Flock Talk: Danger Zone

 

Every now and then, something happens outside of Eugene that still sends shockwaves through the entire ecosystem of college football. Today in Flock Talk, we’re stepping beyond Autzen and into the Big Ten boardrooms, where billion-dollar ideas are colliding with century-old values. The league’s pursuit of “outside capital” — dressed up as modernization and stability — could redefine what college sports even are. It’s a conversation about money, mission, and identity, and whether the conference that helped shape college athletics is about to trade part of its soul for short-term solvency.

“Revvin’ up your engine, listen to her howlin’ roar / Metal under tension, beggin’ you to touch and go…” — Kenny Loggins, “Danger Zone” (1986)

Somewhere between survival and greed, the Big Ten just found itself humming that tune.

Commissioner Tony Petitti insists the conference isn’t entertaining a private equity deal — just a “non-profit partner” designed to “modernize operations” and “enhance the student-athlete experience.” But the rest of the country isn’t so sure.

According to a report by ESPN’s Pete Thamel and Dan Wetzel, the league is closing in on a $2 billion capital agreement that would create a new commercial arm called Big Ten Enterprises — a business entity that would house and sell media and sponsorship rights while distributing equity shares to each of the league’s 18 schools and a minority outside investor tied to the University of California’s pension fund (ESPN report).

Petitti pushed back on the “private equity” label at Columbia University last week, saying the proposed partner “would be a not-for-profit” and that “traditional conference functions” like scheduling and officiating would remain under conference control (Sports Business Journal report by Ben Portnoy and Terry Lefton).

But when you start inventing phrases like “not-for-profit private investor”, you’ve probably already taken off down the runway toward the Danger Zone.

---

A Billion-Dollar Shortcut to Stability

Let’s be clear about why this is even on the table.

College sports are in the midst of financial transformation. The House v. NCAA settlement effectively legalized revenue sharing with athletes, starting at roughly $20.5 million per school per year. At the same time, athletic departments are staring at ballooning facility debt, escalating coaching salaries, and inflationary operating costs.

The Big Ten’s pitch is that this deal could help level the financial playing field, ensuring that mid-tier schools like Purdue or Minnesota can keep pace with the conference’s heavyweights — and with the SEC.

According to a report by Yahoo Sports, each school would receive a nine-figure payout, with the biggest brands (think Ohio State and Michigan) earning slightly higher shares. In exchange, the league’s Grant of Rights would extend to 2046, locking schools into the Big Ten for two more decades.

For schools drowning in red ink, it’s tempting. It’s fast cash without an immediate loss of control.

But every shortcut in the financial world carries the same warning label: Somebody always owns the runway.

---

The Slippery Semantics of “Not Private Equity”

Petitti and league officials have repeatedly said this is not a private equity deal. Technically, they may be right. The UC pension fund isn’t a Wall Street PE firm. But functionally, it’s still outside capital seeking a return.

According to Reuters, the fund’s model mimics European soccer’s league-partnership investments, like CVC Capital’s partial ownership in Spain’s La Liga and France’s Ligue 1 — both of which have faced backlash for prioritizing profit extraction over competitive balance (Reuters report).

So when Petitti says “not private equity,” it’s like saying the pilot isn’t a fighter ace — he just happens to fly the same jet, at the same altitude, under a different logo.

Even if the investor holds only 10 percent, that slice comes with audit rights, veto power, and profit distributions. And once you’ve sold off part of your own media rights into a perpetual vehicle, you’ve ceded leverage forever.

As Senator Maria Cantwell of Washington warned in her letter to Big Ten presidents last week, “You’re going to let someone take and monetize what is really a public resource? That’s a real problem.” (Associated Press report).

Collateral Damage: The Cost of Cash

The Big Ten insists this move will preserve Olympic and women’s sports. It says the funding would modernize marketing, enhance NIL operations, and stabilize budgets.

But the math tells a different story.

Private or institutional capital requires returns. Those returns come from either new revenue or reduced expense. If sponsorships and media expansion don’t meet projections, where will those savings come from?

Probably the same place they always do — Olympic sports, student services, and academic crossover programs.

Meanwhile, the league is binding itself to a 20-year grant of rights extension — effectively freezing any potential reform. That means if the financial model fails, you can’t simply eject. You’re locked in, long after the original pilots have changed cockpits.

---

Better Flight Plans Exist

Instead of selling equity — even a small piece — the Big Ten could explore more sustainable models that preserve independence and integrity.

And to be clear, this isn’t an inclusive or perfect list of options. Every approach to capital investment carries its own flaws, trade-offs, and political minefields. The goal isn’t to pretend there’s a silver bullet — it’s to show that there are ways forward that allow the Big Ten to keep its soul, protect the Olympic and women’s sports that give college athletics its heartbeat, and still create room for growth in football and men’s basketball.

If the conference truly wants to modernize without surrendering its autonomy, these are better flight plans:

1. Royalty Financing.
   Take upfront cash in exchange for a fixed percentage of revenue over a defined term — without giving up ownership or control. When the term ends, the royalty expires. The capital partner earns yield; the schools keep their soul.
2. Conservative Debt or Bond Issuance.
   Borrow against predictable media revenue, with covenants that protect Olympic sports and academics. Public universities issue bonds for capital projects all the time; why not for an athlete-revenue era?
3. Cost Alignment and Shared Services.
   Centralize analytics, marketing, and NIL operations across member schools to cut duplicative spend. Don’t sell your autonomy just because you refuse to trim bureaucracy.
4. Reinvestment in In-House Ventures.
   Launch your own digital media network or data operation. If the Big Ten really believes in its commercial potential, keep the upside in-house.
5. Shorter Grant of Rights Windows.
   Extend security five years at a time. The landscape changes too fast to commit to 2046.

None of these are easy. All require discipline, cooperation, and patience — commodities that college sports seem to have in short supply. But they share one essential virtue: they let the Big Ten build a stronger financial foundation without mortgaging its identity.

---

The Real “Danger Zone”

College football already teeters on the edge between tradition and commerce. Now the Big Ten is preparing to tilt the whole enterprise toward corporate finance.

This isn’t about villainy or greed — it’s about identity. When universities start structuring themselves like holding companies, they stop behaving like communities. They start viewing students as assets, athletes as liabilities, and fans as customers.

And once you cross that threshold, it’s hard to turn back.

As Loggins sang, “You’ll never say hello to you until you get it on the red line overload.”

The Big Ten may believe it’s building a bridge to the future. But from here, it looks a lot like a runway to the Danger Zone.