Mankato, Minn. -- For everyone who thinks that college sports has been swept away by an irreversible tide of commercialism, take note: Here at Minnesota State University at Mankato, at least one team raises money the old-fashioned way—with $6 plates of spaghetti.
The spaghetti dinner, held by the women's golf program, is unlikely ever to make the nightly telecast of ESPN's SportsCenter. But the scene is far more reflective of the ethos at most college athletics departments than the glitz on display during March Madness.
Like the vast majority of the 400,000 athletes who compete in NCAA programs, the Mavericks, all 520 or so of them, go about their business far from the limelight. Unacquainted with the perks known to athletes at marquee programs, they take long bus rides in the middle of the night to save on lodging, reuse some athletics supplies, and hold raffles to help finance their teams.
But don't be fooled by their do-it-yourself mentality. This city of 32,000, about 80 miles southwest of Minneapolis, is home to serious athletes who finished second nationally last year for athletics excellence among all 288 Division II programs. The men's hockey team—along with women's hockey, the university's only Division I programs—packs a 5,000-seat arena on winter nights and was the training ground for David Backes, Class of 2006, who skated with the U.S. Olympic team last month in Vancouver. Last year the women's basketball team won the Division II national championship. And Katelin Rains, a three-time national champion in the pole vault, is pictured on the front of a Pepsi machine outside the field house.
A few years ago, the university had the chance to move to Division I, as several colleges in its former athletics conference had done. The allure of elite sports has been irresistible for many Division II programs: In the past decade, more than 20 programs have made the leap.
The Mavericks, unwilling to absorb the increased costs of running a Division I program, stayed put in Division II. "This feels comfortable for us. It just feels like this is where we ought to be," says Richard Davenport, the university's president. "We can stake our claim and be very, very competitive nationally at this level."
But living within its means will not shield the athletics department and its $8-million budget from the sting of the recession. Last month the university cut 80 faculty positions, eliminated 28 academic programs, and shrank 42 more. The president met with coaches and administrators soon afterward. He told them athletics would have to come forward, quickly, with its own plan to reduce costs.
While that could lead to a significant scaling back, the prospect of making do with less has yet to faze many people in a program that Kenneth A. Anglin, a faculty-athletics representative and a longtime professor of marketing and international business, describes as "a reasonable-sized fish in a reasonable-sized pond."
"Division II is blue-collar athletics," he says. "You've got to work."
That ethic was on display here during a 36-hour whirlwind last month. With more than a foot of snow on the ground, the Mavericks lent a spark of energy to the long winter. The nation's No. 1-ranked men's hockey team was in town, and track-and-field squads from nearly a dozen institutions jammed into the field house for the conference championship. It was small-time sports at its finest.
1:30 p.m.: Kevin C. Buisman, the athletic director, walks into the Mavericks' 4,800-seat Taylor Center and looks up at the scoreboard. Evidence of the men's basketball team's 72-71 loss last night is still there.
"That'll be great for the guys to see when they get to practice," chuckles the stocky 45-year-old former football player, who is in his eighth year here.
The basketball arena and many sports facilities are connected to other parts of the campus by enclosed corridors. The admissions office even hugs one side of the arena. Campus tours start there to show off the athletics digs.
The indoor corridors linking the sports and academic buildings are thoroughfares for all students, not just athletes. Between classes the hallways are bustling. And in the winter, when temperatures stay below zero for weeks at a time, the corridors are a necessity. Today it is a balmy 20 degrees outside, and many students have doffed their hats and heavy coats and taken to the sidewalks.
Athletes here receive little by way of special treatment. Unlike in larger programs, there is no academic-service center to provide them with extra help. If they struggle in the classroom, their recourse is the same as for any other student: Seek assistance through student services.
2:45 p.m.: Long winters make for crowded quarters in the field house, where the baseball team is just finishing practice and the softball team is in the wings. Members of the indoor track team mill about, wiping down bleachers, moving equipment, and setting up for their conference meet the next day. Other athletes jog around the track doing their own informal warm-ups while coaches confer nearby.
Minnesota in winter does have its charms—think cross-country skiing past a chain of frozen, snow-covered lakes—but for the baseball players, simulating a game indoors is not one of them.
"Last year our first home game was March 20, which was also our first practice outside," says Mathew A. Magers, head baseball coach. In a few weeks, unless a warm spell intervenes, players will have to shovel off their frozen field, as they've done for seven of the past 10 years (yes, they keep track), in time for their first home game.
5:40 p.m.: Mr. Buisman climbs into his red Pontiac and heads for the spaghetti dinner. Driving past small homes with their gutters sagging under the weight of large icicles, he says the Mavericks sometimes struggle to attract attention.
"It's a tough community to market in," he says. "It's kind of second nature for people from Mankato to drive up to the [Twin] Cities," home to several professional teams and the state's flagship athletics program, at the University of Minnesota. "You're competing for those discretionary dollars where people are making a choice between coming to college athletics or going to professional sporting events."
The challenges have not been limited to ticket sales. Last year the university asked its athletics department to trim its budget by 10 percent, which it did primarily through cuts in personnel. To make up part of the shortfall this year, the department has shifted some of the burden onto the athletes, who now pay a fee of $75 per semester. (Each athlete is also asked to raise $150 every year for athletics through an ice-fishing tournament or a charity walk.)
Mr. Buisman was recently told to trim an additional 5 to 7 percent of the department's costs for the 2012 fiscal year. This time, he says, the cuts could be felt far more deeply—affecting scholarships, recruiting budgets, coaching staff, and possibly the teams themselves.
7:15 p.m.: At some public universities, tensions have escalated in recent years between academic departments and athletics over budget priorities. But Mr. Anglin, the faculty-athletics representative—who is at the spaghetti dinner with his wife, also a professor—says such animosity is mostly absent. (Other faculty members who were interviewed agreed.)
"Oh, sure, there's little pockets of people that complain" about the athletics department, he says. "But the reality is ... there isn't anyone over there that's getting rich." The highest-paid coach, at a salary of $153,246, is the one whose program, men's hockey, produces revenue. Still, Mr. Anglin says, "His last raise reflected exactly what the faculty raise was, because he's bound by the same contract. So you'll never have a coach at MSU who's going to make a lot of money, because they're still tied to us."
Mr. Anglin has harsh words for the Division II institutions that bolted for Division I several years ago, among them his alma mater, the University of South Dakota. "They're crazy," he says. "My jaw hit the ground when they announced they were going to Division I."
A move to the big leagues costs plenty: A 2005 report found that colleges switching from Division II to Division I spent an average of nearly $4-million more a year on sports, while their revenue increased, on average, by just $2.5-million. But the change affects more than the balance sheet, Mr. Anglin says. "You lose sight. Coaches start recruiting differently, and administrators start thinking about winning and losing differently. At this level," he says of Division II, " ... losing isn't quite as tough to take."
The spaghetti dinner raised $3,100.
9 a.m.: Mr. Buisman has been at his desk for nearly an hour. But the day started even earlier for the softball team, which departed at 4:30 a.m. for an early-morning game 90 minutes up Route 169, in Minneapolis's Metrodome. With indoor facilities at a premium, spring teams like baseball and softball often compete at odd times, when space is available.
The campus radio station, KMSU, wants to talk with Mr. Buisman this morning about a new academic honor for athletes in the Northern Sun Intercollegiate Conference, to which the university belongs.
More than a third of the university's athletes made the dean's list last year, and the grade-point average for all 23 teams was 3.17. The new award honors athletes who are on track to graduate with GPA's of 3.75. Of the 71 athletes in the conference who qualified, 15 are from Minnesota State.
Some athletes here still struggle academically more than others: The wrestling team, for instance, posted a collective GPA of 2.73. There is also a significant gender gap in the athletes' grades. Just three of the 11 men's teams topped 3.0, while all 12 women's teams posted averages of 3.2 or higher.
10:50 a.m.: Charter buses jam the narrow parking lot behind the field house as athletes arrive for the track meet. They have come from all over the upper Midwest—Augustana College (Sioux Falls, S.D.); Upper Iowa University (Fayette, Iowa); Wayne State College (Wayne, Neb.). In-state rivals from Winona State University, St. Cloud State University, and Bemidji State University are also here.
One of the buses will take the university's men's basketball team to Bismarck, N.D., for a game the following day at the University of Mary. The nine-hour trip is the longest the Mavericks will make this season. The players are prepared: After stops at a burrito joint and an ice cream shop, they climb aboard the bus and settle in.
"What movie are we watching?" one asks. "Snakes on a Plane!" comes the reply.
It's a road-trip ritual. "We always say we're going to watch 'Snakes on a Plane' but never do," one player says. With the bus smelling like burritos, they hit the road.
12:15 p.m.: Hockey is king in Minnesota, a natural result of the state's long winters and thousands of lakes. In downtown Mankato, at the city-owned arena where the Mavericks play, pucks thwack against the dasher boards around the rink. The players are doing a midday skate to loosen up before tonight's game against the University of Denver, the top-ranked Division I team. Minnesota State often struggles to hold its own against wealthier opponents, but it has maintained a respectable record: In its 40 years of existence, the program has won just over half of its games.
Being a money-making team does have its benefits. Later that afternoon, back in their clubhouse, the players will eat pasta and, in cushy black-leather chairs, watch on a large-screen television the start of the Olympic hockey game between the United States and Finland. Mr. Backes, the recent alum who now plays for the National Hockey League's St. Louis Blues and is a member of the Olympic squad, is not far from anyone's mind.
3:10 p.m.: The conference track meet is under way. Small packs of lanky runners jog around the track, hurdlers practice their explosive starts off the block, and stocky shot-putters hang around the infield. The stands are packed with parents and athletes in their school colors.
A preliminary heat for the women's mile has just finished, and a runner from Minnesota State, breathing hard, fights back tears. "I don't know what happened," she says to the Mavericks' coach, Jennifer Blue. "My legs just started cramping." She grabs a water bottle and quickly ducks out the back entrance.
Down the hall, the basketball arena is filled with visiting athletes killing time between events, many of them studying, some chattering on their cellphones. Sacks of bagels, oranges, and bananas spill from their piles of gear. Three women from the University of Minnesota at Duluth jog around the upper level. "I feel like I could run forever," one says.
6:10 p.m.: The watering holes near the downtown hockey arena are filling up. Tom Frederick, who owns one of the bars, greets customers as they come in from the cold.
The biggest crowds show up when the Mavericks play host to in-state rivals from the University of Minnesota and St. Cloud State, he says. Tonight, with the nation's top-ranked team in town, the bar is humming but relaxed. "Nobody's driving up from Denver," Mr. Frederick says.
7:30 p.m.: Game time is just minutes away. While the Zambonis smooth the ice, Ashley Schaefer, 4 years old, waits just outside the locker room where the hockey players, hulking in their skates and padded uniforms, are gathering. Ashley sings the national anthem at all of the Mavericks' home games.
"Minute and a half!" barks an assistant coach, minding the time in this carefully orchestrated pregame ritual. Then, "One!"
Purple and gold spotlights sweep the arena as music blasts from the loudspeakers. "And now, the starting lineup for your Minnesota State University Mavericks!" the announcer says. The starters skate to the center and halt with a spray of ice.
The spotlight settles on Ashley, who stands on a red carpet atop the ice, clutching a microphone. Unfazed by the crowd, she belts out the "Star-Spangled Banner," off-key but earnest. The game begins.
8:45 p.m.: Scott R. Olson, the university's provost, is wearing a black hockey jersey. He comes to every home game and often sits with faculty members from the history and Spanish departments.
When the home team scores, tying the game at 1, the arena erupts in cheers. Although the Mavericks will go on to lose, they have helped instill pride in this part of the country.
"In a town like Mankato, this is what we do on Friday night," the provost says. He spreads his arms at the spirited crowd: "Most of these people are community people," he says. "They love living in Mankato because of this."
For a slide show with more photos, click on http://chronicle.com/article/At-Minnesota-State-U-at/64783/.
For the online Chronicle of Higher Education story, click on http://chronicle.com/article/In-College-Sports-How-the/64757/
The Chronicle of Higher Education is the nation's No. 1 source of news, information and jobs for college and university faculty members and administrators. For more Chronicle news, go to http://chronicle.com/section/Home/5/.
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