Big Ten Freeloaders: Programs That Cash Checks Without Delivering Viewers

Every summer, the checks go out. Thanks to the Big Ten's blockbuster media deals, each member school collects an annual payout of $60 to $70 million: money generated mainly by the Big Ten Network and the league's partnerships with FOX, CBS, and NBC. Michigan and Ohio State bring in the audiences. Penn State fills stadiums and draws national ratings. USC and UCLA joined forces to expand into the Los Angeles market. Yet Northwestern, Rutgers, Maryland, and Indiana cash the exact same checks despite delivering a product that television viewers largely ignore.

The disparity is obscene. Michigan averaged over 109,000 in attendance last year and consistently delivered ratings of more than five million viewers. Northwestern, by contrast, played in a temporary 14,000-seat setup with occasional games at Wrigley Field, scraping by with ratings that barely registered on national charts. Rutgers and Maryland, with their supposed East Coast markets, pulled television numbers in the 0.8 to 0.9 range, closer to mid-tier Mountain West games than the Big Ten's marquee product. Indiana showed a modest uptick with a competitive team. Still, even at 50,000 per game, its attendance looks minor league compared to the stadiums packed in Columbus, Ann Arbor, or State College.

The problem is structural. Under the Big Ten's bylaws, there is no mechanism for demoting or removing underperforming members. The charter documents treat all schools as equal stakeholders, with equal votes and equal shares of media money. This arrangement made sense in the early days, when regional stability was the goal. But in the era of billion-dollar television deals, it has become a form of charity. The conference's heavyweights carry the brand, while the weakest programs quietly cash in on their revenue shares.

And let's be blunt: Northwestern, Rutgers, Maryland, and Indiana football are freeloaders. They contribute little to the television product that drives the league's revenue model. Their games are filler. Their stadiums are half-empty. Their national interest is negligible. Yet because the Big Ten operates on a collectivist model with no mechanism for removal, these programs are insulated from the consequences of their mediocrity.

Imagine if the league had the power to prune dead weight. Would Rutgers still be in the club? Would Northwestern be allowed to coast on donor prestige while serving up hazing scandals and unwatchable football? Would Indiana football, a perpetual anchor with the occasional blip of competence, still be entitled to the same payout as Ohio State? If the Big Ten operated like a business rather than a country club, the answer would be no.

Instead, the bylaws lock the league into a form of revenue socialism. Every school receives the same cut, regardless of its contributions. That model works fine for the schools at the bottom, but it increasingly rankles the powers at the top. Ohio State and Michigan are the engines of the Big Ten Network. Penn State and Wisconsin deliver strong, national audiences. Iowa, Nebraska, and Michigan State may not always be elite, but they consistently draw ratings and put butts in seats. The bottom quartile? They drain the pool.

This is the dark irony of Big Ten expansion. The league brought in Rutgers and Maryland for "markets" that never materialized. It carried weight for Northwestern due to its history and academic prestige. It has tolerated Indiana football because basketball tradition buys patience. And now the conference is stuck. The bylaws make removal practically impossible. Replacing bottom feeders with stronger national brands is more fantasy than policy.

The Big Ten is supposed to be elite, but its charter guarantees mediocrity a permanent seat at the table. As long as the league clings to equal revenue sharing and lacks a mechanism to purge dead weight, it will remain a bloated cartel: one where Ohio State and Michigan drag everyone else along. At the same time, the weakest programs continue to receive checks they haven't earned.
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The Big Ten sells exclusivity. The Big Ten Network presents itself as a premium network. But the reality is that mediocrity is written into the charter. And until the league acknowledges that not all members are equal in value, it will continue to reward programs that provide television viewers with no reason to stay tuned.