Last month, Cleveland State University dropped a bombshell, abruptly axing its wrestling program—a cornerstone of Northeast Ohio’s grit and pride—in a move that reeks of cold calculation. This wasn’t a random cut; it’s the first casualty of the House v. NCAA Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL) settlement, a seismic shift looming over college athletics.
Set for judicial review in April 2025, this settlement promises to reshape Division I sports with direct athlete payments and roster caps—changes that could doom Olympic sports nationwide.
At CSU, a team that raised over $500,000 in donations since 2018—more than any other sport on campus—and won a student-led fee increase to survive, was deemed expendable. No explanation, just a swift end. Thirty homegrown Ohio wrestlers, pumping nearly $390,000 in tuition into the university annually, now face a gut-wrenching choice: transfer or abandon their dreams.
This isn’t just a local heartbreak—it’s a warning flare of a crisis ignited by the NIL settlement’s fallout.
As head of the National Wrestling Coaches Association, I’ve seen wrestling transform lives for decades. It’s not just a sport—it’s a forge for champions, a builder of character, and a lifeline for student-athletes who might never otherwise afford college. It’s also a bedrock of America’s Olympic success: over 80% of our 2024 Paris medalists across all sports—and roughly 85% of our men’s and women’s freestyle wrestling teams—emerged from college programs.
These athletes are products of a university system theNIL settlement now threatens to dismantle. Cleveland State’s decision isn’t an isolated misstep—it’s the opening salvo in a wave of cuts that could erase wrestling, swimming, gymnastics, and track from campuses across the country, all traceable to the settlement’s financial and structural overhaul.
If approved, the settlement will allow Division I schools to pay athletes directly, starting at $20.5 million per school annually. That might sound like a win—athletes finally cashing in—until you see the wreckage it leaves behind.
Mid-major schools like CSU, dwarfed by Power 4 giants with $100 million-plus revenue gaps, rely on institutional subsidies—student fees and university funds—for 60-70% of their athletic budgets. Now, they face a $2.78 billion back-damages bill over 10 years, roughly $300,000 to $350,000 annually per mid-major, courtesy of the settlement.
The math forces a brutal choice: prop up football and basketball to chase NIL riches or preserve “non-revenue” Olympic sports. CSU chose the former, slashing wrestling to balance the books—a playbook straight from the settlement’s incentives.
The settlement’s roster cap overhaul delivers another blow. Scholarship limits give way to fixed team sizes—105 for football, 34 for baseball, 30 for wrestling. On paper, it’s a gift: every wrestler could get aid. But many rosters exceed 45, bolstered by walk-ons—gritty kids who pay their own way. Now, coaches must cut beyond 30, scholarship or not. Even Power 4 schools may struggle to fund expanded Olympic sport scholarships, but for mid-majors, it’s a death sentence.
Across Division I’s 77 wrestling programs, hundreds of athletes could lose their shot. Multiply that by dozens of Olympic sports, and thousands of dreams vanish.
The settlement doesn’t just nudge schools toward cuts—it practically demands them.
This hits hard because collegiate Olympic sports are America’s talent pipeline. Unlike nations with state-funded academies, we lean on universities to nurture champions.
CSU’s wrestling team wasn’t a frill; it was a proving ground for Ohio kids who lifted their school’s spirit and profile—second in ticket sales among CSU sports, a fundraising dynamo with passionate alumni. Yet administrators saw it as disposable, a mindset the NIL settlement will cement as schools prioritize profit over purpose.
Yes, NIL empowers athletes—wrestlers deserve their likeness payouts. But the settlement’s “pay-for-play” tilt funnels cash to football and basketball stars—marketable faces—while Olympic sport athletes, less visible, fight for scraps.
Title IX complicates it further: ballooning football rosters mean women’s sports need funding, too, and Olympic programs—men’s and women’s—often take the hit. CSU’s wrestlers begged for a reprieve, envisioning a Penn State-style revival: packed arenas, surging pride, a stronger university. They’re right—wrestling pays dividends.
But the settlement’s logic pushes short-term football wins over lasting legacies.
If CSU is the first domino, who’s next—Northern Iowa? Fresno State? Each cut, driven by the settlement, weakens our Olympic future and betrays college sports’ broad-based ethos.
We can fight back. Coaches, athletes, and fans must demand transparency—why was CSU’s team expendable?—and press Congress for settlement guardrails that protect Olympic sports, not just revenue kings.
CSU’s wrestlers rallied their community; I’m rallying ours. Wrestling—and every Olympic sport—deserves a mat to stand on. If we let the NIL settlement’s cascade continue, we won’t just lose teams—we’ll lose what makes collegiate athletics, and America, exceptional.