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Imagine a 19-year-old signing a six-figure revenue-sharing agreement. The money arrives before the athlete has selected a financial adviser, taken a tax course or learned how to distinguish a wise investment from a shady sales pitch. This is not the NFL or the NBA. It’s college sports in 2026.
The debate over whether college athletes should be paid is largely over. Under the House settlement, Division I universities can now pay athletes directly—up to about $21.58 million per school in 2026–27. A revised Protect College Sports Act (PCSA) currently before Congress would increase schools’ tabs to around $49 million, thanks to a new $22.5 million annual “retention fund” to help retain current rosters plus another $5 million tagged for women’s and non-revenue sports.
Then tack on third-party NIL (name, image and likeness) deals—a total of $455 million in deals were approved in the first eight months of 2026, including $227.25 million in July and August alone. The bottom line? Between revenue sharing and NIL income, many college athletes are managing pro athlete money with a teenager’s financial toolkit. Unfortunately, universities—and now Congress—are fumbling their opportunities to help.
Congress is devoting serious attention to rewriting the rules for NIL, revenue sharing, agent fees, transfers, conference realignment and antitrust protection. Yet, the legislation misses one of the most practical protections available: meaningful financial education for athletes receiving money.
That omission matters because many athletes will negotiate contracts and hire agents for the first time in their lives, with little knowledge of what questions to ask. Some will learn about fraud only after becoming victims. A $300,000 payment can trigger a five-figure tax bill and quarterly tax payments for an athlete who is only vaguely aware of their status as an independent contractor, rather than a university employee.
There is a promising bipartisan proposal, the HUSTLE Act—currently in committee—that would create tax-advantaged accounts for NIL earnings and require financial planning materials be made available to participating athletes. But this only applies to athletes who receive NIL money and open accounts. And it only requires that educational materials be “made available.” Be honest: How much of the optional reading in college did you do?
There is a better approach: Every athlete who receives revenue-sharing payments should be required to complete a substantive, for-credit personal finance course.
Universities are not financial advisers, and they should not select investments or recommend products. But they are educators. They already prepare athletes to navigate alcohol, gambling, social media and academic integrity. Financial education belongs on that list—especially now that universities are writing the checks.
Until recently, universities could argue that NIL earnings were outside income, similar to a student’s internship pay. A hands-off approach was defensible. The House settlement changed that. When a university pays an athlete directly, the institution assumes more than a bookkeeping obligation. It also takes on an educational responsibility to help that student understand the financial consequences of the transaction.
The required personal finance course’s content need not be complicated: budgeting and cash-flow planning, to help the athlete see beyond the next car payment; investing, so they understand risk and the power of compounding; federal and state taxes, so they know why a $300,000 payday nets closer to $220,000; debt, so they recognize a corrosive credit card balance; and adviser vetting, so they can tell a fiduciary from a con artist.
This should be a real course with real assignments—not an optional workshop that requires only momentary attention and that has no serious learning expectations. Schools should have flexibility to tailor the curriculum, as Power Four programs differ from mid-major programs, and because athletes with national endorsement deals differ from those receiving only modest revenue-sharing payments. The core competencies of personal finance, however, are universal.
Existing requirements fall short. NCAA rules require Division I schools to make financial literacy education available, but don’t require athletes to complete a substantive course. States do little better. Texas mandates five hours of instruction for student athletes, with financial literacy sharing time with topics such as time management. Florida requires two workshops spread across financial literacy, entrepreneurship and life skills. Many states require nothing. The current version of the PCSA extends this losing streak.
A required course is not paternalistic. It does not restrict athletes’ earning power, tell them how to spend their money, or substitute the university’s judgment for their own. It simply gives them the knowledge needed to exercise clear-eyed stewardship of their hard-earned, newfound wealth. In the business world, this is basic risk management. In education, it is exactly what colleges claim to do: prepare students to make consequential decisions.
Congress should amend the PCSA to make this course part of the bargain for athletes receiving university revenue-sharing payments. If Congress does not act, the NCAA and major conferences should establish the requirement themselves.
There’s an old coaching maxim, made famous by football legend Mike Leach: You are either coaching it, or you are allowing it to happen. Without financial coaching, many college athletes will fare no better than their professional counterparts, some of whom join the pros not knowing how bank accounts or credit cards work.
A personal finance course may never generate the excitement of six-figure NIL deals or viral highlight reels. But financial education matters long after the eligibility clock runs out and the checks stop.
For decades, universities insisted that athletes are students first. Revenue sharing gives them a chance to prove they mean it. Financial education should be part of the deal.
