The first time my phone buzzed on Thursday afternoon with news of the possible departures of UCLA and USC from the Pac-12, it seemed like maybe it could be avoided. Fifteen minutes later it was reported as definite, and by the time this post goes live the Big Ten presidents and chancellors will have met and voted to accept these two new additions with open arms. Writing from an area where earthquakes are not uncommon, I can tell you that this change is seismic both in its suddenness as well as the potential long term effects.
So what does this mean? The Pac-12 will still be the Pac-12 in 2022, but that's the only thing that's certain right now. The conference will likely respond in some way, whether that means inviting some nearby schools like BYU or UNLV to come over (a bad idea for a few reasons) or crafting some type of merger with the Big 12 (also not ideal). There might also be a temptation to sit tight and just be the Pac-10, but for a league that's already seen as the weakest of the Power Five conferences, it might be hard to convince anyone of the relevance of a conference that's lost its two most recognizable schools.
Looking at things from a Stanford perspective, the move is obviously disappointing. Aside from Cal, no team has played the Cardinal as often as the two L.A. schools. Stanford has shared the field with UCLA ninety-two times, and when USC travels north on September 10th it will be the 100th meeting between the two teams. Barring some type of future non-conference agreement, it will be their last. Personally, it makes me sad that this October's trip to the Rose Bowl will be the last time the Cardinal will play in Southern California, the last time I'll be able to watch them in my home town.
What bothers me more than any of this, though, is what this move says about the state of college football today. I'm not naive enough to believe that schools are always making decisions based on student safety and well-being. What's surprising here is that USC and UCLA, two universities who think of themselves as premier academic institutions, are so transparently chasing the money and prioritizing cash over all else.
Without question, their coffers will be full of Big Ten dollars for years to come, but their athletes will suffer. There will be no more forty-minute flights to Arizona or one-hour hops to the Bay Area. Instead they'll have four- or five-hour flights to the other side of the country at least four times a year, essentially adding an extra day of travel to every road trip. I'm legitimately curious if anyone at either school wondered about the academic impact of this during the initial discussions, and I also wonder if start times were part of the negotiations. If not, the occasional 9:00am Pacific kickoff will be just another burden the players will have to bear.
All of this uncertainty has stemmed from the one thing we know for sure. With the influx of NIL money and new media deals on the horizon, there will be more money flowing into college football over the next few years than at any point in history, and that money is already reshaping the landscape of the game. By the time the ball is kicked off in September of 2023, we might not recognize any of it.
