Apparently, a judge—Claudia Wilken—has ruled that NCAA Division I universities can now be legitimate modern-day Robin Hoods and pay “student” athletes. On June 6, 2025, she approved the House v. NCAA settlement—a federal court decision that fundamentally reshapes the NCAA’s amateurism model.
No more scholarship caps. A new structure for revenue-sharing. And perhaps most notably: the creation of a Name, Image, and Likeness clearinghouse for NIL deals exceeding $600—for transparency, of course.
As an additional development in the House v. NCAA settlement, attorneys have now agreed to allow NIL collectives to exceed the proposed $20.5 million revenue-sharing cap—provided deals meet a loosely defined “fair market value” threshold. This adjustment effectively softens the cap and reopens the door for high-dollar NIL arrangements, particularly among power programs with deep-pocketed boosters.
The payout? $20.5 million per school annually. How that sum gets divvied up remains unclear—I haven’t drilled down into the particulars. But let’s not kid ourselves: the lion’s share will likely be funneled toward college football and men’s basketball.
Still—college baseball is stirring. With the 2025 College World Series freshly concluded and the transfer portal buzzing like a switchboard, this offseason isn’t idle—it’s ideological. NIL valuations, roster reshuffles, and coaching chess moves now rival the MLB draft in drama. LSU, Arkansas, and Texas A&M are stacking talent like hedge funds stack assets. We’ve entered an era where a pitcher’s arm comes attached to a media strategy.
Just look at the decisions being made now—
Dylan Loy
A lefty who pitched in Tennessee’s CWS finals and SEC title game, Loy opted to transfer to Georgia Tech rather than go pro—likely weighing brand development and NIL upside against draft uncertainty.
Gavin Kash
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One of college baseball’s top sluggers with 41 career home runs, Kash remains unsigned, evaluating portal offers with six-figure NIL implications.
Brady Neal
LSU’s promising catcher, entered the portal post-surgery and has since committed to Alabama. His stat line (.276/.408/.578 with 9 HRs) suggests future draft appeal—but his decision to stay collegiate ensures medical recovery, visibility, and a fresh start under Alabama’s rebuild.
Zach Root
Arkansas pitcher Zach Root (33) throws a pitch against Washington State during an NCAA baseball game on Friday, Feb. 14, 2025, in Fayetteville, Ark. (AP Photo/Michael Woods)
East Carolina’s lefty ace, transferred to Arkansas after injury rather than jump into the 2025 draft—presumably to reset valuation through performance and pitch under the spotlight of SEC competition.
Jason Torres
Miami’s injured first baseman committed to Alabama—choosing legacy rebuild over uncertain draft slotting.
Conner O’Neal
A senior catcher drafted in the 9th round by the Dodgers, O’Neal received a paltry $2,500 signing bonus. Meanwhile, unsigned collegians are fielding NIL deals at ten to forty times that. It’s a reversal of the path once considered inevitable.
These aren’t isolated cases. They’re proof points. College isn’t just a stop on the way to the majors—it’s a strategic platform, and sometimes, the more prosperous one.
That in turn reawakens the longstanding tension around Title IX, as questions of equitable access and compensation intersect with economic realities. Revenue sports will drive the bulk of distribution. But fairness? That depends on who’s holding the purse—and the mic.
Even Dabo Swinney, Clemson’s Head Football coach and a symbol of collegiate consistency, recently dismissed the playoff structure as doomed to “blow up in five years.” His frustration didn’t end there—it echoed the silent groan of coaches and traditionalists who see NIL, the portal, and the new power dynamics as a departure from collegiate soul, not an evolution.
And I get it. I’ve long believed that athletes—true student-athletes—deserved stipends. Even a slice of their NIL. But now? Now we’re staring down a landscape where kids not old enough to legally toast a win in some states will earn more than seasoned professionals—teachers, lawyers, even broadcasters. When that level of income arrives before the diploma, it alters incentives and confuses identity.
The most troubling part? Athletes may now weigh whether to go pro at all. The path to prosperity for many was the draft. Suiting up at the highest level wasn’t just a dream—it was survival strategy. But now, campus can be more lucrative than rookie ball. College isn’t just a proving ground—it’s become a platform. And increasingly, a destination.
I still miss the voices of Keith Jackson and Chris Schenkel. I miss when athletes stayed four years on balance, honoring the name on the front of the uniform as much as the one on the back. When a college athlete’s story began at freshman orientation and didn’t end until graduation caps flew.
As a lifelong USC Trojan supporter since 1973, I remember when the band struck up “Conquest,” the cardinal-and-gold pageantry unfolded, and Saturdays felt like sacred ritual—rooted in rhythm, pride, and continuity. The culture wasn’t curated—it was lived.
Today? Athletes hop universities like we change socks. Only now, they’re paid—legally, openly, and no longer through booster laundering.
You might call this progress. You might call it overdue. But let’s not pretend there hasn’t been a cost.
Something rooted. Something rhythmic. Something undeniably collegiate has been quietly traded for something transactional.
And as college baseball recalibrates—with expanded rosters, NIL money chasing exit velocity and ERA, and players weighing pro dreams against collegiate branding—we stand at a threshold. If the game still wants heart, it will need storytellers, not just scouts. If it wants culture, it must frame the moments that echo—beyond bat speed and box scores.
We’ve entered the age of visibility economics. The question now is: What will we show—and what will we remember?
