men's basketball under Tom Izzo continues to perform at a high level. Still, football, MSU's flagship revenue generator, has seen a dramatic decline from its 2015 College Football Playoff appearance, marked by coaching scandals and locker room instability. The transition from prestige to unpredictability has cost Michigan State dearly, not just in terms of wins but also in reputation and recruiting leverage. The athletic department faces a trust deficit among athletes, donors, and the public, which must be strategically addressed. Health and Wellness Infrastructure: Strong but Underutilized Michigan State boasts one of the Big Ten's most advanced athlete wellness infrastructures. The Spartan Performance and Wellness Center provides comprehensive services, including integrated sports medicine, strength and conditioning, mental health support, and nutritional guidance. Staff-to-athlete ratios are strong, and training innovations, such as performance analytics and injury monitoring, are well-developed. Yet these tools were poorly leveraged when they were needed most. The department's crisis response mechanisms, particularly during the Mel Tucker and Nassar scandals, failed to act on warning signs or protect vulnerable individuals. In both cases, wellness was treated as a siloed operation rather than a structural pillar. A consultant would advise that these services not only be offered, but also be empowered. The Mel Tucker Debacle: A Breakdown in Oversight The 2023 termination of football coach Mel Tucker due to credible sexual misconduct allegations wasn't just a PR crisis; it was a governance meltdown. Tucker's nine-figure contract was among the largest in the country, and yet it lacked enforceable behavioral exit clauses. The university had no internal early warning or crisis intervention systems in place, despite years of institutional experience with misconduct risk. From a management standpoint, the Tucker hire and subsequent collapse reflect fundamental failures: poor vetting, inadequate contract structuring, and an inability to distinguish between short-term hype and long-term leadership. It was not just a mistake in judgment; it was a reflection of an athletic department ill-equipped to manage the complexity and scrutiny of modern college sports. Nassar's Lingering Legacy The Larry Nassar case continues to cast a long shadow. Despite the university's $500 million settlement and the resignation of top leadership, MSU has struggled to show meaningful cultural change. The systems that enabled Nassar—decentralized authority, loyalty over accountability, and opaque compliance structures—have yet to be fully dismantled. The hiring of Tucker without safeguards and the lack of preemptive oversight demonstrate that the lessons of Nassar were only partially internalized. Real cultural change requires more than new signage or annual training modules. It demands deep, structural reform, new reporting lines, behavior-driven oversight, and cultural KPIs embedded in every leadership review. Jonathan Smith: A Quiet Rebuild Begins Against this backdrop, Michigan State's hiring of Jonathan Smith as head football coach in late 2023 marked a pivot toward stability. Smith arrived after a successful tenure at Oregon State, where he rebuilt a moribund program into a 10-win contender. Known for his methodical leadership and development-focused approach, Smith contrasts sharply with Tucker's charismatic bravado. His first season at MSU, in 2024, ended with a 5–7 record. While not bowl-eligible, the team showed signs of progress: reduced penalties, more cohesive game plans, and renewed buy-in from players and staff. A late-season upset win over Penn State served as proof of concept. Smith's leadership model—centered on detail, discipline, and internal development—is precisely what MSU needs during this period of recovery. From a consultant's lens, the Smith hire is a strategic correction: low ego, high systems alignment, and minimal reputational risk. It doesn't guarantee a quick return to dominance. Still, it offers something far more valuable in the long term: cultural stability. Prospects and Structural Challenges Ahead Smith's path forward is not without obstacles. Michigan State must dramatically improve its NIL infrastructure to stay competitive in recruiting. Currently, its collective trails many Big Ten peers collectively, and this financial lag will become more pronounced as USC, Oregon, and Washington bolster their programs, as well as the other legacy institutions. Moreover, the athletic department must improve contract design, ensuring that all high-salary positions, especially in football and basketball, include clear behavioral triggers for termination. Performance should never be the only yardstick. Wellness systems also require integration into leadership strategy. Mental health and compliance staff must be positioned as co-leaders, not support units. Athlete safety, morale, and behavioral integrity should factor into coach evaluations just as much as win-loss records. Strategic Recommendations To right the ship, MSU should take several concrete steps:
Final Analysis: The Spartan Test Michigan State has the revenue, the fan base, and the athletic tradition to remain a Big Ten force. But it no longer has the benefit of the doubt. The Tucker and Nassar scandals revealed an institutional tendency to confuse performance with credibility—and to delay accountability until a crisis hits. The arrival of Jonathan Smith presents an opportunity for a path forward, one rooted in humility, development, and internal alignment. But he cannot succeed without structural support. Suppose MSU truly wants to become a model program again. In that case, it must rebuild not just its roster or its reputation, but its entire athletic governance model. This is more than a rebrand. It's a referendum on whether Michigan State can learn, evolve, and lead with integrity. Because the next crisis won't wait for a second reset. Power, Plateau, and Priorities: A Management Consultant's Critique of Penn State Athletics6/26/2025  Penn State University is an undisputed powerhouse in collegiate athletics, especially in football. With a massive national fanbase, a storied history, and a revenue machine that consistently delivers, it ranks among the elite institutions of the Big Ten. But scratch beneath the surface, and the picture becomes more complicated.
While football thrives, both men's and women's basketball have underachieved for decades. Meanwhile, its extensive investments in health and wellness, though admirable, raise questions about how deeply they're integrated into athletic leadership and accountability. From a management consultant's viewpoint, Penn State is a case study in selective ambition. The athletic department has demonstrated excellence when it chooses to, but often allows that success to concentrate too narrowly. With the landscape of college sports shifting rapidly through NIL, conference realignment, and wellness culture, Penn State's most significant threat may not be competition; it may be complacency. Elite Resources, But Are They Being Leveraged? Penn State's athletic revenue ranks in the upper echelon of the NCAA. In FY2023–24, the department reported $220.7 million in revenue, with a $5.6 million surplus. That includes over $56 million from football games, $42 million from media rights, and more than $37 million in donations. These figures position the school among national leaders, alongside programs such as Ohio State, Michigan, and Alabama. But resource abundance is not, in itself, a performance metric. The key question is how effectively those resources are translated into sustainable, broad-based success. From a strategic standpoint, Penn State has long followed a "hub and spoke" model, with football at the hub and other sports as its appendages. While this has ensured gridiron strength, it has starved other programs, particularly basketball, of the attention, consistency, and expectation levels required for long-term success. Football: Stable, Successful—and Stalled? Under James Franklin, Penn State football has become a model of consistent top-15 performance. The 2023 season saw another 10–3 finish and a New Year's Six bowl appearance. Few programs can match Penn State's combination of tradition, attendance, and recruiting pipelines. Yet cracks are beginning to show. The team continues to falter against top-tier competition, most notably Ohio State and Michigan. Franklin's record in high-stakes matchups remains underwhelming, and critics argue that the program has reached a performance plateau. Franklin has adopted a momentum-based strategy, prioritizing recruiting depth, positional stability, and staff continuity over tactical innovation. That approach has maintained a strong floor, but it has not raised the ceiling. A $700 million renovation to Beaver Stadium, while symbolizing a commitment to football, risks reinforcing an outdated model if not paired with parallel investments in coaching innovation, NIL readiness, and athlete development systems. Health and Wellness: Strong Foundations, Weak Integration Penn State has constructed one of the country's most robust athletic wellness programs. With a clinical and performance staff that includes dietitians, mental health professionals, orthopedic specialists, and recovery experts, the infrastructure is sound. Staff members like Katy Pohland and Tori Lesko have developed well-regarded systems for athlete support, and partnerships with Penn State Health provide access to cutting-edge sports medicine and orthopedic care. However, the critical consultant's question remains: how deeply are these services integrated into the actual functioning of athletic teams? Are head coaches evaluated on athlete health outcomes? Do support professionals have the authority to influence training regimens or flag concerns independently? Facilities and professionals alone do not guarantee results. Without structural integration—where wellness is treated as a core leadership function rather than an auxiliary service—the program risks being branded as superficial. Penn State should prioritize making wellness central to its athletic culture by conducting regular audits of outcomes, linking wellness metrics to coaching evaluations, and ensuring that athlete voices are integral to system design. Basketball: A Persistent Blind Spot Penn State's investment in basketball, relative to its peers, has produced lackluster returns. The men's basketball team finished 16–15 in the 2024–25 season, posting a 6–14 conference record. Despite a brief surge into the NCAA Tournament in 2023, the program has struggled for consistency, relevance, and high-level recruiting. In a Big Ten flush with basketball talent and brand equity, Penn State remains an afterthought. The situation is worse on the women's side. After a promising 22–13 season in 2023–24, the team plummeted to 10–19 overall and 1–17 in Big Ten play this past year, finishing dead last in the conference. That kind of regression suggests not just a bad year, but systemic underinvestment in coaching, scouting, and development infrastructure. Achieving basketball success in the Big Ten is possible, even for football-first schools. Iowa and Michigan have shown that dual-sport excellence is feasible with exemplary leadership. For Penn State, the first step must be to raise internal expectations. Mediocrity in basketball has been normalized for too long. Budget Allocation: Lopsided Priorities Penn State's athletic department is well-funded, but that funding is unevenly distributed. Football absorbs more than half of the department's total resources. Men's basketball is the only other sport that generates profit. Wrestling and Olympic sports operate at a deficit, despite competitive success. More concerning is the lack of robust NIL infrastructure across non-football sports. While collectives exist, they remain behind the curve compared to other Big Ten institutions. This hurts both basketball and the Olympic programs, particularly in retaining athletes and attracting high-end transfers. A consultant would recommend rebalancing the budget, not by reducing funding for football, but by earmarking a strategic portion of new donor funds and media revenue for turnaround efforts in basketball and women's athletics. A 5–10% realignment could yield exponential cultural and competitive returns. Strategic Recommendations
Final Assessment: Power Squandered? Penn State has everything an athletic department could want: fan loyalty, financial firepower, national recognition, and institutional credibility. Yet it continues to operate with a selective focus, pouring resources and attention into football while tolerating stagnation elsewhere. From a consultant's perspective, this is not a resource problem—it's a leadership choice. If Penn State wants to be a true standard-bearer in the Big Ten and beyond, it must insist on performance at every level, not just on Saturdays in the fall. Otherwise, it risks becoming a cautionary tale: the program that had everything, but chose to coast. |