I sat across the table from Troy Aikman in 1993 in a San Francisco restaurant as we talked about the NFC title Game he would be playing against the 49ers for the right to go to the Super Bowl. He had two days to focus for the upcoming contest, and I used the opportunity to talk with him about what would happen in the two weeks to follow if the Cowboy won on Sunday. Troy was extremely bright and exceptionally tough and realistic and he said, "Now a skeptic would ask why you're having this discussion with me, since the whole world thinks we are going to lose."

But we spent a few minutes discussing the magnitude of being the quarterback in the Super Bowl, the family demands, the press demands, the potential danger of being out on the town in Los Angeles. Well, the Cowboys did beat the 49ers, and Troy then used his usual good judgment to navigate the week in Los Angeles and made sure to cease all outside activities three days before Super Bowl XXVII so he could move into his zone of preparation.

He went on to play magnificently in that Super Bowl against the Buffalo Bills. When he walked on the field at the start of the game, he was "Troy Aikman, talented Dallas quarterback who after being drafted No. 1 in 1989 struggled on a rebuilding team before leading the Cowboys through the playoffs." When we left the game, he was "Troy Aikman, Superstar and Household Name." That is the promise of the Super Bowl, but spending a week in the host city hosting has risk also.

I had the privilege of preparing many other players for the experience over the years and trying to ensure nothing detracted from their readiness. Playing in and winning the Super Bowl is the goal of every player in the NFL. They grow up visualizing the possibility. Most players, no matter how talented, never have the chance to participating. Thirty-two franchises and their owners, front offices, coaches and players commit their careers to this quest -- but just two teams play and only one team wins.

Every player on a winning team carries that magic aura of Super Bowl winner with them forever after. Free agents who leave their team see their value skyrocket. Veterans enhance their contractual bargaining position. Players who play dramatically can receive endorsement offers for years to come. But they need to win the game. The public has a "winner takes all mentality" and the losing team suffers.

The Buffalo Bills achieved something historic in the 90s. For four straight years, their quality ownership and front office and coaching, combined with multiple superstar players vaulted them to the status of one of the two best teams in the NFL. That is an unbelievable achievement given the tendency of the salary cap to enforce parity, and the ever-present risk of devastating injury. But they suffered under the stigma that they weren't the second best team in football, but the worst, for losing the Super Bowl. The stakes are high.

The teams are arriving in New Orleans to spend the week in preparation for Sunday's game. Their nights are generally free until the weekend. New Orleans is a great tourist city because of the exquisite cuisine and nonstop party opportunities. It has been possible to buy and consume alcohol 24 hours a day, with drive-through bars serving cocktails to automobiles. The French Quarter and Bourbon Street are especially overcrowded with partiers. The Super Bowl has become a convention of Americana. As many as 200,000 visitors can invade the city. Corporations reserve hotels for employee and customer hospitality.

It is possible for players to get involved in difficult situations at night. Surrounded by adoring fans in the midst of the bacchanal, players can get into misunderstandings. Super Bowl history is replete with players who got arrested, were involved in fights, even in a murder scene in the nights leading up to the game. It can create distractions and undermine team solidarity. Players can become so distracted by ticket requests and family and friends desire to see them, that normal game week focus is altered.

-- Leigh Steinberg has represented many of the most successful athletes and coaches in football, basketball, baseball, hockey, boxing and golf, including the first overall pick in the NFL draft an unprecedented eight times, among more than 60 first-round selections. His clients have included Hall of Fame quarterbacks Steve Young, Troy Aikman and Warren Moon, and he served as the inspiration for the movie "Jerry Maguire." Follow him on Twitter @SteinbergSports.

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Friday marked the second anniversary of the revolution that captured the world's attention for so many months. It was on Jan. 25, 2011, when protests erupted in Cairo in response to long-standing grievances toward the authoritative ruling regime. The protests, the revolution, the overthrow of Mubarak, and the subsequent "Arab Spring movement" are topics that have been discussed to exhaustion and yet, very little attention has been given to the role that sports played in this turmoil. In Cairo, it was the young vivacious Egyptian soccer fans who spearheaded this revolution and brought the injustices of the Mubarak government to the world's attention.

I know it sounds hard to believe. How could that boorish, rowdy, inebriated and unrefined being known as "the sports fan" be responsible for launching one of the most significant uprisings of this century? How could that undistinguished commoner sitting in the stands drinking his 20-ounce beer and pounding down those nachos (or in this case hummus) launch a movement that would oust the strongman dictator of Egypt?

There is no one better suited to engage in the chaotic and tumultuous atmosphere of revolutionary movements than the sports fans. In Egypt, the stands of soccer stadiums were the primary place where young, aggressive men could let off steam under a despotic, authoritarian regime. They could shout and chant and cheer their team on to victory without having to worry about harassment by the Mubarak police forces. Before the revolution, they were the only population who routinely tested the police's limit. These were the guys who were as comfortable as anyone can be rioting, disrupting, and in other ways conveying their frustrations.

Let's think about our typical or diehard "sports fan" here in the United States. We all know someone who has a cult like obsession for an American sports team that we consider irrational and bizarre. Not coincidentally that diehard sports fan who we all know and love happens to be the most obstreperous, rambunctious and obnoxious individual in our social circle. Our wives, our girlfriends, our family prohibit us from inviting our brutish friend over during the game because he comes off as a complete jackass when he's screaming at the TV for the "horrible decision" by the referees.

I have someone like that in my life. His name is Matt. The guy cannot watch a Vikings game without suffering at least eight convulsions and three panic attacks (though can you blame him when Christian Ponder is
your QB?). What's more, even when his team is winning he bursts about half his blood vessels because of "biased officiating." This is precisely the type of irrational and erratic behavior that every revolution needs.

If I were launching a revolution, I would want dozens of Matts by my side to act like an adrenaline shot that would be thrust into the hearts of the masses. We all have a Matt in our lives and we all know how riled up our Matt gets when he's watching his beloved sports team. Now just imagine how productive and useful he'd be if he channeled his energy toward something significant such as overthrowing a dictator.

If my buddy Matt is willing to belch out death threats toward the officials on the TV screen for a questionable "false start" penalty, imagine what he would do to a tyrannical regime which seeks to limit his freedoms and restrict his liberties. The ferocious zeal that accompanies all diehard sports fans is virtually unparalleled and it's for this reason that the sports fan should be regarded as an indispensable part of any revolution going forward.

Thus, it should come as no surprise to us that the young sports fans of the Cairo-based soccer team Al-Ahly are credited with catalyzing and empowering the protests in Tahrir Square. Conversely, the real surprise has been the lack of coverage or attention paid to this integral group of sport fans who helped launch the Arab Spring.

For these reasons, I'm going to go out on a limb and make a prediction that the 21st century is going to be the century of the sports fans. I realize it's easy to feel unappreciated when you are a sports fan. Your friends don't allow you in their homes, and various bars and restaurants in your locality have barred you from entry due to your impassioned tirades, but fear not sports fans: No longer will you be taken for granted. Thus I proclaim, sports fans of the world unite! For you all are truly the first defense, protecting our freedoms and liberties against despots wherever they may be.

-- Zach Liberman is a serial entrepreneur whose latest social venture is the College-100, a network of global youth leaders like student presidents and Rhodes scholars on track to become the next generation of political and corporate leader. Ashton Cohen, a College-100 member from UCSD contributed to this article.

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In 1992, his second season in the NFL, Anthony Smith was a star on a Raiders defense that included future Hall of Famers Howie Long and Ronnie Lott. Smith led the team with 13 sacks and six forced fumbles. Midway through his eight-year career in the league, Smith made news with his marriage to a former Prince protege, the performer once known as Vanity.

Now those stories of fame, fortune and football glory have been replaced with those of arson, torture and murder.

Smith is awaiting trial for four murders. He has already faced trial for one of those killings with a jury deadlocking 8-4 in favor of conviction.

In 2003, Smith went on trial twice on charges that he firebombed a Santa Monica furniture store. Both ended in mistrials. The case was later dismissed.

The latest issue of GQ takes an in-depth look at Smith and how his life unfolded from playing for one of the NFL's most famous franchises to being named in police reports and criminal cases involving allegations of gruesome violence. The feature by Kathy Dobie has twists like something out of "Pulp Fiction" ...

"Certainly, Smith has always been ready to bewilder. During one of the many police searches done on his vehicles and residences over the years, detectives found badges and numerous identification cards -- two were for Anthony Smith, "Intelligence Officer," one for Anthony Smith of "The Organized Crime Bureau," and the fourth was an American Press Association ID with Smith's address but bearing the slightly ridiculous name “Wayne Peartree,” suggesting how he felt about reporters. Early on in his career, Smith told sportswriters incredible stories about his childhood. He said he'd been raised in New York and belonged to a street gang called the Black Spades. When he was 8, he said, he and three friends stole a car and crashed it, killing two of them. When it came to drug use, he really piled it on, telling a reporter that he’d started using heroin, cocaine, PCP, LSD, and speed when he was 9 years old and that his brother had died of a heroin overdose."

"In fact, Anthony was raised in Elizabeth City, North Carolina, a small coastal and river town surrounded by farm and swampland, a place with the comforting or claustrophobic feel of everyone knowing you and your cousin’s cousin."

For the complete feature on Anthony Smith,
go to:
GQ.com

More From GQ:
-- Interview With Russell Westbrook
-- How to Watch Two Teams You Hate
-- Jeremy Lin: Rocket Man

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Luther Campbell knows all about standing tall in the court of law.

In the early 90s, his rap group 2 Live Crew won an anti-obscenity case in federal appeals court and prevailed in the U.S. Supreme Court in a copyright case involving a parody of the Roy Orbison song "Oh, Pretty Woman."

So it should be no surprise that the legal process has been part of Campbell's exploits in football.

Campbell started a youth football program his Liberty City neighborhood in Miami after his rap career boomed. It became very successful and Campbell began coaching at the high school level in 2009.

But Campbell ran into trouble when the Florida's Education Practices Commission required him to become certified as a coach. That's when his past, which included sexually explicit lyrics and songs such as "Me So Horny," became an issue.

It's an intriguing story that HBO's "Real Sports" checks out in its latest edition, which premieres Tuesday at 10pm ET/PT. Here's a quick preview:

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What do NFL front offices and the White House have in common? Sadly for both, this has been a season of hiring where diversity has declined. The NFL is 0 for 8 and the White House is 0 for 4 in the early stages of appointments in this term.

Eight head coaching openings in the NFL equal 25 percent of the top jobs in the league, and none was filled by an African American or Latino. With the firing of Romeo Crennel at Kansas City and Lovie Smith at Chicago, the NFL coaches of color went down from six to four, leaving Latino Ron Rivera at Carolina, Mike Tomlin at Pittsburgh, Marvin Lewis of Cincinnati and Leslie Frazier at Minnesota.

To be clear, the NFL hiring season is done but there are still more cabinet appointments to come from the White House. The Obama Administration also points out that 43 percent of its appointees have been women, including two on the U.S. Supreme Court. So for now, this is where the similarity between hiring in the NFL and the White House ends.

In defense of the NFL one could argue that this is just a single hiring period, new jobs open up all of the time. This constitutes a post Rooney rule era aberration. One explanation beyond the possibility of a freak hiring season is that with success comes complacency and a lulling into a state of comfort. This could come about as all parties concerned; team, league officials and advocates of diversity issues, lost their edge and vigilance on promoting diversity. The remedy here would be to redouble those efforts going forward into the next hiring cycle.

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What do the San Diego Chargers, Kansas City Chiefs, Arizona Cardinals and Chicago Bears have in common? They all hired new coaches in the past month, and none of them was named Chip Kelly. And in a bizarre twist to the 2013 NFL schedule, all four teams travel to Philadelphia to take on Chip Kelly's Eagles.

Network directors will have cameras trained on each opposing G.M. while Kelly's offense has the ball, looking for those incredibly depressed facial expressions.

We can't make a fair assessment of a new coach from watching one game or even one season, but those head-to-head match-ups will definitely provide plenty of late-night cheesesteak talk about which hire was the right one, and which likely wasn't.

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One week ago, Baseball Hall of Fame President Jeff Idelson opened an envelope and told us all that no one would be inducted into the Hall of Fame this year. Those years, that clouded era of baseball in the late 90's and early 2000's, that was the wrong time to play baseball, and that is their crime. A week later, I finally feel like I'm able to put together a coherent response to the situation that isn't made up of a bunch of angry, jumbled letters in caps lock. And for me, it's very simple, and very personal: I became a sports fan during that era because of Mike Piazza. They were great years because of Mike Piazza. They were my years. And I will not let them be erased.

The New York Mets are not a team that brings an immediate vision of glory or happiness to anyone's mind -- especially not to the mind of an actual Mets fan. It's a lot of misery. A lot of head pounding. A lot of me threatening to impale myself with a spork. But there was a time in my life when being a Mets fan was glorious. I wasn't alive in 1969 or 1986, so I can't speak for those times.

I can, however, speak for the time dominated by the Met who defined my childhood as a sports fan. The guy who I had a semi-terrifying-but-awesome- life-sized cardboard cutout of in my basement for years. The guy who inspired me to play catcher in Little League games while everyone else was vying for first base or trying to avoid getting placed in "second outfield." The guy who, when 11-year-old me was frantically waving a blank piece of paper in the air and shouting his name during batting practice at Shea, turned around and walked all the way back to where I was sitting so that he could sign it for me. The guy who never let us down. The guy who led a less-than-stellar team to a stellar World Series run. The guy who made a crying city smile with one swing of the bat. "The catcher. Number 31. Mike Piazza."

Spoiler Alert: I think he should be in the Hall of Fame. Of course I do. I could sit here and write out every stat ever that proves he is the greatest offensive catcher in the history of the game. I could also write out every fact ever that proves he was involved with steroids. (And I will! Ready… here comes the list of facts…aaand the list of facts is over. Because there can't be a list of facts when there are no facts.) Either way, it doesn't matter. Suspicion and association have usurped facts and numbers, and that is a shame. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about just a couple of the many moments Piazza created for his fans, those small moments of wonder in my childhood that will not be pushed aside and rendered irrelevant simply because of the time they occurred in. We treasured those moments. And we, as fans, deserve the acknowledgment of those moments. It is not our fault that we grew up when we did.

Moment 1. June 30, 2000: I was 10 years old, and sat on my couch at home watching the Mets trail their arch-rivals the Atlanta Braves 8-1 in the 8th inning. My brother and dad had given up on the game, sighing depressingly while I had my face buried under a white pillow that I occasionally would shift back and forth in hope for some spark of luck. All of a sudden, Melvin Mora and Jay Payton and all of these guys that no one remembers, but who I will never forget, started getting on base, and soon started rounding home plate, and all of a sudden it was 8-8. Tie game. Two men on, two men out. And Mike Piazza up to the plate.

I kept the pillow on my face, but moved it slightly below my eyes, because I knew this was going to be something I wanted to see. Even as a 10 year old, you can recognize greatness. And you know it will deliver. And, as always, No. 31 did. A few seconds later, I was throwing that pillow in the air and swinging my arm in the same exact motion Piazza did as he watched the ball fall over the fence. My brother was screaming, my dad was jumping, I was throwing random things in the air. That was an event that happened. That was a game that existed. That is a memory that will never fade, regardless of whether someone decides it is a story worthy of being told inside the walls of a building in upstate New York.

Moment 2. Sept. 21, 2001: Somber. Quiet. I don't remember where I held the pillow this time as I watched from my house just outside of New York City. It was day after day of candlelight vigil in my neighborhood and I didn't need superstitious pillow-placement -- I needed some kind of sign to tell me that it was OK to watch this game. That it was OK to root for something, to cheer for something, to smile again, to care about something as trivial as a baseball game. And in the 8th inning, down one run, that reassurance came from the guy it always came from: No. 31.

"And it's hit deep to left center ... Andruw Jones on the run ... This one has a chance ... Home run! Mike Piazza. And the Mets lead, 3-2!" That hit is part of baseball's history. Maybe it happened to take place in what people are now calling the Dark Ages of baseball, but the moment itself was the bright spot in what on that day, was a dark city and a dark world. Thanks to Mike Piazza, for just a moment, Shea Stadium was bright. That moment, that glimpse of light, will not be blacked out.

For now, I'll take it upon myself to do what the Hall of Fame is supposed to do -- spread the legacy of an all-time great. I'll continue to tell people the stories of when he walked back over to give me his autograph, of when he swung his arm in celebration after taking the lead in the game against Atlanta, of when one solitary swing helped to heal an entire wounded city. Because maybe for the BBWAA writers he played at the wrong time. Maybe he played at a time that they will try their very best to make us think never existed. A time where mistakes of others became penalties for all.

But for all the kids like me, holding our breath with his every swing -- and for all the jaded Mets fans who for once just needed someone to count on -- and, more than anything, for all the mourning New Yorkers who, on Sept. 21, 2001, so desperately needed Mike Piazza to do what he did so often -- hit home runs—for all of them, who, if only for a few precious minutes, were able to cheer again -- Mike Piazza played at exactly the right time.

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Junior Seau, certain Hall of Fame National Football League linebacker, was the essence of life force itself. From his days growing up in Oceanside, California, to All America status at USC and superstardom with the San Diego Chargers and later with the Dolphins and Patriots, he was a force of nature on and off the field.

Vibrant, fiery, emotional, charismatic -- a whirling dervish of energy and feeling. His multi-watt smile lit the world. When he extinguished his own flame last year, the sports world was shocked -- how was this possible? He had descended into a post-career world of heavy darkness -- depression and isolation, even though he could still wear the public mask of normalcy. Because of the courage of the Seau family in allowing his brain to be tested for damage, we now know he had descended into the behavioral pattern that ensues with chronic traumatic encephalopathy.

As I watched my star NFL clients endure concussion and head injuries during the past 40 years I knew intuitively that there had to be long-term consequences that we didn't know about. The problem was that the hits were just an accepted part of the game. As recently as 1994 the NFL was telling players that there was no proof that long-term damage was being caused by multiple head injuries or that one hit had a relationship to another.

I grew increasingly disturbed by the lack of knowledge of brain function and finally convened a series of Concussion and Player Safety Conferences in Southern California in the early 1990's. We had leading neurologists like Dr. Mark Lovell, Dr. Bob Cantu and Dr. Julian Bailes informing our clients on what was then known of the risks. We issued a white paper calling for a neurologist on the sideline, removal of the helmet-to-helmet hit from football, and a standardized regimen of diagnosis and mandatory sit-out periods. Not much changed.

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Along with Dr. Tony Strickland and the Concussion Institute, I participated in another series of concussion seminars in Los Angeles starting in 2006. Knowledge of brain function had expanded. Researchers like Dr. Kevin Gusciwiecz presented findings that suggested that three or more concussions might be a trigger number and that the risk for Alzheimers, ALS, Parkinsons, premature senility and dementia increased exponentially at that level. There were findings that depression rates with multiple concussions increased by fourfold. I called this "an undiagnosed health epidemic" and a "ticking time bomb."

Commissioner Roger Goodell took a fresh look at the problem and convened a physician’s conference and issued a whistle-blower edict asking players to report others with impaired behavior on the field. The Berlin Wall of denial ended and the NFL adopted Dr. Lovell's IMPAACT baseline testing. Baseline establishes a player’s cognitive level before the season and after a concussive hit gives an objective framework to compare and then judge an appropriate time for return to play.

While the NFL is more aware, the challenges have risen. Contemporary players are bigger, stronger and faster and the physics and force of hits have amplified. Protective equipment has not proved effective. In Seau's day, concussions were not monitored so there is no way of knowing how many hits he had to the head. A concussion is not defined as being knocked out -- it is a blow to the head or body occasioning a change in brain function. Players suffer these blows on every play without them being acknowledged. The act of an offensive lineman hitting a defensive lineman on every play produces a low level concussive hit. A pro player who plays 10 seasons after college may potential have had 10,000 low level concussive hits -- what is the cumulative effect of that?

Cumulative hits can lead to chronic traumatic encephalopathy as it did with Chicago Bears safety Dave Duerson, Junior Seau, and many other players. In this syndrome, the player becomes depressed and withdrawn post-career. It seems to lead to loss of job, breakup of marriage, and in many cases suicide. We all are aware that playing the sport of football breaks down every joint in the body. Players from Pop Warner on are in a state of denial about their physical condition and long-term health. They want to play the next play whatever the consequences. They are stoic warriors. It is incumbent on coaches, trainers, families and agents to insist that they consider long-term health issues. I felt like an enabler, putting large amounts of money in player bankbooks while sending them into an activity that might destroy their capacity for a happy post-career life, which is why I felt the need to act.

-- Leigh Steinberg has represented many of the most successful athletes and coaches in football, basketball, baseball, hockey, boxing and golf, including the first overall pick in the NFL draft an unprecedented eight times, among more than 60 first-round selections. His clients have included Hall of Fame quarterbacks Steve Young, Troy Aikman and Warren Moon, and he served as the inspiration for the movie "Jerry Maguire." Follow him on Twitter @SteinbergSports.

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In the beginning, every college football team, its alums and its fans had no greater aspirations than to end the season in the glory of participating in and winning a legendary bowl game.

Pacific Coast and Midwest players and their fans grew up yearning for the ultimate ratification of winning "The Granddaddy Of Them All "-- The Rose Bowl. For players in the South, the Sugar Bowl or the Orange Bowl was the goal. In the Southwest, the Cotton Bowl conferred legitimacy. The country sat transfixed on New Year's Day following this cornucopia of football excellence. There has been an exponential explosion in college football bowl games -- 35 in all will be played, leading up to Monday's BCS championship at the Orange Bowl. But is more, less? Questions have been raised as to whether this plethora of games is diluting quality matchups, attracting sufficient attendance and financially benefiting the schools involved.

Participation in a bowl game has always been seen as a reward for outstanding performance by a team during the regular season. Ten of the teams competing this year had 6-6 regular seasons. Georgia Tech had a losing season at 6-7 (though it did beat USC in the Sun Bowl). Being .500 has always been regarded as a disappointing, mediocre season -- yet six games qualify a team for a bowl. This leads to matchups with teams that were often regarded as having failing seasons. At many institutions a 6-6 season would be a firing offense. So what is being rewarded except the desire of bowls and television networks to make money?

The first way that schools experience financial difficulties with bowls is in having to live up to ticket guarantees. The Sugar Bowl charged LSU a full $350 per ticket for supposedly "complimentary tickets" last year. LSU had to pay for players to get tickets as well as band members and owed the Sugar Bowl $562,000 just for tickets. This year's Orange Bowl required Northern Illinois and Florida State to purchase 17,500 tickets apiece at prices ranging from $75 to $225. That is 2,000 more than Northern Illinois averaged for home games last year. NIU distributed 15,000 seats, but only sold 3,000 and had to donate the remainder. Connecticut lost $2.9 million in tickets at the 2011 Fiesta Bowl.

Travel and lodging expenses are also exorbitant. At the Fiesta Bowl in Arizona in 2011, Oregon and the Pac-12 had to reserve 580 hotel rooms, some for six nights, many of which cost $319 a night. LSU spent $754,118 on meals and lodging at the Sugar Bowl last year. The bowls benefit mightily from the television rights and other various revenue. The Sugar Bowl Inc. filed federal tax returns that show it ended its fiscal year 2011 with $34.2 million in assets. The last year in which it hosted both the traditional Sugar Bowl and the BCS title game it did $34.1 million in revenue and turned an $11.6 million profit. And that games enjoys a 501 (c)(3) non-profit status, that was all tax-free.

How the participating schools fare is largely a function of the way their conferences split the proceeds and expenses. Curtis Eichelberger wrote in Bloomberg in 2010 that 13 public schools lost money on their participation. Northern Illinois was saved this year by the MAC Conference agreement to pay $4 million in travel expenses.

There are many other tangible benefits of school bowl participation. Every school that participates reports that the national showcase and buildup is very helpful with recruiting efforts for their program. High school players can attend the game itself if the expenses are low enough. There is a NBER paper by Michael Anderson that found that a winning football program enhances the number of overall applications a university receives, in-state enrollment, SAT scores and raises a school's overall academic performance. Schools participating in bowl games report greatly increased alumni giving to the football program and the athletic department.

In most schools football revenue supports the less generating revenue sports, providing opportunities for many athletes. This paper also illustrates that alumni giving to non-athletic aspects of the universities increases. The experience can greatly enhance the prestige of the university. College football consistently polls as the nation's second most popular team sport.

This year we were treated to legendary institutions such as the "Famous Idaho Potato Bowl," "Little Caesar's Pizza Bowl," "TaxSlayer.com Bowl," "GoDaddy.com Bowl," and the "Buffalo Wild Wings Bowl." The cow left the barn on the creation of this new college football tableau some years ago and shows no sign of abating.

But let the colleges beware that the Golden Goose may have hidden wings of financial lead.

-- Leigh Steinberg has represented many of the most successful athletes and coaches in football, basketball, baseball, hockey, boxing and golf, including the first overall pick in the NFL draft an unprecedented eight times, among more than 60 first-round selections. His clients have included Hall of Fame quarterbacks Steve Young, Troy Aikman and Warren Moon, and he served as the inspiration for the movie "Jerry Maguire." Follow him on Twitter @SteinbergSports.

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