BOULDER — There’s no Lovo lost between Dan Stroh and college football right now.
“The student-athletes, we’re very empathetic for them, very supportive of them,” Stroh, a proud CU alum and member of the Buffs Club for 43 years, told me after we watched Fernando Lovo’s introductory news conference as CU athletic director Monday.
“But it’s not all about the NIL (Name/Image/Likeness). It still has to be about the fans. It has to be about the university, your teammates and the community. The NIL and the transfer portal have taken all that out. It’s all about ‘me,’ and ‘How much money can you give me?’”
Got some bad news for Fernando on that last front.
Stroh says he’s about tapped out.
“We’re not just going to write checks and hope (the players) come,” he said. “You give them (that) check and the guy’s gone tomorrow. To hell with that. That ain’t happening to me. No allegiance, no money.”
Stroh is Loveland realty royalty. He and wife Debbie have given blood, sweat and thousands of dollars to CU athletics for roughly four decades now. He’s been coming to Folsom Field since he was about knee-high.
“How many of your suits are older than Lovo?” I asked.
Dan laughed.
“All of them,” he replied.
Stroh loves the hire of Lovo, CU’s 37-year-old replacement for the retiring Rick George. But man, oh man, does Dan hate the game. And what it’s become.
“They need to talk to (former Alabama coach) Nick Saban,” Stroh continued. “He is very critical of how they’ve administered this. I don’t know Nick Saban, but I respect him. And so we need to listen. With this, with the NIL, it’s unsustainable.”
It’s a vicious cycle. Some CU donors don’t want to pony up for players who aren’t loyal to the school. Players won’t stay at a school that won’t pay for their loyalty. Round and round it goes.
“When you’re united in your vision,” Lovo said, “there’s no limit to what we can achieve.”
But there is a budget, and Lovo finds himself inheriting the financial equivalent of one of those smiling dumpster fire memes. Multiple outlets are reporting that CU’s staring at a potential budget deficit of roughly $27 million for the fiscal period that ends June 30.
Most of that is the bill from the NCAA vs. House settlement, which put the university on the hook for $20.5 million in revenue-sharing payments to student-athletes. Football coach Deion Sanders’ salary jumped $4.3 million from the ’24 season.
And like beef and orange juice, none of this is going to get any cheaper, either. The cap for player revenue sharing’s expected to be roughly $21.3 million in ’26-27, while Sanders’ deal bumps his pay from $10 million in 2026 to $11 million for ’27 and ’28.
Lovo came off as a man who makes friends naturally and easily. He needs to find some rich ones.
In two years, the Buffs have hopped from the land of tech bros (the old Pac-12) to a conference of oil barons (the Big 12) who swim in fast cash and Texas tea.
As donors go, the Buffs have a reliable lineup of singles and doubles hitters. They haven’t found enough home-run threats.
Utah athletics just dove feet-first into a deal with private equity. Oklahoma State had T. Boone Pickens. Texas Tech has about 50 of him.
“All of those places have deep-pocketed billionaires, obsessed with their program, to buy (players),” Harry Devereaux, another Loveland businessman, CU alum and Stroh’s friend, told me after listening to Lovo. “Or whatever they’ve go to do. And they’ll do it.”
Devereaux says he’s not that billionaire, sadly. Nor is Stroh, really. They turned up Monday anyway.
“We wanted to see (Lovo),” Harry said. “And I think he talks the talk.”
If he walks it half as well as he talked it, the Buffs will be in solid shape. Lovo wore a CEO’s suit and a governor’s smile, the archetype of an evangelical optimist who wins news conferences and rallies the troops. He gave thanks — to CU, to George, to his wife and family — with grace, while setting the bar with his head high and shoulders squared.
Even tougher topics were greeted with easily chewable sound bites, delivered with the honey of a politician who feels your pain.
“It’s a nasty world out there, too,” Devereaux chuckled. “He seems like a really nice guy. So we should see if he’s got a rough edge around him. Because it’s tough.”
It’s brutal. Especially for a bean-counter. Student-athletes were kept as an indentured, cost-controlled talent for far, far too long. But the needle’s swung too hard the other way.
A system where the players had no control or mobility wasn’t good for the sport. Neither is having your kids hopping about from school to school like free agents on 1-year contracts.
Hardship cases or coaching changes should allow student-athletes to move on without penalty. But for the guys and gals just looking for a cash grab, Stroh’s right — there should either be a limit to the number of times you can transfer without a viable reason. Or a minimum term of engagement between a student and a school of, say, two years. Or graduation. Whichever comes first.
“The NIL and the transfer portal are going to have to start being administered,” Stroh said. “You can’t just open it up and (say), ‘The sky’s the limit.’ … there has to be a limit. (Lovo) has to work on that from an administrative basis.”
“And if nothing changes?” I wondered.
“If it’s up to my wife and I,” Stroh replied, “we’re not going to do this.”
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