At this point no one really knows the full story about UNLV starting quarterback Matthew Sluka — or, we should say, former UNLV starting quarterback Matthew Sluka, at least unless things get smoothed out and he potentially returns. There are multiple sides of what may or may not be the “truth.”
Tuesday night, Sluka posted on social media that he would be leaving the 3-0 Rebels because of what appears to be a dispute about money that was promised to him but never paid, at least not in full.
“I committed to UNLV based on certain representations that were made to me, which were not upheld after I enrolled,” Sluka posted on X. “Despite discussions, it became clear that these commitments would not be fulfilled in the future. I wish my teammates the best of luck this season and hope for the continued success of the program.”
Sluka committed to the Rebels after a four-year career at Holy Cross, an FCS school in Worcester, Massachusetts. His father, Bob, told ESPN that NIL agents negotiated a deal with a UNLV collective or booster group but payments never arrived.
Yahoo Sports’ Ross Dellenger reports there was no signed contract between Sluka and the collective. According to sources, a payment of $3,000 was made from the collective to Sluka and discussions were underway over a monthly payment of $3,000.
UNLV released a statement Wednesday afternoon stating that “Sluka’s representatives made financial demands upon the University and its NIL collective in order to continue playing.”
Sluka got off to a fast start at UNLV, throwing for 318 yards and six touchdowns passing, with 253 yards and another score rushing.
Regardless of what’s true and what isn’t, it’s a fascinating development in the modern world of college football.
Let’s try to sort it out.
How does this happen?
Mainly because college athletics won’t recognize players as employees and directly compensate them — let alone allow them to form some semblance of a union and collectively bargain all sorts of provisions that protect both the player and the athletic department.
Instead, Sluka had to make a deal with UNLV boosters, or a collective of boosters, that “officially” has no ties to the school.
As such, in each of these deals, the school has basically outsourced its labor and has to hope the collective comes through as promised. This has blown up at other places, most famously with quarterback Jaden Rashada when he initially committed to Florida after being promised some $13 million only to receive none of it.
At the same time, Sluka is at the mercy of a group that can essentially do as it wishes. Sluka would have the option of civil litigation to protect the terms of a contract, if there is one. But a contract with a university would presumably be more stable. UNLV, after all, isn’t going anywhere. A collective can dissolve in an instant.
The lack of stability and any potential holes in the contract allows for exploitation from both sides. We don’t know the situation here, but hypothetically, if a player plays poorly, the collective could try to find ways to not pay.
Conversely, if the player plays well, he could try to find ways to either hold out in-season and demand more pay, or just shut it down and transfer somewhere else for the following season and get paid even more.
The easy solution here is to make the players employees, but college athletics has fought tooth and nail to avoid that. These are the consequences.
So is this the wild, wild west of NIL?
Definitely. It’s all murky and unstable. It’s frustrating for coaches and players alike. That said, it also isn’t new. For decades players have been promised under-the-table payments by coaches and boosters only to have it fall through or come up short.
Because the deals were under the table, the athletes had virtually no recourse. There was no official contract that could be litigated. And once a player took an initial payment, their eligibility was compromised and they were effectively blackmailed into silence because the NCAA would end their careers if they cried foul publicly.
Here, not only can Sluka go public about his side of the dispute, he actually has options — again, through the courts like any business entity or just walking away and transferring to a new school with a new deal (likely richer) for next season.
This is public, so everyone knows about it. But it’s actually healthier than the old system.
Who is cheating who here?
That’s uncertain, but again, taking it away from this specific situation, it could be either side.
The player deserves whatever he was promised in exchange for his play. If he is fulfilling his side of the deal, then the other side should fulfill their side. That’s contract law 101.
That said, a player in his circumstance could also use a school like UNLV. Coming from Holy Cross, Sluka’s options were likely limited and a Mountain West program — and requisite payment — was the best he could do.
After showing out at this level though, his value on the open market is much higher. His agent should be able to find him a Power Five school that would pay far more for him next season.
In a purely fiduciary way, it would be smart of him to preserve his final year of eligibility by taking a redshirt season (you can play up to four games in football before burning a season) and cashing in later.
That would be a cold move — and comes with the risk of judgement for walking away from a 3-0 team during the season — but within his rights under the current system.
Regardless of who did what or what their motivation was in doing it (or not doing it), this is where college sports is. It’s complicated.
In many ways it is still better than the old system, but until college athletics wants to address the underlying problem and make the players employees, this is going to keep happening.
