If Brian Kelly can bail on meaningless bowl games, why can’t his players?

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When asked why he opted to play in the Gasparilla Bowl, Florida running back Dameon Pierce gave the following answer:

“Why? Because I’m a Gator, bro. When I signed here, I signed for four good years, get my education and I’m going to rock out that way until I die.”

That stands in stark contrast to the statements made by ESPN analyst Kirk Herbstreit, who in the midst of making a broader point about bowl games being devalued, dropped this nuke.

“I think this era of players doesn’t love football.”

The backlash was swift, so much so that Herbie had to tweet out an apology on Sunday to clarify that he didn’t mean all players. That, of course is true since you have players like Pierce, Kaiir Elam and Ole Miss QB Matt Corral among a whole host of others who have decided to play in the bowl games.

The argument though that while altruistic, playing is actually against a player’s best interest gained steam Saturday night when Ole Miss QB Matt Corral suffered a sprained ankle in the first quarter against Baylor. It looks like Corral is going to be fine, but the point was clear: why play a violent meaningless game when there are major dollars at stake if you suffer a significant injury?

For the most part, I come down on the side of the players on this issue. To me, sitting out isn’t that much different than me giving two weeks notice at my job when I get a better offer. That doesn’t make me a bad person. In fact, it’s me taking advantage of the way that a labor market works, in that I’ve exercised my individual rights given the agreement I entered into when I was hired.

But notice that I used the word rights. That’s a purposeful word choice, as rights are defined as “legal, social or ethical principles of freedom and entitlement.” Basically, it’s what you are allowed to do (or not do) given the contractual and ethical obligations that you’ve entered into.

But admittedly even in the common employment example, things get murky. For example, do I owe my employer the courtesy of asking if they’ll match the offer? And what if they do (or even exceed it financially) but my heart was really invested in the mission and vision of the new company?

The reason this makes me squirm a little bit is because of a word we don’t use much anymore: duty.

A duty is a commitment or expectation to perform some action, which may arise from a system of ethics or morality, often codified into law. A good example would be that I have a duty (both legally and morally) to take care of my children.

But that’s where the duty stops from a legal perspective. If I financially support them, I don’t technically ever have to see them. But I think you can say that I have a moral duty to be there for them in ways beyond just the financial. And I think you’re perfectly within your rights to call me a bad Dad if all I do is pay for their stuff but leave my wife to teach them how to be functioning human beings.

So what does this have to do with college football and opting out? A lot actually.

That’s because the emotion for this issue comes not from a disagreement about whether players should be free to exercise their rights to opt-out, but rather what sort of duties they owe to the university, program, teammates and fans once they’ve accepted membership to the team.

While I’m sympathetic to the fact that players have some level of duty to the team and program, it’s really hard for me to get all that worked up about it, especially for bowl games. That’s because you don’t need the players opting out for evidence that bowl games are less meaningful than the regular season.

The universities and coaches have been opting out of those for years.

Just this year, Brian Kelly left Notre Dame for LSU when it was still a reasonable possibility that the Irish might sneak their way into the CFB Playoff. Lincoln Riley left for USC just hours after Oklahoma’s last regular season game, incredulously claiming that he hadn’t thought about leaving until that Sunday morning. Even new Florida coach Billy Napier – who I think had the most graceful exit from another program that we’ve seen in recent memory – didn’t coach Louisiana in their bowl game.

And the coaches they were replacing – Ed Orgeron, Clay Helton and Dan Mullen – didn’t even last the entire regular season before they were let go. After all, you have to get an early start on finding that new coach to poach from another university to make sure you have a chance for early signing day.

This has been happening for years, and then we act surprised when the players start following suit? If anything, it’s surprising that it’s taken this long.

But then again, it hasn’t been happening like this at the coaching and administrative level for that long. Folks like Herbstreit and Howard wax poetic about how things used to be and they are actually right about that. College football has changed.

Herbstreit played for John Cooper, a guy who coached 13 years for Ohio State. Cooper went 2-10-1 against Michigan before finally being let go. Ryan Day isn’t getting that kind of patience.

Howard committed and played for Bo Schembechler and Gary Moeller at Michigan, who along with Lloyd Carr built a 38-year legacy of Michigan men helming the Wolverines program.

Schembechler wasn’t without controversy, but perhaps his actions as athletic director are most germane to this discussion. When Michigan’s men’s basketball coach – Bill Frieder – announced he was taking the head coaching job at Arizona State just before the 1989 tournament, Schembechler fired Frieder and replaced him with assistant coach Steve Fisher immediately.

His famous quote associated with the firing: “a Michigan man is going to coach a Michigan team.”

The impact of Schembechler’s words are hard to ignore. He wanted people all-in for the program. And once a coach had dual loyalties, he wasn’t interested in keeping him around.

That isn’t the way college football is anymore. Coaches are mercenaries, associated with their success on the field rather than their loyalty to a particular administration.

Gone are the days of the coaches who belong to a program. There aren’t any more Bobby Bowdens, Steve Spurriers, Frank Beamers, Billy Snyders or Bob Stoops left anymore (not that those eras were pure, either).

This isn’t true just in college football.

LeBron James is one of the best two basketball players I’ve ever seen. But his jump from Cleveland to Miami, then Miami to Cleveland, and then Cleveland to Los Angeles means he’s a player without a true team. There are LeBron fans out there, but he doesn’t belong to a fan base like Michael Jordan belongs to Chicago, Tim Duncan belongs to San Antonio or Steph Curry belongs to Golden State.

I also don’t think this is just limited to sports. We’ve long since moved past the point where duty is actually an important characteristic that we look for in a person.

That finds its way back to football in that sports are a reflection of our society and our culture.

That’s the only way I can compartmentalize someone sending nasty messages to a recruit or player that they’d never say to their face. Sure, you have the right to say whatever you want. But you should have the duty (and the pride) to face the person you’re saying those nasty things to if you’re going to say them.

And then there’s the money.

The SEC has been paid $55 million annually for the rights to televise its games on CBS since 2008. That is about to jump to $300 million based on the new contract signed with ESPN.

In a duty-based society, the SEC would have figured out a way to share those dollars with the players. That was doubly true after all of the risks of concussions have come to light over the past decade.

But in a rights-based society, the SEC doesn’t owe the players anything if they can convince enough people in their definition of amateurism. Instead, they end up cajoled into NIL due to multiple court cases, and will eventually into some sort of revenue sharing agreement following the scathing brief by Justice Cavanaugh years after it became obvious that the morally right thing to do was to compensate the revenue-generating athletes.

It’s not that the players don’t love football. It’s that they don’t trust that the NCAA, conference, program or coach has their best interests at heart. I can’t say I blame the players in that case, as the powers of college football have made it clear that they are going to squeeze every last drop of revenue that they are allowed to under the law until they’re made to share.

The players have learned and as the money has gotten bigger, have gained considerable leverage. The NFL doesn’t care if you play in a bowl game. They care whether you’ll be motivated to play after you get a big contract. If anything, making a smart business decision to opt out is actually a positive in that respect, considering it conveys that you’re motivated by the carrot that the NFL has to offer.

But both of those are short-term wins.

College football ends up with a weaker product, with Kenny Pickett not playing in the Peach Bowl or Kadarius Toney and Kyle Pitts allowing Dan Mullen to state “the last game the 2020 team played was 11 days ago” after the Gators got destroyed in the Cotton Bowl after last season.

But it’s bad for the players too. We saw that when the ESPN cameras focused on Matt Corral after he came back on the field to cheer on his teammates and couldn’t hold back tears. He’s not going to regret playing in that game, but as those of us who have played any sport will tell you, we’d pay a lot of money to have one more chance to go back out there and play like we used to.

John Adams famously wrote in 1798 that, “our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people.” He specifically called out the difference between rights and duties, talking about using the “Language of Justice and moderation while practicing Iniquity and Extravagance.”

Adams knew that when you do what you have the right to do rather than what you have a duty to do, the social fabric breaks down. That’s exactly what’s happened with the opt-outs.

If adminstrators and coaches want it to stop, they first have to stop the language of justice (you owe playing to your team) while practicing iniquity and extravagance (Brian Kelly makes $9.5 million annually now). Or the bowls can be diminished to where they are no longer significant television commodities.

It’s their choice. But make no mistake, that choice is in their hands, not the players who are finally forcing their hand.