Charlie Baker’s New Game Is College Sports, But the Stakes Are Still Political

By Johnnie Ray McKnight

Where’s Charlie?

If you don’t follow politics closely, you might be wondering what happened to former Governor Charlie Baker after he left the State House. Did he retire to the Cape? Take a corporate board seat? Not quite. He landed in a different kind of high-stakes arena: college sports.

Baker is now the president of the NCAA, the governing body of collegiate athletics. While some speculated he’d make a run for president, given his broad bipartisan appeal and centrist approach. It turns out he’s taken his talents to the field of athletic reform, a place in dire need of a steady hand and moral clarity.

Charlie Baker's political legacy in Massachusetts was marked by pragmatism. Democratic mayors, including Springfield’s own Domenic Sarno, often praised his leadership. Like Mitt Romney before him, Baker governed as a socially moderate Republican, though he came off less presumptuous and more grounded. Interestingly, both men share experience in professional athletics administration. Romney led the 2002 Salt Lake City Winter Olympics organizing committee, which helped propel him into the Governor's Office. Now Baker is following that path in reverse: from governor to the NCAA.

But why does college sports even need someone like Charlie Baker?

To understand that, you have to go back to 1905, when President Theodore Roosevelt demanded that the country's top college football programs clean up their act. The game had grown dangerously violent, with multiple player deaths, and Roosevelt warned he would abolish it unless reforms were made. College athletics, he knew, were worth preserving, but only if done right.

Over the decades, college sports became a national obsession. From little kids to grandparents, fans tuned in to cheer for their alma maters, keeping lifelong ties to the institutions that helped shape them. But behind the pageantry, scandals piled up. A 2010 Bleacher Report article detailed the 25 worst NCAA controversies; from the 1950 point-shaving scandals to the University of Miami’s Pell Grant fraud in the ’80s and ’90s.

Many of these scandals had one consistent theme: young Black men, often from disadvantaged backgrounds, trying to survive an unforgiving system. These athletes juggled punishing schedules, classes, tutoring, practices, team meetings, film study, workouts, leaving no time to earn money. And with limited support from home, many went hungry. The NCAA prohibited players from earning money or accepting help from alumni, boosters, or even family members. Some broke those rules to survive.

But the NCAA hasn’t just failed by omission, it has also made some deeply flawed decisions in its rigid pursuit of enforcing rules.

Take the 1960s, when the Louisiana legislature refused to grant scholarship money to African-American players. In response, local boosters stepped up to privately raise funds so Black athletes could attend and play at Southwest Louisiana. Rather than applauding this effort to correct a racial injustice, the NCAA punished the university, putting SWLA on probation for violating rules that barred outside “interests” from funding scholarships. In trying to preserve its authority, the NCAA reinforced systemic exclusion. Moments like these reveal how often the NCAA’s policies, though dressed in the language of fairness, have historically fallen short of justice.

As a boy growing up in Amherst, I remember the electricity of the John Calipari-era UMass basketball team. “Refuse to Lose” wasn’t just a slogan; it was a feeling that swept through the town. But when Marcus Camby accepted money and gifts from agents, the NCAA cracked down. The school was sanctioned, the Final Four appearance vacated. To us kids, it felt like the NCAA had overreached, punishing a team we idolized, a coach who showed us love, and a player who may have simply needed help.

And then there was Reggie Bush, one of my favorite college players of all time. When they stripped him of his Heisman Trophy, I felt like they stole something from all of us who wore #5 because of him.

But tides are changing.

In June 2021, the NCAA finally adopted an interim policy allowing student-athletes to profit from their Name, Image, and Likeness (NIL). I supported this wholeheartedly. For too long, wealthy universities with billion-dollar endowments profited off the backs of unpaid athletes, mostly Black and Brown young men, while insisting a scholarship was payment enough. For the top players, that was pennies compared to what they could earn in the pros.

College players today are finally signing six-figure NIL deals and transferring without penalty, but the hypocrisy from longtime critics is hard to ignore. For decades, college coaches have cashed in on endorsement contracts, most notably through deals brokered by Nike marketing executive Sonny Vaccaro. By 1991, Nike had contracts with 56 college basketball coaches, including legends like Jerry Tarkanian and John Thompson, paying them to promote sneakers, consult on products, and appear at brand events, all while drawing large university salaries. Yet many of these same voices spent years arguing that players shouldn’t receive a dime. The idea that coaches could profit off the game while players went hungry was always unjust. It's just that now, it’s harder to defend.

That’s the storm Charlie Baker walked into.

And so far, he’s met the moment with characteristic calm. Recently, Baker wrote a letter to NCAA colleagues foreshadowing major changes on the horizon, possibly including revenue-sharing models that would give athletes a percentage of the money generated by their sports programs.

It's a bold move. But if anyone can pull off this balancing act, holding universities accountable while protecting student-athletes, it’s Baker. He has a record of bridging divides, uniting Republicans and Democrats in Massachusetts. Now, he's trying to bring together college administrators, boosters, and student-athletes to design a system that honors both tradition and fairness.

In a time when the business of college sports has never been bigger, or messier; Charlie Baker’s job is not just about regulation. It’s about righting long-standing wrongs, redefining equity, and preserving the soul of college athletics.

It’s a tall order. But as Massachusetts knows, Charlie's made a career out of managing the impossible.