Whatever Happened to the AAU in Nevada?

A Tale of Lost Amateurs and Found Fortunes

It used to be that a young man—or an exceptionally hardy young woman—could lace up a pair of shoes, step onto a field, and compete for the sheer joy of proving that their legs were faster, arms stronger, and their lungs mightier than the next fellow’s. There was honor in it, and perhaps a ribbon or a medal, but that was about the extent of the reward.

The Amateur Athletics Union (AAU) presided over such contests like a proud but stingy uncle, ensuring that neither fortune nor profit sullied the purity of a sport. That dear reader is as extinct as a Dodo in a boxing ring.

Enter a legislative endeavor in Nevada that proposes to remove the last vestiges of amateurism from college athletics called Senate Bill 293. Spearheaded by Roberta Lange of Las Vegas, this bill would allow colleges and universities—UNR, UNLV, and their ilk—to directly compensate student-athletes for their name, image, and likeness.

In other words, the days of young men sweating for school pride alone are about as fashionable as a leather football helmet. It is all part of a grander scheme—House v. NCAA, a case that, if fully approved, will send cash cascading down upon student-athletes like a slot machine hitting the jackpot.

Schools that once pleaded poverty when asked for better dining hall meatloaf are now lining up to share revenue from media deals, ticket sales, and sponsorships. UNR and UNLV have already assured donors they’re in on the deal.

At present, the money flows through boosters, businesses, and shadowy collectives operating with all the transparency of a magician’s trick. But if SB 293 passes, the universities will take the wheel, steering their financial chariots to ensure their athletes get compensated. Whether this heralds the golden age of collegiate sports or the final nail in the coffin of its so-called purity remains to be seen.

But one thing is sure—the Amateur Athletics Union, which once ruled Nevada’s playing fields with an iron whistle, has been reduced to a relic of a bygone era, much like a gymnasium with wooden dumbbells or a basketball court without corporate sponsorship.