Knowing the System: A Tale of Exploitation in College Athletics
Hot Dog Money: Inside the Biggest Scandal in the History of College Sports by Guy Lawson (Little A, 2024)
Reviewed by Kimberly Bain
It’s 2010, and Reggie Bush, the running back for the University of Southern California Trojans and noted boyfriend of Kim Kardashian, loses his 2004 Heisman Trophy through a voluntary forfeit. The scandal is high profile for various reasons. Bush, along with other notable college football players, has been accused of violating the National Collegiate Athletic Association’s (NCAA) policies on monetary compensation for college athletes. While Bush would later earn his trophy and title back, and the NCAA would go on to develop monetary compensation avenues in the form of sanctioned Name Image Likeness (NIL) agreements, in Hot Dog Money Guy Lawson provides a detailed account of the world of backdoor deals among “financial managers” These managers provided talented college athletes financial compensation with the promise of return after they signed professional contracts. The story is told through the experiences of the effervescent financial manager Louis Martin “Marty” Blazer.
The story of Marty Blazer and his rise to success working with college athletes began in the late 1990s when he used his business skills to make connections with eager coaches, hungry sports agents, and promising college athletes, mainly in college basketball and football. These athletes showed substantial promise to make it to professional leagues. Blazer’s strategy was simple: use his “gift of the gab” to connect with players that had their eyes on their futures and wanted to earn what he called “hot dog money” (17). What is unique about Blazer’s story in Hot Dog is that he “believed he was making friends with his new clients…” as noted by Lawson (17). Blazer takes these athletes under his wing to guide them toward what he considers a promising future, telling them “If you sign with me, I will tell you exactly what’s going to happen after you get drafted” (17).
The fast-paced recounting of events that led up to Blazer’s own investigation in 2014 by the FBI is quite resonant of a gangster narrative. There are similarities with some of the real-life scenarios of the notorious gangster Frank Lucas that have been retold in the film American Gangster, particularly in the low-profile manner that Blazer would often adopt and encourage among his clients. In a similar manner to Frank Lucas’ downfall, Blazer recalls the 2010 scandal of University of North Carolina (UNC) football players who brazenly posted photos of themselves in luxury on social media while reaping the benefits of their clandestine hot dog money deals. Some those players were Blazer’s clients, prompting what Marty calls a “classic NCAA non-investigative investigation” of UNC’s academic and financial schemes (38). The scandal ultimately leads to the firing of the UNC head coach, the suspension and probation of several players and the loss of scholarships, the loss of compensation for Blazer, and an interrogation by the U.S. Securities and Exchanges Commission (SEC), which ultimately creates a domino effect that places him under investigation by the FBI for his unscrupulous business practices.
Lawson then navigates his readers through the events leading up to Blazer’s FBI investigation that stemmed from the pivotal moment of finding a “...trademark form of investment his competitors didn’t offer” (42). Eager to draw in more clients, Blazer’s choice of investment leads him to the offer of a financed movie role for athletes as an added bonus for signing on as his client. When faced with a failing movie production, Blazer makes the decision to withdraw money from his clients to pay off his debts. Between his connections to the UNC scandal of 2010 and his racketeering endeavors that landed him in hot water with the SEC, Blazer ultimately finds himself under investigation by the U.S. Department of Justice’s Southern District of New York in 2014.
In an effort to avoid harsh punishment and redeem himself both personally and professionally, Blazer makes a deal with the FBI to lead an investigation as an undercover agent under the direction of Secret Agent Scott Carpenter, because “piercing the veil of secrecy protecting the dons of this Mafia would expose the true underworld” (129). What follows is a long series of name-dropping of notable college athletes and coaches as Blazer demonstrates to the FBI “the way money flowed from the FBI undercover agent [Blazer] to Dawkins to coaches and players, with Adidas included in the scheme” (289). It is easy to get wrapped up in the flurry of characters that run through the pages of Hot Dog like that of a packed Big Ten arena in September. However, what Lawson cleverly portrays through this busyness is the widespread nature of under-the-table deals that reach almost anyone and everyone with a vested interest in the future of both college and professional sports.
In the third-quarter of Hot Dog’s harrowing edge-of-your-seat retellings, Lawson hones in on the relationship between Blazer and wannabe agent Christian Dawkins, “an unlicensed freelance opportunist looking to make money from their connections” (65). This relationship with Dawkins allowed Blazer to go undercover to expose the world of a large-scale system of college athlete exploitation occurring right under the NCAA’s nose.
It goes without saying that considerations of oppression, particularly of racial minorities, permeate these dealings within college sports. Lawson notes that “[Hot Dog’s] take is informed by racism–systemic, institutional, personal” that is nuanced with the love of the game, proving a paradox (xiv). Hot Dog offers a self-effacing approach to one man's account of the nefariousness that he himself is benefiting from through a detailing of his quick-paced accounts. Blazer notably considers the proverbial chattel system he takes part in as “a form of human trafficking, with the kids as the commodities being bought and sold” (129). However, Blazer is well aware that the show must go on and will continue to long after the investigations are through.
What is unmistakable in Hot Dog is Lawson's unwavering consideration of the college athletes themselves, reflected through Blazer's perspective. Lawson details the different circumstances that lure college athletes into these financial schemes such as the ability to take care of parents, siblings, and loved ones while the athletes perform for their schools, waiting to be compensated professionally for their work. Even those like the UNC football players who get caught up in the limelight have the author's sympathy through the careful weaving in of their circumstances with Blazer’s. Blazer knows what it is like to be hungry, and he knows what it is like to be easily tempted by that hunger. This sympathetic portrayal sets Blazer up as a sordid father figure to his clients, which serves as a guide for the sympathy that Blazer demonstrates towards his clients– seemingly, Blazer’s redemptive feature.
Through Lawson's busy retelling, Blazer maintains empathy for the athletes and does not place blame on them for his downfall. While one might argue that some level of blame could be placed on these athletes for indulging Blazer and going against strict NCAA policies that they agree to, none of this is found in Hot Dog. Rather, at the closing of the book, Blazer reflects on the aftermath of the investigation, including the arrest of Christian Dawkins, the dismissal of Agent Carpenter on unrelated embezzlement charges, and the NCAA establishment of the NIL policy that would allow college athletes to receive financial compensation through privately-sponsored endorsements.
With a foreboding eye on the wellbeing of college athletes, Blazer argues that “the NIL makes the situation worse for college athletes,” citing back deals and unfair cuts that would further exploit these athletes (310). Blazer concludes his narrative by asking, “What…is the NCAA for if not to protect the athletes instead of the schools and system and its own financial interests?” (310). Blazer’s sentiments provide a moral compass for the reader to use in navigating the waters of blame.
One might look at Blazer's sentiments with a jaundiced eye, considering his integral part in this exploitative process, leaving so much personal and professional collateral damage in his wake. However, one might also argue that Blazer's redemption can be found in considering the big picture of student-athlete exploitation and NCAA negligence in light of one man's benefit from those instances, resolutely finding himself helpless as he considers re-entering the sordid world of commoditizing athletes by declaring, “I know the system inside and out now. Who knows?” (314). It remains tempting for Blazer to consider that if the game must go on, he might as well get off the bench.
Kimberly Bain is an assistant professor of English at Palm Beach Atlantic University. Her favorite genres to read are self-help nonfiction and Southern Gothic fiction.
