Outside of a noticeable amount of Jayhawk headwear and the struggles of the lady seated beside me to defeat a rather elementary sudoku puzzle, my flight from Chicago to Kansas City was unremarkable. 

My chauffeur to Lawrence was a soft-spoken young man about my age. He was a first-generation immigrant from Mexico who had lived in the inner city of Kansas City for the majority of his life. The fifty-minute drive was calm. Before he knew the nature of my stay, I was able to coax him into a rather interesting discussion about politics, fishing, and the simplicity of life in the Great Plains. 

After gaining his trust by recalling fond memories of time on the lake with my grandfather in Indianapolis, I made a risky move. I informed him that not only was I living in Chicago but that I had grown up in California — it was only a minor speed bump in our rapport. Upon learning that I was in town on assignment to cover JBL’s pioneering NIL activation and watch a ranked matchup between basketball blue bloods, our relationship was fully healed. 

He spoke about his love of sports gambling and Kansas City fandoms. When prompted, and perhaps led, by my questioning, he indicated that he felt college athletes should be cut into revenues made by their universities –– in the mind of someone who deeply values tradition, the new world of college sports has not seemed to dissuade interest. 

When I arrived on campus, I was quickly greeted by a sharp pain I had held once before –– regret. If you went to a small school like mine, stepping on campus at KU immediately informs you about what you missed out on: school spirit, a bustling atmosphere, magnificent buildings, and, most importantly, tradition. I have been to many Power 5 campuses; still, none have the lasting impact of Kansas.

A short walk across campus to the student union led me to my destination: a glowing orange van hosting carnival games. JBL Campus, a new initiative from the audio industry titan, had picked up many high-level college athletes on NIL deals to bolster their nationwide influencer marketing campaign. I was scheduled to meet one of the athletes on the JBL Campus’ roster, KJ Adams Jr., a fourth-year standout forward with God-given physical prowess.

In full candor, both the towering KU Basketball standout and the party truck were easy to spot from a distance. Adams, while physically intimidating, carried an incredibly mellow demeanor. Humble and charismatic, Adams was reserved about everything except his confidence in himself and his teammates in the following day’s matchup against the ninth-ranked UNC Tarheels. Our conversation was brief; I respected that he had a job to do, and I was happy to watch him put a smile on the faces of so many who had come to check out the Orange JBL Campus Van.

Last year, Adams’s breakout season was lauded by college basketball savants. However, his more impressive accolades only received recognition in the Kansas community. There is only one institutional award for Kansas Basketball –– the Danny Manning Mr. Jayhawk Award. Bearing the name of the all-time Kansas great, the award is given annually to the most outstanding player. 

According to Coach Self, selecting Adams for the honor was a no-brainer. Even with every starter on the roster earning conference honors, and some even earning national honors, Adam’s character, work ethic, and perseverance through hardship distinguished him from his peers. Last November, only a few games into the season, he lost his mother to cancer. 

His late mother, Yvonne, was a standout basketball player for Texas A&M and is a large part of Adam’s inspiration to play the sport –– throughout his collegiate career, he has worn 24 to pay homage to her. Remarkably, Adams did not miss a game, and his unwavering positive attitude was contagious. 

Casual conversation, photo opportunities, and upbeat vibes helped KJ transform the activation from a fun pop-up to an immersive experience for fans to get unparalleled access to their teams. A steady flow ranging from twenty to forty fans at the bookstore activation kept the JBL team busy. Many participating in the festivities were Kansas students eager to win JBL prizes through carnival-style games and break up time between their classes.

Those who were not students, however, offered a more unique insight. My favorite patron of the day was a child no more than eight years old. The JBL team had rigged an eight-foot high mini-hoop on a man’s back; the backboard displayed the likeness of KJ Adams. Every attendee was allowed three shots to make a basket for a chance to win a prize. Unlike the hordes of twenty-year-olds that came before him, the boy sunk the shot on his first try. The ball may have touched the rim, but I can say definitively that no backboard was used on the fifteen-foot shot. 

The boy eagerly claimed a JBL speaker. The iconic Jayhawk crimson colorway made it a worthy talisman. 

Unfortunately, I did not grow up going to collegiate sporting events. Until I was an upperclassman in high school, the only college sporting event I ever attended was a San Diego State Baseball game with some Little League teammates. La Mesa, soon to be a PAC-12 college town, is far different from the atmosphere in Lawrence. However, that single game between the Aztecs and TCU Horned Frogs remains a core memory of my childhood. 

Running around and exploring a college campus for the first time altered my young perspective. The thirty seconds I spent talking to the Hall of Famer and then San Diego State baseball coach, Tony Gwynn, is burned into my memory –– as is the wonder I felt when watching a college-aged Steven Strasberg gas pitches over 100 MPH, a feat that in the 2000’s held much more weight than it does today, doubly to a ten-year-old aspiring ball player. 

A baseball Tony Gwynn signed for me that day has traveled with me through every chapter of my life. Through many new cities and thousands of miles of travel, the memories and childhood wonder from that day continue to stay with me in that baseball. Seeing the boy who made the mini-hoop shot receive a KJ Adams high-five, conversation, and crimson JBL speaker brought me right back to SDSU.

My brother Eli arrived a bit after me also to check out the NIL spectacle unfolding on campus, “College as advertised, huh?” were the first words he uttered upon our reunion. From one small college man to another, I couldn’t have said it better myself. 

Once KJ had retired from the meet and greet to head off to practice, we also took off, setting our sights on exploring Lawrence. After a quick trip to a local music store and some successful clothing acquisitions from Wild Man Vintage, we looked to embrace the campus culture at The Wheel. 

Every person finds certain things that they believe in. Rules of thumb that govern decision-making. For myself, it is the understanding that the best bars are those located on steep hills. To our disappointment, The Wheel had run out of their Thursday special –– $10 Chicken Fried steaks and two sides. Still, the college town pricing of non-specialty items was quite refreshing to us metropolitans. 

The bar was everything I could ask for, a shrine to Jayhawk athletics and vintage Big Eight mementos. It was quiet; it was a Thursday at 3:00 p.m., after all. However, a souvenir from the JBL van activation was spotted on one of the sparse other patrons. Upon paying the cash-only tab, I overheard him exclaiming about his friend who, like the young boy, had nailed the mini-hoop shot and won a JBL speaker. Word (and brand awareness) travel fast on campus. 

After soaking in the atmosphere of a hillside bar, we returned to the JBL van, still going strong into the afternoon. This time, women’s basketball standout and fellow JBL Campus influencer S’Mya Nichols led the charge. In the late window of the activation, Nichols, like Adams, took pictures with fans, participated in the festivities, and gave Jayhawk fans unrivaled levels of connection to their favorite athletes who often live different and more secluded lives than their on-campus peers. 

What I saw from that activation could not prepare me for the following day.

The morning began with a quick trip to the 18th and Vine neighborhood where my brother and I took in the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, American Jazz Museum, and Kansas City Royals Urban Youth Academy (where a very pleasant security guard did not kick us out for trespassing but instead gave us a full tour of the facility – this reaffirmed the Midwestern charm we had already been feeling). 

After our Kansas City excursion, we set our sights on the site of college basketball lore: Allen Fieldhouse. The forty-minute drive flew by, and the anticipation for the game was at an all-time high. Upon arrival, we saw a hoard of blue and white. Dense and deep, the blue jerseys surrounded the stadium, but upon further inspection, orange could be spotted. In the center of the mob was the JBL van proudly displaying large cut-outs of KJ Adams and comically large headphones to pose with. 

The steady drip of twenty to thirty patrons the previous day had impressed me; my novice eyeball calculation of four hundred simultaneous patrons on gameday shocked me. Yes, admittedly, the strategic positioning of the activation right outside of the Allen Fieldhouse helped… but nobody was required to join in on the fun. 

There we were, standing in the crowd of hundreds of Kansas students, alumni, community fans, and even a couple of UNC supporters, listening to a local DJ, enjoying complimentary hot chocolate, and witnessing many people fail to hit the shot on the mini hoop still tethered to the same man’s back. Some things never change. 

The party raged on until people stumbled into the game minutes before opening tip: games, food, prizes, and most of all, school spirit. 

For those who have never stepped foot in Allen Fieldhouse, please go. I have seen historic basketball arenas. No place is as loud as Allen, and no place has ever given me chills quite like it. The Palestra and Hinkle are special, but Allen is just different. 

Inside the stadium, JBL’s presence did not end. Installed amongst various other companies’ in-stadium sponsorships, JBL was prominently displayed everywhere, including on the jumbotron and scorer’s table. The tried-and-true old-school method of sports sponsorship was on full display; during every replay shown to fans, JBL was within eyeshot. It was powerful and effective placement, but much different than the activation I had just seen.

The game itself did not disappoint. After getting off to a twenty-point first-half lead, predominantly relying on the interior and mid-range scoring abilities of KJ Adams and Hunter Dickinson, Kansas slowly let their front-runner status get chipped away by a very talented UNC team. Selfishly, I was happy to see Allen Fieldhouse rise to its feet in a closely contested game between such iconic programs. 

UNC took the lead with seven minutes left in regulation. The lead continued to exchange over the last moments of the contest. As fate would have it, Kansas held a three-point lead with twelve seconds left on the shot clock. UNC maintained possession and had a chance to tie the game up and gift those around the country tuning in to bonus basketball. Indecisiveness from the Tarheels led to an uncomfortable three point shot at the buzzer – it missed. Allen Fieldhouse erupted.

The game was a spectacle, leaving any and every non-UNC basketball fan with everything they could have asked for. The euphoria took about twenty minutes to subside; at that point, my brother and I were waiting for an Uber, seeking refuge from the rain in the JBL tent next to the orange van. Sitting down, we saw what, based on demeanor and appearance, appeared to be a KU freshman. 

He was walking back with a friend to the dorms; she looked at the activation and inquired, “What is this?” the freshman replied, “This is KJ’s thing.” she looked at him perplexed. He followed up, “Do you not know who KJ Adams is? He is the guy that made all of this happen.” 

Staring at the various cutouts of KJ Adams Jr. around me, I realized that the freshman was largely correct. In this new college sports landscape, companies are incentivized to invest in the athlete inside the jersey, not the logo on it. Adam’s authenticity resonates with people in a way that the Jayhawk logo simply cannot. While the institutional logo is powerful and enduring, the NIL athlete is the short-term engine powering successful brand campaigns. 

If you spend too much time online, you may be tricked into thinking that college sports is falling apart at the seams. You will be beaten down with headlines indicating that the increased commercialization of college athletics has ruined the traditions we had once held so dear and that NIL has bankrupted the purity of athletes and their loyalty to schools and love of the game. 

After spending 48 hours in Kansas, I cannot co-sign that sentiment.