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Law Professor Takes Colleges' Side in Facing Off Against NCAA
By Brad Wolverton
Tuscaloosa, Ala.
His cellphone buzzes, one of 11 calls he will field over the next few hours, as sportswriters around the country look to make sense of the latest NCAA fiasco.
"Five-oh-two," he says, staring at his phone screen. "Where's 502?"
If you aren't in Gene Marsh's address book, chances are you will be soon. The retired law professor at the University of Alabama, who spent much of the past three decades teaching the tedious details of contracts and transactions, has reinvented himself as a go-to resource for colleges and coaches accused of NCAA violations.
A former faculty athletics representative here, Mr. Marsh defended the university in two contentious NCAA disputes. He later served nine years on the NCAA's Division I Committee on Infractions, helping to adjudicate some of college sports' biggest messes.
Four years ago he went into private practice, taking a seat on the other side of the table. Since then he and a colleague, William King, have helped establish one of the country's fastest-growing college-sports practices, at Lightfoot, Franklin & White LLC, a Birmingham, Ala., firm. They have represented some 15 institutions, including the University of Southern California, the University of Michigan, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and Pennsylvania State University, in high-profile cases.
Part of Mr. Marsh's appeal, clients say, is that he is both an insider and an outsider. He views situations through the lens of the faculty, a perspective that college leaders appreciate. During NCAA inquiries, he sits shoulder to shoulder with university officials, offering more than a decade and a half of athletics experience to help clients make their case. People he has worked for say he has a rare ability to connect with others, helped by a sharp sense of humor that often defuses tense situations.
His unconventional career turn has surprised the 62-year-old lawyer himself, who says the only thing he ever wanted to do was teach. Twenty years ago, he was directing the university's Honors College. "Now," he says, "I'm a piano player in a whorehouse."
No Excuses
It was Mr. Marsh's involvement in a 1999 case involving a former assistant basketball coach's attempt to shake money out of boosters for help in landing prized recruits at Alabama that led to his invitation to join the infractions committee.
Mr. Marsh impressed the 10-member group with what several people describe as his thorough, forthright presentation. He walked in, plainly admitted the problems, and refused to make excuses for the coach, recalls David Price, who led the NCAA's enforcement staff at the time.
"If it's a lay-down, just treat it like a lay-down. ... Say you did it, and shut up," Mr. Marsh says with his characteristic bluntness. "It's redeeming to the soul to admit when you've screwed up."
His straight talk wasn't the only thing colleagues appreciated. Mr. Marsh often read and reread case materials, which can number in the thousands of pages, filling his yellow legal pads with elaborate notes and timelines.
During his time on the committee, which he chaired from 2004 to 2006, Mr. Marsh had a penchant for drawing out from volumes of material the one or two essential references that became crucial to a case, several colleagues recall.
Although he had little patience for long-winded lawyers ("We don't need to listen to the billable-hour meter ticking"), he says he tried to give colleges as fair a shake as possible. But he acknowledges that few people ever see the process as equitable.
Thomas E. Yeager, longtime commissioner of the Colonial Athletic Association, says Mr. Marsh was the rare committee colleague to display both compassion and toughness.
"I've seen him disarm the most aggressive coach," says Mr. Yeager, who now considers Mr. Marsh a friend. "I've also seen him go straight up with some high-powered attorneys and just blow them away."
Infractions hearings are secretive, dead-serious affairs, but Mr. Marsh did his best to lighten the mood among colleagues. After years of hearing the same canned opening remarks from college leaders, he came up with a game to help pass the time, calling it "presidential bingo." He made up cards and handed them out to the committee, including typical phrases that leaders used to describe their situations. No one ever played the game in a hearing, but he recalls one line coming up like clockwork: "You'll never see us here again."
A Teaching Career
The first in his family to attend college, Mr. Marsh earned his bachelor's and master's degrees in agricultural economics from Ohio State University before completing his law degree at Washington and Lee University. The first day he walked into a law class, he says, he knew he wanted to teach. Over his 28-year career at Alabama, he won two university teaching awards. He still lectures once a week as an adjunct.
One day in February, Mr. Marsh strides into his sports-law class, eager to discuss the latest NCAA fallout. Just hours before, the association released a report detailing ethical lapses in its investigation of the University of Miami.
Standing in front of several dozen second- and third-year law students, he boils the story down to its essence. The NCAA just fired Julie Roe Lach, its chief of enforcement, over some serious errors in judgment, including failing to keep watch over a wayward employee.
"Inadequate oversight, not watching your lieutenant—these are the same things they've used in busting the chops of people on campus for years," Mr. Marsh tells his students. He should know: Of the dozen or so major infractions cases fully presented in the class's textbook, he had helped rule on most of those decisions.
After class ends, Mr. Marsh says the 52-page NCAA report describes only a small fraction of the association's enforcement problems. "There's never been a time when they're under more fire," he says.
He won't go into detail about Penn State because of pending litigation, but he bristles at how the NCAA treated the university following the Jerry Sandusky scandal, failing to conduct its own investigation yet issuing a $60-million fine and four-year bowl ban. (He helped negotiate Penn State's consent decree with the association, describing it in an ESPN The Magazine article as "the NCAA equivalent of a cram-down.")
Mr. Marsh emphasizes that he has worked with many accomplished enforcement representatives, but says he is troubled by some staffers' presumptions about the guilt of people they investigate, and by the lack of experience that some have on the job.
"They're intense, they're gritting their teeth, you can just feel how supremely sure they are that the person they are dealing with is a crook," he says. "Some of these young enforcement reps have already picked out the spot on their den wall and put a nail in the stud where they're going to hang the head of your client."
In the Miami case, Ameen Najjar, a former NCAA investigator, reportedly went behind his bosses' backs to pay the lawyer of Nevin Shapiro to gather testimony from a bankruptcy hearing unrelated to the NCAA's case. (Mr. Shapiro is the convicted Ponzi-scheme operator accused of making tens of thousands of dollars in impermissible payments to Hurricanes players.)
The incident illustrates how powerless some NCAA investigators feel, in part because of their lack of subpoena power. Mr. Marsh believes those investigators need to accept the limits of their reach.
He's also a proponent of bringing in a more-experienced, better-paid staff. In one interview he sat in on, an NCAA representative came in with a long list of questions for a player. He went through them one by one, rarely following up. At one point, the athlete mentioned that a coach had taught all of his classes during his senior year of high school.
"I felt the air go out of my lungs," says Mr. Marsh. "I was stunned."
But the investigator moved along without raising any concerns. "He had no ability to think on his feet," he says. "It never even clicked with the guy."
Mr. Marsh says he doesn't have any big ideas for fixing enforcement flaws. Mark Emmert, the NCAA's president, has proposed an oversight body that would watch over investigators, and has called for a more thorough examination of the process. Others say an outside group should take over.
As with many things, Mr. Marsh views the situation through his own peculiar prism. He points out that near the end of Animal House—a movie he's fond of quoting—the Kevin Bacon character stands on the sidewalk urging everyone to "remain calm." People at the NCAA should follow that advice in the face of all withering criticism, Mr. Marsh says. "They will change what needs to be changed, then proceed."
"Of course," he adds, "Kevin Bacon then got run over by the stampeding mob, so we'll see."
By Brad Wolverton
Tuscaloosa, Ala.
His cellphone buzzes, one of 11 calls he will field over the next few hours, as sportswriters around the country look to make sense of the latest NCAA fiasco.
"Five-oh-two," he says, staring at his phone screen. "Where's 502?"
If you aren't in Gene Marsh's address book, chances are you will be soon. The retired law professor at the University of Alabama, who spent much of the past three decades teaching the tedious details of contracts and transactions, has reinvented himself as a go-to resource for colleges and coaches accused of NCAA violations.
A former faculty athletics representative here, Mr. Marsh defended the university in two contentious NCAA disputes. He later served nine years on the NCAA's Division I Committee on Infractions, helping to adjudicate some of college sports' biggest messes.
Four years ago he went into private practice, taking a seat on the other side of the table. Since then he and a colleague, William King, have helped establish one of the country's fastest-growing college-sports practices, at Lightfoot, Franklin & White LLC, a Birmingham, Ala., firm. They have represented some 15 institutions, including the University of Southern California, the University of Michigan, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and Pennsylvania State University, in high-profile cases.
Part of Mr. Marsh's appeal, clients say, is that he is both an insider and an outsider. He views situations through the lens of the faculty, a perspective that college leaders appreciate. During NCAA inquiries, he sits shoulder to shoulder with university officials, offering more than a decade and a half of athletics experience to help clients make their case. People he has worked for say he has a rare ability to connect with others, helped by a sharp sense of humor that often defuses tense situations.
His unconventional career turn has surprised the 62-year-old lawyer himself, who says the only thing he ever wanted to do was teach. Twenty years ago, he was directing the university's Honors College. "Now," he says, "I'm a piano player in a whorehouse."
No Excuses
It was Mr. Marsh's involvement in a 1999 case involving a former assistant basketball coach's attempt to shake money out of boosters for help in landing prized recruits at Alabama that led to his invitation to join the infractions committee.
Mr. Marsh impressed the 10-member group with what several people describe as his thorough, forthright presentation. He walked in, plainly admitted the problems, and refused to make excuses for the coach, recalls David Price, who led the NCAA's enforcement staff at the time.
"If it's a lay-down, just treat it like a lay-down. ... Say you did it, and shut up," Mr. Marsh says with his characteristic bluntness. "It's redeeming to the soul to admit when you've screwed up."
His straight talk wasn't the only thing colleagues appreciated. Mr. Marsh often read and reread case materials, which can number in the thousands of pages, filling his yellow legal pads with elaborate notes and timelines.
During his time on the committee, which he chaired from 2004 to 2006, Mr. Marsh had a penchant for drawing out from volumes of material the one or two essential references that became crucial to a case, several colleagues recall.
Although he had little patience for long-winded lawyers ("We don't need to listen to the billable-hour meter ticking"), he says he tried to give colleges as fair a shake as possible. But he acknowledges that few people ever see the process as equitable.
Thomas E. Yeager, longtime commissioner of the Colonial Athletic Association, says Mr. Marsh was the rare committee colleague to display both compassion and toughness.
"I've seen him disarm the most aggressive coach," says Mr. Yeager, who now considers Mr. Marsh a friend. "I've also seen him go straight up with some high-powered attorneys and just blow them away."
Infractions hearings are secretive, dead-serious affairs, but Mr. Marsh did his best to lighten the mood among colleagues. After years of hearing the same canned opening remarks from college leaders, he came up with a game to help pass the time, calling it "presidential bingo." He made up cards and handed them out to the committee, including typical phrases that leaders used to describe their situations. No one ever played the game in a hearing, but he recalls one line coming up like clockwork: "You'll never see us here again."
A Teaching Career
The first in his family to attend college, Mr. Marsh earned his bachelor's and master's degrees in agricultural economics from Ohio State University before completing his law degree at Washington and Lee University. The first day he walked into a law class, he says, he knew he wanted to teach. Over his 28-year career at Alabama, he won two university teaching awards. He still lectures once a week as an adjunct.
One day in February, Mr. Marsh strides into his sports-law class, eager to discuss the latest NCAA fallout. Just hours before, the association released a report detailing ethical lapses in its investigation of the University of Miami.
Standing in front of several dozen second- and third-year law students, he boils the story down to its essence. The NCAA just fired Julie Roe Lach, its chief of enforcement, over some serious errors in judgment, including failing to keep watch over a wayward employee.
"Inadequate oversight, not watching your lieutenant—these are the same things they've used in busting the chops of people on campus for years," Mr. Marsh tells his students. He should know: Of the dozen or so major infractions cases fully presented in the class's textbook, he had helped rule on most of those decisions.
After class ends, Mr. Marsh says the 52-page NCAA report describes only a small fraction of the association's enforcement problems. "There's never been a time when they're under more fire," he says.
He won't go into detail about Penn State because of pending litigation, but he bristles at how the NCAA treated the university following the Jerry Sandusky scandal, failing to conduct its own investigation yet issuing a $60-million fine and four-year bowl ban. (He helped negotiate Penn State's consent decree with the association, describing it in an ESPN The Magazine article as "the NCAA equivalent of a cram-down.")
Mr. Marsh emphasizes that he has worked with many accomplished enforcement representatives, but says he is troubled by some staffers' presumptions about the guilt of people they investigate, and by the lack of experience that some have on the job.
"They're intense, they're gritting their teeth, you can just feel how supremely sure they are that the person they are dealing with is a crook," he says. "Some of these young enforcement reps have already picked out the spot on their den wall and put a nail in the stud where they're going to hang the head of your client."
In the Miami case, Ameen Najjar, a former NCAA investigator, reportedly went behind his bosses' backs to pay the lawyer of Nevin Shapiro to gather testimony from a bankruptcy hearing unrelated to the NCAA's case. (Mr. Shapiro is the convicted Ponzi-scheme operator accused of making tens of thousands of dollars in impermissible payments to Hurricanes players.)
The incident illustrates how powerless some NCAA investigators feel, in part because of their lack of subpoena power. Mr. Marsh believes those investigators need to accept the limits of their reach.
He's also a proponent of bringing in a more-experienced, better-paid staff. In one interview he sat in on, an NCAA representative came in with a long list of questions for a player. He went through them one by one, rarely following up. At one point, the athlete mentioned that a coach had taught all of his classes during his senior year of high school.
"I felt the air go out of my lungs," says Mr. Marsh. "I was stunned."
But the investigator moved along without raising any concerns. "He had no ability to think on his feet," he says. "It never even clicked with the guy."
Mr. Marsh says he doesn't have any big ideas for fixing enforcement flaws. Mark Emmert, the NCAA's president, has proposed an oversight body that would watch over investigators, and has called for a more thorough examination of the process. Others say an outside group should take over.
As with many things, Mr. Marsh views the situation through his own peculiar prism. He points out that near the end of Animal House—a movie he's fond of quoting—the Kevin Bacon character stands on the sidewalk urging everyone to "remain calm." People at the NCAA should follow that advice in the face of all withering criticism, Mr. Marsh says. "They will change what needs to be changed, then proceed."
"Of course," he adds, "Kevin Bacon then got run over by the stampeding mob, so we'll see."
