Not since the days of the Four Horsemen has Old Man Money run so rampant on the nation's football gridirons. As the turnstiles click out the greatest attendance record in history, coaches, college fathers and alumni are keeping cars tuned to the future of dear old Siwash, its pigskin stalwarts and the stadium mortgage. As is invariably the case with many Universities that over-emphasize the fall sport, most everyone has a finger in the glorious November bonanza; the lesser sports survive because 50,000 partisans watch the classic tussle with Toothpaste Tech and pay well for the privilege; fresh-water deans rarely overlook the essential value of such a "well-rounded athletic program." Everyone waves the banner except the stalwarts themselves, who are too busy nudging Minnesota tackles, or dodging the flying tackles and clips of the rival eleven. In great parts of the country, these players are paid well for their efforts, while Athletic Secretaries and Alumni apologists wring tears from eyes, just a mite skeptical over a goldmine on the gridiron.

And well they might be. When Charley Trippi, a great back from Georgia University, got his premature discharge from the Armed Forces, non-triple-threat G.I.'s threatened Congressional investigations. But when Trippi rejected a handful of attractive offers from the avowedly professional National Football League to return to college, it was accepted as the routine gravitation of talent to its most lucrative zone of operations. The Southeast Conference makes no bones about its over-the-counter football. Athletic scholarships are officially licensed, as is expense money, known affectionately within the trade as "B.T.R.", (board, room, tuition). B.T.R. may well put the city pros out of business, especially if many more Trippi incidents bring the market out into the open.

Nowhere else in the country are activities so open and patently commercialized. The colleges in the southwest (Texas) Conference have strict rules against proselytizing ballplayers. They have rules against dubious employment for athletes. But lettermen still go their quiet way, sweeping down the chapel steps, waking the dean, winding the steeple clock. A prominent Oklahoma coach recently told the press that the members of his squad were making more money than he was. The college coach who is better paid than his college president is not the rarity that was. But the story of the western halfback who was injured and forced to leave school when the college stopped payment of his salary is the final commentary on what goes on in the guise of Education.

Three Leagues have tried to meet the menace half-way. The Big Ten allows no outright purchase of talent; neither does it allow part-time "jobs". But there is nothing short of a Commissar who can stop interested alumni from assuring Glutz, the promising blocking-back, that coffee, cakes and liniment will be no problem at the U. The Pacific Coast Conference, under minor Czar Warren Atherton, has a stringent rule forbidding even such Alumni dalliance with high-school seniors. While the spirit of the coast authorities is willing, the flesh is relatvely weak; enforcement of this laudable stand lacks the same enthusiasm evinced by high-power alumni.

A fair combination of strict rulings and effective cooperation with the rules appears in many quarters of the Ivy League. While the country goes slightly haywire over its football, it might be wise to draw up just a bit and observe that the halfback who fumbles over at Soldiers Field doesn't watch his college career bound crazily out of his control.