In 1960, Northwestern athletic director Stu Holcomb got a wild idea: A playoff in college football!
The former Purdue football coach was a fan of the tournaments that were taking root in sports such as basketball and baseball, and he wanted something similar for the most popular college sport. He envisioned an eight-team venture including the champions of the AAWU (the future Pac-10), ACC, Big 8, Big Ten, SEC and SWC, plus two at-larges (possibly selected among the powerful independents of the time), and he suggested that some of the revenue such a tournament would generate could be diverted to the American Olympic Fund and other worthy causes such as medical research. “It would be a wonderful thing if such a tournament could come about,” Holcomb told The Associated Press.
Needless to say, the idea went nowhere. It earned a couple of rounds of newspaper headlines and plenty of positive and hilariously negative responses from newspaper columnists, but it vanished from the papers by the middle of the year. Talk of a college football playoff wouldn’t really resume until Michigan State coach Duffy Daugherty picked up the mantel a few years later. Still, viewed from a present-day lens, it was a surprisingly noble proposal. Playing some extra football games to both determine a true national champion and raise money for good causes? As naive as the proposal might have been, what’s not to admire about that?
Granted, the current College Football Playoff, which came into existence more than 50 years after Holcomb’s proposal (and with half the teams), does end up sending a lot of money to Olympic sports in the form of funds for college teams. However, the newly expanded playoff — 12 teams in 2024-25, then, as recently rumored, likely 14 teams in the years that follow — offers a similarly noble opportunity: to ensure there are as many athletic departments as possible ready to fund the athlete compensation that is coming down the pike in one form or another.
Instead, that money is going to be used to make sure the SEC and Big Ten expand their financial advantages over everyone else.
In December, NCAA president Charlie Baker proposed rule changes that would, for the first time, allow Division I schools to pay their athletes. “[It] is time for us — the NCAA — to offer our own forward-looking framework,” he said. “This framework must sustain the best elements of the student-athlete experience for all student-athletes, build on the financial and organizational investments that have positively changed the trajectory of women’s sports, and enhance the athletic and academic experience for student-athletes who attend the highest resourced colleges and universities.” The proposal was loose with specifics, but the general idea was that schools in a newly created subdivision would pay at least $30,000 per athlete per year for at least half their athletes, and those payments would be split equally between male and female athletes.
Baker’s proposal was clearly an attempt to head off what the court system could be sending the NCAA’s way in the coming years. It faces athlete unionization efforts, antitrust lawsuits, fair labor lawsuits and state law changes, all of which are guiding (or shoving) it toward a player compensation model of some sort. For years, its only strategies were stalling at all costs or begging Congress for help. Baker’s maneuver might not end up being enough, but it was the first progressive step the NCAA has taken on this matter, well, ever.
Now, let’s do some back-of-the-napkin math. Depending on how many sports a Division I program offers (and whether it offers payments to all of its athletes or just the prescribed half), such a plan would theoretically cost athletic departments between $4 million and $12 million per year at minimum. Considering that the most recent figures from USA Today’s financial database (for public universities only) show 49 public D-I programs took in revenue of at least $100 million in 2022-23, this would not be a particularly high bar for many major athletic programs to clear, even if it takes a little bit of reconfiguring in terms of other salaries, building projects, et cetera. But considering nearly two-thirds of the programs at that level took in less than $40 million in revenue, this would be an impossibility for quite a few other universities, at least without cutting quite a few sports teams.
While we wait for official details from the forthcoming CFP television contract, considering a 12-team CFP was set to draw something around $1.3 billion annually, it’s fair to assume a 14-teamer, with two extra first-round games, could be worth something like $1.5 billion, about $900 million of which would be new and uncommitted funds. If divided equally among all 363 Division I programs, that would average out to $4.1 million per school, $3.4 million of which would be from uncommitted funds. If distributed to only the 261 D-I schools with football programs, that’s $5.7 million per school ($3.4 million uncommitted). FBS schools only? $11.1 million per school ($6.7 million uncommitted). Come up with a blend of the options there, and you could cover the vast majority, if not all, of the potential costs from a $30,000-per-athlete plan.
Put another way, this expanded playoff could pay for the future of college sports. And if the money doesn’t quite work, then let’s be honest: 14 teams is a really silly number for a tournament — proposed by the SEC and Big Ten to assure that there are two extra at-large bids for them to nab, plus only two byes (that their champions would frequently earn) — when 16 is right there. So let’s make it 16. That likely adds another $100 million to $200 million to the overall annual pool. Hell, make it an FCS-style 24 teams if you want. And go ahead and sign off on that NCAA basketball tournament expansion, too — we’ve got noble intentions here! (Or at least, whatever the “college sports making lots of money” version of “noble” is.)
Every current conversation about the future of college sports hints at some foreboding universe in which paying athletes forces universities to drop sports and maybe accidentally destroys college athletics altogether. Those conversations are almost certainly overwrought — and the way administrators continue to threaten the health of women’s sports in particular as a sort of “listen to us, or else!” threat in the compensation conversation continues to be particularly gross — but here’s a glorious, billion-dollar workaround. It could pave the way toward a bright future.
This, of course, is not what’s going to happen. The commissioners of the expanded SEC and Big Ten, Greg Sankey and Tony Pettiti, are using this conversation as an occasion to extort concessions from the rest of FBS.
In the current CFP deal, each power conference gets 16% of the set CFP revenue distribution, while the five other conferences and independents split the remaining 20% between them. There is also a pool of money distributed directly to schools that qualify for the playoff. Even if every FBS program made the same share of the guaranteed distribution money moving forward, the SEC and Big Ten would be positioned to make far more annual revenue than the rest of the pack because of their lucrative media rights deals and the fact that, with their powerful lineups, they will claim a large percentage of CFP bids.
That’s not enough for them, however. They’re also demanding a much higher percentage of set revenue — recent reporting suggests the SEC and Big Ten will now combine for about 57% of the guaranteed purse, while the ACC and Big 12 (and Notre Dame) combine for about 34% and the Group of 5 teams and remaining independent will now split 9%. Basically, G5s will get a slight increase in overall revenue, while the Big Ten and SEC increase their take by about 280% when, again, they had a baked-in advantage to begin with.
A good business brain would tell you that the new Power 2 had massive leverage, the Big 12 and ACC had little, and the Group of 5 had none, so this was just how a proper negotiation should go. Zero-sum gains and all. But this is a brand-new revenue stream, one that everyone could benefit significantly from, and this doesn’t have to be zero-sum — why is anyone applying leverage at all? And how much money do you actually need, anyway? Even bad SEC and Big Ten teams will now make about $21 million annually from the CFP while good G5 teams will make $1.8 million. It probably goes without saying that an Ohio needs $21 million a lot more than an Ohio State, but hey, the Buckeyes have the “leverage.” Infuriating, isn’t it?
We talk a big game about how [insert topic of the day that we don’t like] is going to destroy college football. Conference realignment … a small playoff … a big playoff … head injuries … targeting penalties designed to cut down head injuries … players making money. If you don’t like some change, you declare it the death of the sport. These declarations have been right 0% of the time. Maybe I’m wrong this time, too. But to me, the biggest current threat to college football’s future is the richest programs starving the rest of the ecosystem and, in effect, relegating the rest of major college football by ensuring they don’t have the revenue to properly pay their athletes.
Want to actually do long-term damage to college football? Shrink the number of programs that aspire to big-time ball, force some others to maybe drop a subdivision (or drop football altogether) and shrink the number of overall scholarships available to play the sport (or any of the sports that might see teams dropped in droves). The SEC and Big Ten already have all the advantages. They already boast most of the programs capable of winning the national title, and if or when Florida State and Clemson (and maybe Miami) fight their way out of the ACC, they’ll pretty much have them all. But right now, there are 134 universities willing to shell out 85 scholarships per year, plus plenty of other benefits, and invest millions of dollars just to be part of the FBS club, make a little more money for their other programs, and hopefully go .500 and play in a minor bowl game.
Inequality has always ruled this sport, but there has always been room for anyone who wants to invest. Iowa State averaged more than 60,000 in home attendance last season. NC State, its fans having never witnessed a top-10 finish, averaged nearly 57,000. East Carolina averaged over 35,000 while going 2-10. UConn hasn’t had a winning season since 2010 and averaged nearly 25,000. New Mexico State has finished over .500 in just seven of its past 56 seasons in top-division college football and drew nearly 15,000 per game. None of these schools are long-term threats to LSU or Michigan. Maybe those attendance levels wouldn’t drop in a world where NMSU or UConn or ECU — or even NC State or Iowa State — are forced to play ball in a different subdivision because they can’t afford to pay what the SEC or Big Ten is paying (though it probably bears mentioning that over the past four seasons that weren’t impacted by COVID, when an English Premier League team was relegated, its attendance fell by 9% on average, according to TruMedia). But why the hell would we want to find out?
Is there anything that could stop this ongoing power grab? And do we care? Last year, a survey administered by Sportico and the Harris Poll found that 68% of respondents agreed conference realignment was “a problem in college sports,” but only 18% said realignment had actually diminished their enjoyment of it. Television ratings are going to be great for all the new conference pairings the Power 2 conferences will break out this fall — Georgia at Texas, Ohio State at Oregon, Alabama at Oklahoma, USC at Michigan, Oklahoma at LSU, Oregon at Michigan, Michigan at Washington, Washington at Penn State and, of course, Texas at Texas A&M. We don’t tend to turn “I don’t like this” into “I’m not going to watch this,” and we don’t exactly have German soccer fans’ flair for sticking up for themselves. (Those German protests worked, by the way.) Would protests and game interruptions at FBS schools outside the SEC and Big Ten have any effect? Would anyone even think to try to stick up for themselves?
In the ongoing debate about whether college football needs a commissioner figure — well, it’s not so much a debate as everyone seemingly agreeing that one is needed and nothing ever happening — Greg Sankey’s name almost inevitably comes up. But his and Tony Pettiti’s decision-making seems to be the biggest current threat to the college football ecosystem. (College basketball, too.) If such a position were to ever exist, I’d prefer someone who actually cares about all of college football and college sports.
TORONTO — Thirty-two years of frustration and failure, of disappointment and self-loathing, of trauma worn as a badge of honour, burst in magnificent fashion Friday night. The sixth inning of Game 1 of the World Series was an exorcism. Toronto, one of the world’s great metropolises, a city that has loved its baseball team through decades of it not loving back, screamed and bellowed and remembered what championship baseball looked like. And the Toronto Blue Jays, architects of an 11-4 devastation of the heavily favored Los Angeles Dodgers, did more than just author one of the greatest offensive innings in World Series history.
They showed the world what they were already certain of coming into the 121st World Series: They are no pushovers.
“We’ve had a genuine feeling for a long time that if we just played a certain brand of baseball, that we then will win the game,” Toronto right-hander Chris Bassitt said, and he’s right. In an era of copious strikeouts, the Blue Jays don’t. In a time of shoddy defense, the Blue Jays play clean. And even against a juggernaut like the Dodgers, a team full of late bloomers and second chancers can look like a dominant force.
Nothing personified that like the bottom of the sixth. It was one of the great half-innings in World Series history, a nine-run frenzy filled with everything the Blue Jays’ offense does well. Toronto entered the series with by far the best offense in Major League Baseball this postseason, scoring 6½ runs a game, nearly two more than the Dodgers. The sixth illustrated how.
Starting with a six-pitch walk, adding a single, drawing a hit-by-pitch on the ninth pitch of the at-bat and chasing two-time Cy Young Award winner Blake Snell set the tone. A single scored the first run and gave the Blue Jays a 3-2 advantage. A nine-pitch walk scored another run and a single added one more. And after a tapper to the mound drew the first out on a force play at home, Blue Jays manager John Schneider called on his third pinch hitter of the inning, Addison Barger.
The past week has been hectic for Barger. On Monday night, the Blue Jays ousted the Seattle Mariners in Game 7 of the American League Championship Series to clinch the pennant. Barger said the next morning, he flew to meet his wife at the hospital for the birth of their third child. A day later, he flew back to Toronto for the Blue Jays’ workout — but didn’t have anywhere to stay.
“They set up a place, but I was like, for a few days, I’m not paying for a hotel room,” Barger said. “I know that sounds crazy, but I’m just trying to save a buck.”
So after crashing on the couch of Blue Jays outfielder Myles Straw for a couple of days, Barger spent Friday night with teammate Davis Schneider, sleeping on a pullout couch in the living room of the hotel suite that overlooks Rogers Centre from center field. Barger wasn’t exactly comfortable — Schneider said he heard squeaks from the bed as Barger tried to find peace — but it didn’t impede him from unleashing the biggest hit of his young career.
On a 2-2 slider from reliever Anthony Banda, Barger rocketed a ball over the center-field wall for the first pinch-hit grand slam in World Series history, unleashing chaos inside the domed stadium, where primal screams bounced off the roof and reverberated to create a tsunami of sound.
The Blue Jays’ expertise in this style is nothing new — they won the most games in the AL this season precisely because they’re so adept at grinding at-bats like sandpaper to pitchers’ souls — but to see it on this stage, against a Dodgers team that limited Milwaukee to four runs in the National League Championship Series, hammered home that Toronto will not be just another layover on Los Angeles’ path to back-to-back championships.
The deluge continued. A Vladimir Guerrero Jr. single. Another home run, from catcher Alejandro Kirk, who went 3-for-3 and had drawn a nine-pitch walk in the first, when the Blue Jays made Snell throw 29 pitches and forecast his early exit. All told, Toronto saw 44 pitches, scored nine runs — the third most in a World Series inning and the most since 1968 — and turned a 2-2 nailbiter into an 11-2 stomping.
This is who the Blue Jays are. They’ve got a superstar (Guerrero) and a veteran of playoff wars (George Springer) and a returning All-Star (Bo Bichette, who played for the first time since Sept. 6, at a position, second base, that he hadn’t played since he was in Triple-A six years ago). The rest of their lineup is stocked with players who have bought into Toronto’s philosophy that as long as the Blue Jays don’t beat themselves, they’re good enough to outlast anybody — even a team as talented as the Dodgers.
“If we don’t strike out and we don’t give outs away and we essentially don’t beat ourselves and don’t give up home runs, we’re going to win the game,” Bassitt said. “It’s not about facing any team. It’s just the belief in our team that no matter who we play, this brand can win.”
It’s the kind of brand that has made the city fall in love with the Jays again. Toronto knows baseball heartbreak. After consecutive championships in 1992 and 1993, the Blue Jays fell into a pattern of perpetual mediocrity. Even when they were good in the mid-2010s, they fell short in the ALCS. Their previous three postseason berths ended in wild-card series sweeps. They tried to get Shohei Ohtani in free agency. He went to the Dodgers. They tried to get Juan Soto in free agency. He went to the New York Mets. The Blue Jays, snakebitten for decades, entered 2025 with little hope for a turnaround.
Baseball is funny that way, though. Sometimes, a team coalesces around an idea, and that idea turns into an ethos, and that ethos fuels a revolution. And the Dodgers are so good that all of this joy, this wellspring of emotion and excitement, could be short-lived. Maybe this was the apex of a season that was great, just not great enough.
Or perhaps the 44,353 at Rogers Centre were onto something when, with two outs in the ninth and Ohtani at the plate, a chant started to percolate through the stadium.
“We don’t need you,” Blue Jays fans said to the best player in the world. They didn’t need him this season. They didn’t need him Friday. They didn’t need him going forward.
It was hubristic, but that’s understandable. For the past 32 years, Toronto hasn’t experienced a night like this. The Blue Jays have had moments, sure. The Jose Bautista bat flip. The Edwin Encarnacion home run. All of it, ultimately, for naught. This time, though? With this team of true believers? In a city that’s living a dream?
The rest of the World Series will provide the answer. On this night, however, it was true. The Toronto Blue Jays needed only themselves. And they were plenty.
ESPN baseball reporter. Covered the L.A. Rams for ESPN from 2016 to 2018 and the L.A. Angels for MLB.com from 2012 to 2016.
TORONTO — The bases were loaded with none out, Game 1 of the World Series was still tied, and a sold-out Rogers Centre crowd was going berserk when Emmet Sheehan came out of the bullpen in Friday’s sixth inning.
Sheehan is a 25-year-old with fewer than 150 career innings in the major leagues. Before that moment, he had checked into the middle of an inning only once before, while following an opener Sept. 15. What followed — a nine-run barrage that propelled the Toronto Blue Jays to an 11-4 rout in their first World Series game in 32 years — highlighted a glaring weakness the Los Angeles Dodgers carry into this final round:
If their starters don’t pitch deep into games, they’re in trouble.
“Just a tough game,” Dodgers ace Blake Snell said after recording just 15 outs, “but a lot to learn.”
On the eve of this World Series, the Dodgers learned Alex Vesia, one of their best relievers, was dealing with what the team described as a “deeply personal family matter” that would force his removal from the roster. Vesia’s absence essentially whittled down the list of trusted high-leverage relievers to four: Sheehan, Anthony Banda, Blake Treinen and Roki Sasaki. Two of them, Sheehan and Sasaki, are converted starting pitchers.
Dodgers manager Dave Roberts hoped to give Sheehan only clean innings in these playoffs. But when Snell’s 100th pitch plunked Daulton Varsho in the upper back to load the bases with the score tied 2-2, it was Sheehan who was called to clean up the mess. When he put the next three hitters on base, it was Banda’s turn. And by the end of Banda’s outing — featuring the first pinch-hit grand slam in World Series history, courtesy of Addison Barger, and a two-run homer by Alejandro Kirk — the Blue Jays had become the first team to score at least nine runs in a World Series inning since the Detroit Tigers in 1968.
“We just didn’t make pitches when we needed to to keep that game close,” Roberts said.
Sheehan allowed an RBI single to Ernie Clement on his second pitch, giving the Blue Jays a 3-2 lead, their first of the game. Then, he lost pinch-hitter Nathan Lukes on a full count, issuing a bases-loaded walk, and left a changeup over the plate that Andres Gimenez lined for another run-scoring single. Banda was called on to face the left-handed-hitting Barger, but Banda’s 2-1 slider caught too much of the plate, resulting in the 413-foot home run that elated Blue Jays fans. Three batters later, Kirk hit Banda’s 1-0 fastball near the middle of the zone 403 feet.
It was the first time Banda had allowed two home runs in an appearance, and it came at the worst time.
“I just didn’t do a very good job of executing,” Banda said.
With Vesia off the roster, Evan Phillips recovering from Tommy John surgery and Michael Kopech no longer considered viable, Banda and Treinen are the only remaining back-end relievers from last year’s bullpen-fueled championship run. The two relievers signed over the offseason to supplement that group, Tanner Scott and Kirby Yates, struggled throughout the year and were not deemed healthy enough to crack the World Series roster. It’s why Treinen and Banda are so critical, even during up-and-down seasons. It’s why Sheehan, a breakout starting pitcher who has allowed seven runs in 3⅔ innings this postseason, needs to pitch better.
“With the construct of our pen, we’re going to need them,” Roberts said. “We’ve got a long way to go, a lot of baseball, but they certainly got to make good pitches.”
The Dodgers’ pitching staff held the Milwaukee Brewers to four runs while sweeping them in the National League Championship Series, during which they deployed only their best pitchers. Sasaki, Vesia and the Dodgers’ four starters — Snell, Yoshinobu Yamamoto, Tyler Glasnow and Shohei Ohtani — accounted for all but nine of the Dodgers’ outs in that series, a byproduct of their rotation’s dominance.
In this series, though, they face a Blue Jays lineup that is every bit as patient but far more powerful than Milwaukee’s. Snell, lacking his typical fastball command and struggling to locate his changeup, needed 29 pitches to escape the first inning and ran his pitch count into the triple digits before recording his first out in the sixth. In five-plus innings, he allowed eight hits and issued three walks. When he exited, the bullpen was tasked with recording 12 outs.
Before the relievers recorded just three, the game was essentially over.
“We’re confident,” Snell said of a Dodgers team that entered the World Series with a 9-1 record in these playoffs. “We know how good we are. That was a tough game, and then they came out swinging it and had a better game. It’s four games. You got to win four.”
Toronto Blue Jays fans let Shohei Ohtani hear it before and during Game 1 of the World Series, their disapproval of him not picking their team in free agency in 2023 clearly still evident Friday night at Rogers Centre.
Before signing a 10-year, $700 million contract with the Los Angeles Dodgers, the two-way star met with Blue Jays officials on Dec. 4, 2023, at the team’s spring training complex in Dunedin, Florida. Toronto manager John Schneider joked Thursday that he wanted Ohtani to return a Blue Jays hat and a jacket for his dog, Decoy, that he took after that meeting.
Blue Jays fans took a more pointed approach at Ohtani on Friday night, booing him loudly during pregame introductions.
They then chanted “We don’t need you!” while he batted in the ninth inning. He walked in that at-bat, then was nearly picked off a moment later by left-hander Eric Lauer with two outs. Ohtani was ruled safe after a video review but was ultimately stranded on the bases as Toronto closed out the 11-4 win.
“Don’t poke the bear,” Blue Jays pitcher Chris Bassitt warned about the Ohtani chants.
Toronto third baseman Ernie Clement said it was all in good fun.
“I couldn’t help but laugh,” he said. “We have the guys we have, and the guys we have have done a hell of a job. I don’t think we need any more of what we have right now.”
“At the end of the day, Shohei Ohtani is an unbelievable baseball player. Any team that he would be on, it would be awesome. But he’s over there and not here,” Springer said. “He’s one of the best baseball players ever, and he’s got 15 years to go.”
Ohtani did show fans in Toronto what they’re missing.
With the Dodgers trailing 11-2 in the seventh inning, he hit a soaring two-run homer to right field off Braydon Fisher. It was his fourth homer in two games after connecting three times and striking out 10 as a pitcher in a Game 4 win to clinch the Dodgers’ National League Championship Series against the Milwaukee Brewers.
Information from The Associated Press was used in this report.