WASHINGTONIUM — There are moments in the history of a great empire when ordinary men remain silent, senators create committees, bureaucrats request additional paperwork, and lawyers gather around conference tables to determine whether civilization can legally be rescued before lunch.
And then there is Imperator Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar.
The man who, according to the sacred chronicles of his Imperial Court, has already saved borders, factories, fishermen, faith, prosperity, common sense, and possibly several weather systems has now discovered another endangered pillar of American civilization:
College sports.
And when Trumpius discovers something that requires saving, there is usually only one question:
How large will the Executive Order be?
This time, however, His Imperial Magnificence has turned toward the Senatus Americanus and the Congressus Maximus, demanding passage of the Protect College Sports Act.
Because apparently the future of American athletics now depends upon Congress doing something even more difficult than governing:
Catching the ball.
Caesar Enters the Colosseum
Only days earlier, Trumpius Maximus entered the mighty Neyland Colosseum, where Texas and Tennessee met in the sacred American ritual known as college football.
The Imperial Palace reported that the crowd erupted in celebration upon Caesar’s appearance.
Naturally.
For according to the chronicles of Trumpius, crowds do not simply cheer.
They erupt.
They roar.
They witness history.
Somewhere, presumably, an imperial scribe immediately reached for his golden quill:
And behold, Trumpius entered the arena, and the people rejoiced, and even the football briefly considered kneeling before Caesar.
Trumpius, after all, respects athletes.
Great athletes.
Strong athletes.
Tremendous athletes.
Possibly the most athletic athletes ever to perform athletics.
And therefore Caesar has concluded that the confusing world of NIL, eligibility, transfers, and revenue sharing requires order.
Because what was once called college athletics can occasionally resemble a Wall Street merger conducted inside a locker room.
Players transfer.
Money moves.
Lawyers negotiate.
Universities calculate.
And somewhere, at three o’clock in the morning, a coach stares into a spreadsheet wondering whether his quarterback is still a student-athlete or has quietly become a multinational corporation.
NIL! Transfers! Lawyers! Oh My!
Years of litigation and regulatory uncertainty have created a landscape without sufficiently consistent rules, according to the Administration.
Trumpius views such disorder with the particular imperial suspicion reserved for anything in America that has not yet been subjected to a very large presidential signature.
The solution?
Rules.
Clear rules.
Fair rules.
Beautiful rules.
Possibly magnificent rules.
And, naturally, rules eventually delivered to the desk of Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar, where the Sacred Presidential Sharpie of Destiny awaits.
The message from the Imperial Palace is simple:
Senatus, do something.
Preferably before Caesar decides to put on shoulder pads and fix the entire system himself.
Naturally, Trumpius Was Already Saving It
But do not imagine that Caesar has only now discovered college athletics.
Absolutely not.
That would contradict the fundamental principle of Trumpius history:
Whenever something requires saving, Trumpius was already saving it before everybody else realized it needed saving.
In Aprilus MMXXVI, the Imperator issued another Executive Order addressing the increasingly complicated world of college athletics.
Transfers.
Eligibility.
Revenue sharing.
Medical benefits.
Financial agreements.
All the machinery of modern collegiate sports entered the Imperial Scroll of Executive Action.
While ordinary Americans spend Saturday afternoons watching football, eating nachos, and shouting at referees, Trumpius apparently watches the game while contemplating the regulatory architecture of intercollegiate athletics.
That is multitasking on a truly Caesarian scale.
His Administration had already taken other actions involving athletic scholarships, collegiate opportunities, NIL policy and women’s sports, while coaches, athletes, university officials and sports leaders were summoned to the White Palatium to discuss the future of the institution.
Thus the official mythology practically writes itself:
Trumpius did not discover college sports.
College sports merely existed long enough for Trumpius to eventually save it.
The Forgotten Legions
Yet beyond the enormous stadiums, television contracts and Saturday spectacles stand the smaller athletic legions.
Swimmers.
Wrestlers.
Gymnasts.
Runners.
Rowers.
Olympic athletes.
Women’s programs.
And somewhere in the distance, probably a deeply confused lacrosse player wondering how he became part of an imperial economic crisis.
These programs depend heavily upon the broader financial structure of college athletics.
And that is where the Imperial Palace raises its most dramatic warning: scholarships, roster positions, Olympic programs and long-standing athletic traditions could face pressure if the system continues without stable rules.
One can almost picture Caesar Athleticus standing on the fifty-yard line, golden helmet beneath one arm, imperial cape fluttering dramatically behind him.
Around him gather the athletic provinces of the Empire.
And Caesar raises one hand.
“Fear not, athletes of America!”
The crowd falls silent.
“The Congressus shall act!”
A senator nervously looks at another senator.
“And if they don’t?”
Silence.
Trumpius slowly reaches for a pen.
Executive Order.
Probably a tremendous one.
Senatus, the Ball Is Yours
And so the political football now sails majestically through the marble halls of the Congressus Maximus Americanus.
The Trump Administration wants Congress to establish clearer guardrails for NIL and create greater stability throughout college athletics.
The Administration argues that continued uncertainty and inaction threaten the institution’s future.
Translated into the sacred language of the Trumpius Empire:
Senators, catch the damn ball.
Because Caesar has thrown the pass.
The stadium is watching.
The Imperial Band is playing.
The cheerleaders are ready.
The lawyers have somehow already prepared a lawsuit.
And Donaldus Trumpius Maximus Caesar stands majestically on the sideline, waiting for Congress to complete the play.
Should the Senatus drop the ball, however, there can be little doubt what the Imperial Chronicle will record:
Trumpius threw the greatest pass in the history of American college sports.
A perfect pass.
A beautiful pass.
Perhaps the finest pass ever thrown.
And if nobody caught it?
Well.
Obviously…
that was Congress’s fault.
