When my son Chandler was entering his sophomore year of high school, I asked his club coach, Mike Mastrantuano, what kind of college soccer program he should be looking for.
“Chandler should go to a college where he wants to study.”
It was a shocking statement. A solid midfielder with a head for the game surely could play somewhere, given all the money I’d spent on the sport.
Over the next seven years, I couldn’t thank Coach Mastrantuano enough. Chandler settled at UVA — the college he wanted — where he battled for intramural titles and officiated games for four years. He’s home and working now.
For all the stories we hear about money in college sports, there is another side, far removed from the million‑dollar athletes in football and basketball at Power Four schools. At some colleges, sports are so central to the business plan that you wonder whether the institution could open without them.
I recently started looking at the numbers and found Division I schools where something approaching 40 percent of the undergraduate population participates in NCAA sports or serious alternatives like rugby, dance, flag football, and other organized athletic programs. Some teams have enormous rosters.
That is where the economics get interesting.
At a tuition‑dependent college, the 30th player on a soccer roster may have little competitive value and considerable economic value. He may rarely leave the bench, but his tuition arrives just the same.
Most athletes in these sports are not receiving full athletic scholarships. They may receive partial scholarships, academic grants, or other institutional aid, so relatively few families actually pay the advertised retail price. But the school doesn’t need them to pay retail. It needs them to pay enough.
And athletics can be what gets them there.
The recruiting pitch is powerful: you can be a Division I athlete. For a teenager who has spent much of his childhood playing a sport — and for parents who have spent years driving to practices, tournaments, and showcases — that can be difficult to resist. The player gets four more years of competition and an identity that matters enormously to him. The college gets another student.
There is nothing inherently wrong with that bargain. The kid is a real athlete, practices every day, works hard, and may form friendships that last a lifetime. He may love every minute of it without ever becoming a starter.
But it is still worth understanding the transaction.
Division II and Division III offer variations on the same model. D‑II schools can use athletic aid to make themselves more attractive to recruits. D‑III schools cannot award athletic scholarships, but private colleges routinely provide substantial academic and institutional grants. The sticker price may be high, but the discount can be considerable. There is generally little meaningful NIL money in these sports. The financial relationship still runs mostly in the traditional direction: families pay colleges.
At highly selective schools, the economics work differently. An Ivy League university does not need an oversized soccer roster to fill its freshman class. Admission itself is scarce, and being a recruited athlete can provide access to something thousands of other applicants desperately want.
But at tuition‑dependent colleges, an empty seat in a classroom produces nothing. A deeply discounted student still produces revenue.
That brings us to the less comfortable part of the bargain.
A scholarship or grant can make an expensive college look affordable without necessarily making it so. A family may hear that its child has received $20,000 or $25,000 in aid against a much larger annual cost. The discount is real. So is the remaining bill.
Federal financial aid can help families meet that bill through grants and loans. But loans make college financeable; they do not necessarily make it affordable. If an 18‑year‑old chooses a college primarily because a coach offered the chance to play Division I soccer, and four years later leaves with substantial debt and little meaningful playing time, it is fair to ask whether the dream influenced a financial decision the family otherwise would not have made.
That doesn’t mean the decision was wrong. Maybe those four years were wonderful. Maybe being on that team gave the student confidence, discipline, friendships, and a sense of belonging. Sports gave Chandler many of those things, and I wouldn’t trade his years playing them for anything.
But Coach Mastro understood something I didn’t quite understand yet.
The college should come first.
Sports can teach us an enormous amount. They keep young people active. They teach resilience, teamwork, disappointment, and discipline. There is nothing wrong with wanting four more years. There is nothing wrong with a college using athletics to attract students who want those years.
We should simply remember who is selling the dream — and who ultimately pays for it.
Hopefully the books, the career, and the world beyond the field remain the focus.
And intramurals.
They’re underrated.