In defense of the college athlete

This is a random post for me, in that it’s sort of “preachy, preachy” rather than “judgey, wudgey.” There are two things that prompted this post, one being a conversation that I had with my friend B when after hearing me complain about my student loans she casually said her credit card bill was $400, the other being a pop culture essay that I recently read about the multi-billion dollar sex industry. And what do these two things have to do with college athletes, you ask? Let me explain.

College was an eye opening experience for me. While many people have siblings, older cousins, family friends, or next door neighbors that go off to college and come home to bring them all kinds of stories and pearls of wisdom, I didn’t have that luxury. My brother went to school in my hometown (which was basically a commuter college) and lived at home during the entire time. I, however, left home when I went to college so the experience was quite different for me. I suppose it was the equivalent of the first time you go away to summer camp for an extended period, or to visit your distant cousins in the south during the summertime – an exciting experience, albeit a little scary. So because I was the first one in my family to go away to college, I arrived on campus having no idea what college was all about other than going to class and living in a commune of sorts with a bunch of strangers. Lucky for me, my campus was relatively close-knit and sort of had the vibe of “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” just like when the immigrants arrived at Ellis Island. By the end of my first two semesters I felt like I had been in college for years.

One of the first great mysteries to me was the college athlete. My friend B that I mentioned earlier was one of them. She was a tall, lean track star with skin to die for and a 6 pack that I believed was absolutely impossible for any human to achieve naturally. I only met B because she lived in the same building as a girl who would eventually become one of my very bestfriends; otherwise me and B’s paths probably wouldn’t have crossed because the girl was always gone! If she wasn’t at track practice for hours a day, she was in the weight room. If she wasn’t in the weight room, she was at study tables with the rest of the track team. If she wasn’t at study tables, practice, or the weight room, she was at a track meet in some God forsaken town that you wouldn’t even think had a track venue. If she wasn’t at any of those places, you would more than likely find her in the laundry room washing piles and piles of clothes that she hadn’t gotten a chance to wash because she was always doing something that was related to track. B was so busy that she basically had to schedule time to socialize and more often than not she had to leave a party early because she had a track meet the next day or had to be in the weight room super early.

I got an even better glimpse into the life of a college athlete after the end of my freshman year. I had changed my major and needed to play catch-up, so I ended up taking classes for the entire summer. I had the unfortunate pleasure of living in a dorm that housed the football team. Talk about a smelly situation! I believe it was me, a handful of other non-athletes, and the ENTIRE football team that lived in this building inconveniently located just a hop, skip and jump away from the football stadium. Larry, a big burly linebacker who assumed the role of big brother to me and my friends during our years on campus, basically lived with me during that summer. I would come home from class and find my tiny fridge completely raided and Larry knocked out on the top bunk. I never once said, “Sure Larry, you can stay with me!” He sort of just invited himself over one day and stayed for 3 months, despite having his own room just two floors above me. It wasn’t such a big deal for me because I never really saw Larry. He was long gone at practice by the time I got up for class in the morning; late in the evening he would stumble in (from practice again), complain about his sore muscles, raid my fridge and pass out on the top bunk while I nervously slept on the bottom hoping that his big ass didn’t break the bed and kill me in the process. For three months (and basically for his entire time on campus), Larry’s life completely and totally revolved around football. That summer was the first time I really saw what college athletes went through and I felt sorry for them, but at the same time I admired them because I knew I would never be able to go through what they did. Prior to that, I had very different views of college athletes that sounded a little something like this:

“What do you mean they don’t have to pay for school? What kind of f*cked up shit is that?”

“He plays football? I bet you that he’s a Sports Organization major.” *snicker*

“Sure, I’ll help you with your paper. Hell no, I’m not writing the paper for you! Damn basketball players, always trying to get over on someone! You need to go somewhere and pay some tuition.”

“I can not believe these dumb ass athletes have full scholarships. Seriously, can someone PLEASE tell me what kind of f*cked up shit is that!?”

As you can see, I was just a wee bit bitter at the fact that many people on campus had their education taken care of because they were on athletic scholarship. I could totally understand being given a free ride because you were intelligent and worked incredibly hard as an overachieving high-schooler, but to be given a free ride because you were fast, had a mean jump shot, or could catch any ball that was thrown your way, I just couldn’t understand. I became even more bitter when I realized that the vast majority of our football and basketball teams were complete idiots. One guy was reading at an elementary school level and didn’t even know what a paragraph was; another guy that I knew would only choose the “sports and games” category whenever we played Catch Phrase because that’s all the dumb bastard knew. I resented the fact that I worked hard in high school and sometimes worked hard in college only to be rewarded with a piece of paper that would grant me a job as an assistant’s assistant, and thousands upon thousands of dollars would have to be paid back from my measly salary. Yet, the borderline illiterate linebacker down the hall from me would graduate without a loan to his name? Yes my friends, I was bitter indeed!

That was my view then, but that’s not my view now. Over the years I got to really understand the life of a college athlete as portrayed by my friend B and big brother Larry and I realized that although they didn’t pay for school, they definitely paid a price. They sacrificed their time, their minds, their bodies, and in some cases the whole experience of being a college student on campus. B was one of three very close friends that I had in college. Sometimes when I look back at old pictures or reminisce about this and that that happened during my wonderful years at Miami, B is visibly absent. She wasn’t around as much as my other friends, not because she wasn’t close to us, but because track took up a huge chunk of her life and most of the time she just couldn’t be there. While I was sleeping until noon trying to recover from the night before, B was at practice. While I was at a frat party praying to the heavens that the cute guy I had a crush on would come over and talk to me, Larry was on a bus somewhere headed to a game. Schools make a ton of money off their teams so many of these athletes (especially those at large schools) have to make a huge sacrifice in order to play at that level. And yes, I know I’ve talked a lot of ish about athletes being dumb, but that isn’t always the case. B had a hectic schedule, but she probably studied more often than most boys took showers. Although the girl lost her keys on an almost daily basis and would sometimes show up at the ATM machine without an ATM card, she was a very insightful and intelligent student that earned a degree in psychology.

I told you earlier that I was prompted to write this post because while I was complaining about my thousands of dollars in loans, B was complaining about her hundreds of dollars in credit card debt. The essay on the multi-billion dollar sex industry was also a factor, but at this point I’m not quite sure how or why. But as far as my conversation with B goes, I’m sure most would agree that in terms of money, comparing thousands to hundreds is like comparing apples to oranges. For a split second that old bitterness crept back in. But I had to remind myself that while I may be paying for my education financially, the memories of lazy days, late-night partying, brainstorming with my friends new reasons not to go to my work-study job, eating only cheddar chex mix and hostess chocolate cupcakes and not giving a damn, sleeping in, staying out, and basically doing whatever the hell I wanted to do whenever I wanted to do it - those things were priceless. I wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

But then again, part of me wishes that I would have continued playing soccer and was given a scholarship; that way instead of forking over hundreds of dollars every month to the US government, I could fork it over to Mr. Manolo Blahnik or Ms. Muiccia Prada instead.