The honest truth about dishonesty in college athletics is that it’s not an anomaly; it’s a tactic.
A little over a decade ago, Duke professor Dan Ariely published The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty, a bestselling book exploring the small ways people cheat—and how they rationalize it. But in a cruel twist, Ariely’s work was recently discredited after it was revealed that key data in the book were fabricated.
In most higher education corners, this ethical breach leads to professional exile. But cheating is often just a detour on the road to promotion in college athletics.
Connor Stallions, then a member of the Michigan football staff, photographed on the sidelines of the Sept 1. 2023 Michigan State-Central Michigan game. Stallions and Jim Harbaugh’s UM football program engaged in sign-stealing (photo, Lansing State Journal)
Nowhere is this more apparent than in the bloated bureaucracies of NCAA sports. Under the doctrine of “institutional control,” athletic departments are tasked with upholding the values of the universities they represent. That’s the theory. In practice, many schools pour two to three times more into sports administration than into scholarships—some spending upwards of $30 million on compliance and oversight alone. With that kind of investment, one might expect rigorous rules enforcement. But the reality? College athletics is a system where ethical lines blur, and cheating isn’t punished—it’s normalized.
I conducted a small but revealing survey in 2023 to gauge how bad things are. I asked 50 Division I college golf coaches four straightforward questions, and thirty-nine responded. Here’s what they said:
Do you believe there is cheating in college golf? 100% yes.
Do you have faith that reporting a transgression would trigger a proper investigation? 32% yes.
Do coaches fear reprisals for speaking up? 20% yes.
Would your administration support you if you reported a fellow coach? 85% yes
These numbers are damning. Two-thirds of coaches doubt the reporting process works. One in five fears retaliation for doing the right thing. And nearly as many question whether their institutions have their backs.
Photo courtesy Augusta University
Several coaches brought up the 2023 Golf Coaches Association of America Hall of Fame class as a prime example of this ethical erosion. One inductee, Josh Gregory, had previously been penalized for 64 impermissible recruiting contacts with prospects and their families between 2012 and 2013. The NCAA gave him a four-year show-cause penalty—essentially a ban from coaching. Yet a decade later, he was honored with a Hall of Fame induction.
Somewhere, Pete Rose is shaking his head.
These contradictions cut to the heart of higher education’s mission. Colleges are supposed to prepare students for the real world—a world that demands good judgment, moral clarity, and resilience. Instead, we’re teaching student-athletes that power excuses misconduct and that cheating is tolerated and rewarded.
In law, we trust precedent—stare decisis—to guide future judgments. Tarkanian v. NCAA (1988) established that schools bear the burden of institutional control in NCAA governance. However, the data from 2023 suggests that the model has failed. If the people responsible for oversight are unwilling—or unable—to enforce the rules, what exactly are they controlling?
Dan Ariely may never work in academia again, and perhaps he shouldn’t. But the coaches who cheat in plain sight? They get second chances, new jobs, and even Hall of Fame plaques. This isn’t just hypocrisy. It’s a systemic failure. And if it’s happening in college golf—the least scrutinized of NCAA sports—what do we imagine is happening in football and basketball?
The honest truth about dishonesty in college athletics is this: It’s not an anomaly; it’s a tactic. And for too many in charge, it’s working precisely as intended.
