How Kids’
Sports Became a $15 Billion Industry
Aug 23, 2017
Joey Erace knocks pitch after pitch
into the netting of his $15,000 backyard batting cage, the pings from his metal
bat filling the air in the south New Jersey cul-de-sac. His private hitting
coach, who's charging $100 for this hour-long session, tells Joey to shorten
his stride. He's accustomed to such focused instruction: the evening batting
practice followed a one-on-one fielding lesson in Philadelphia earlier in the
day, which cost another $100.
Relentless training is essential for a
top player who suits up for nationally ranked teams based in Texas and
California, thousands of miles from home. But Joey has talents that scouts
covet, including lightning quickness with a rare knack for making slight
adjustments at the plate--lowering a shoulder angle, turning a hip--to drive
the ball. "He has a real swagger," says Joey's hitting coach, Dan
Hennigan, a former minor leaguer. "As long as he keeps putting in this work,
he's going to be a really, really solid baseball player at a really, really
high level."
Already, Joey has a neon-ready
nickname--Joey Baseball--and more than 24,000 followers on Instagram. Jewelry
and apparel companies have asked him to hawk their stuff. On a rare family
vacation in Florida, a boy approached Joey in a restaurant and asked for his
autograph. But Joey Baseball has yet to learn cursive. He is, after all, only
10 years old. They snapped a picture instead.
Joey Erace is an extreme example of
what has become a new reality for America's aspiring young athletes and their
families. Across the nation, kids of all skill levels, in virtually every team
sport, are getting swept up by a youth-sports economy that increasingly
resembles the pros at increasingly early ages. Neighborhood Little Leagues,
town soccer associations and church basketball squads that bonded kids in a
community--and didn't cost as much as a rent check--have largely lost their
luster. Little League participation, for example, is down 20% from its
turn-of-the-century peak. These local leagues have been nudged aside by private
club teams, a loosely governed constellation that includes everything from
development academies affiliated with professional sports franchises to
regional squads run by moonlighting coaches with little experience. The most
competitive teams vie for talent and travel to national tournaments. Others are
elite in name only, siphoning expensive participation fees from parents of kids
with little hope of making the high school varsity, let alone the pros.
The cost for parents is steep. At the
high end, families can spend more than 10% of their income on registration
fees, travel, camps and equipment. Joe Erace, who owns a salon and spas in New
Jersey and Pennsylvania, says Joey's budding baseball career has cost north of
$30,000. A volleyball dad from upstate New York spent $20,000 one year on his
daughter's club team, including plenty on gas: up to four nights a week she
commuted 2½ hours round-trip for practice, not getting home until 11:30 p.m.
That pales beside one Springfield, Mo., mom, who this summer regularly made a
seven-hour round-trip journey to ferry her 10- and 11-year-old sons to travel
basketball practice. Others hand their children over entirely. A family from
Ottawa sent their 13-year-old to New Jersey for a year, to increase his ice
time on the travel hockey circuit. A sponsor paid the teen's $25,000
private-school tuition. This summer, 10 boys from across the U.S. stayed with
host families in order to play for a St. Louis--based travel baseball club.
"It's definitely taken over
everything," says Magali Sanchez, a legal records clerk from San Diego
whose daughter Melanie Barcenas, 9, and son Xzavier Barcenas, 8, play travel
soccer. To help pay for their fees, Sanchez's husband Carlos, a gas-station
attendant, will spend 12 hours on a Saturday carting supplies at tournaments.
Practice and tournaments overtake nights and weekends like kudzu--Sanchez says
they often have to skip family weddings and kids' birthday parties. "This
sports lifestyle is crazy," she says. "But they're your kids. You do
anything for them."
A range of private businesses are
mining this deep, do-anything parental love. The U.S. youth-sports
economy--which includes everything from travel to private coaching to apps that
organize leagues and livestream games--is now a $15.3 billion market, according
to WinterGreen Research, a private firm that tracks the industry. And the pot
is rapidly getting bigger. According to figures that WinterGreen provided
exclusively to TIME, the nation's youth-sports industry has grown by 55% since
2010.
The numbers have been catnip for
investors. A top NBA star and the billionaire owner of the NFL's most valuable
team own equity in youth-sports startups. Major media and retail companies are
investing in technology that manages peewee schedules. And municipalities that
once vied for minor-league teams are now banking on youth sports to boost local
economies, issuing bonds for lavish complexes that they hope will lure
glove-toting tykes and their families.
There are upsides to the frenzy. Some
kids thrive off intense competition, and the best players receive an
unprecedented level of coaching and training. The travel circuit can also bring
people of different backgrounds together in a way that local leagues by
definition do not.
But as community-based teams give way
to a more mercenary approach, it's worth asking what's lost in the process.
Already, there are worrying signs. A growing body of research shows that
intense early specialization in a single sport increases the risk of injury,
burnout and depression. Fees and travel costs are pricing out lower-income
families. Some kids who don't show talent at a young age are discouraged from
ever participating in organized sports. Those who do often chase scholarships
they have a minuscule chance of earning.
"For better or worse, youth sports
is being privatized," says Jordan Fliegel, an entrepreneur who has
capitalized on the shift. Whatever the answer is, the transition has been
seismic, with implications for small towns, big businesses and millions of
families.
“I love working hard,”
says Joey Erace, 10, who lives in southern New Jersey but has suited up for
baseball teams based in California and Texas. His Instagram account
@joeybaseball12 has more than 24,000 followers.
The United States Specialty Sports Association, or
USSSA, is a nonprofit with 501(c)(4) status, a designation for organizations
that promote social welfare. According to its most recent available IRS
filings, it generated $13.7 million in revenue in 2015, and the CEO received $831,200
in compensation. The group holds tournaments across the nation, and it ranks
youth teams in basketball, baseball and softball. The softball rankings begin
with teams age 6 and under. Baseball starts at age 4.
Entering June, Joey Erace's Dallas-area
team, the Texas Bombers, was third in the USSSA's 10-and-under baseball power
ranking. The Alamo (Texas) Drillers were No. 1. This summer, Luke Martinez, 10,
played second base for the Drillers. His family lives in a well-appointed
mobile home in south San Antonio. Luke's mom Nalone cooks for a food truck.
Luke's dad Jerry is a logistics coordinator at a printer and copier company. He
works overtime whenever possible to save for Luke's frequent overnight trips
across Texas and to Louisiana, North Carolina and Florida. The family has
skipped car payments and put off home repairs to help.
Like millions of sports parents, the
Martinezes hope that Luke's quick bat will lead to a college scholarship. There
may be no single factor driving the professionalization of youth sports more
than the dream of free college. With the cost of higher education
skyrocketing--and athletic-department budgets swelling--NCAA schools now hand
out $3 billion in scholarships a year. "That's a lot of chum to throw into
youth sports," says Tom Farrey, executive director of the Aspen
Institute's Sports & Society program. "It makes the fish a little bit
crazy."
The odds are not in anyone's favor.
Only 2% of high school athletes go on to play at the top level of college
sports, the NCAA's Division I. For most, a savings account makes more sense
than private coaching. "I've seen parents spend a couple of hundred
thousand dollars pursuing a college scholarship," says Travis Dorsch,
founding director of the Families in Sport Lab at Utah State University.
"They could have set it aside for the damn college."
Still, the scholarship chase trickles
down to every level. College coaches are now courting middle-schoolers, and
competitive high school teams scout the club ranks. In some places, travel
teams have supplanted high school squads as the priority for top players. Kids
learn early that it's imperative to attend travel tournaments--and impress.
Katherine Sinclair, 12, has played basketball games in Philadelphia and New York
City on the same day, but she embraces the grind. "I don't have that long
until I'm in eighth grade," she says. "That's when college scouts
start looking at me. It's when I have to work my butt off."
The Internet has emerged as a key
middleman, equal parts sorting mechanism and hype machine. For virtually every
sport, there is a site offering scouting reports and rankings. Want to know the
top 15-and-under girls' volleyball teams? PrepVolleyball.com has you covered
(for a subscription starting at $37.95 per year). The basketball site
middleschoolelite.com evaluates kids as young as 7 with no regard for
hyperbole: a second-grader from Georgia is "a man among boys with his
mind-set and skill set"; a third-grader from Ohio is
"pro-bound."
Social-media-savvy parents now build
Twitter and Instagram feeds around their young athletes. One such account calls
itself "a brand inspired by my 11 yr old son's unique style and attitude
on and off the Baseball Field."
Children sense that the stakes are
rising. In a 2016 study published in the journal Family Relations, Dorsch and
his colleagues found that the more money families pour into youth sports, the
more pressure their kids feel--and the less they enjoy and feel committed to
their sport.
Even well-meaning parents, meanwhile,
can find themselves swept up. "You say to yourself, Am I keeping up?"
says Rosemary Brewer, a nonprofit executive in Portland, Ore., who has mixed
feelings about placing her two sons, 11 and 15, on travel lacrosse teams.
"There's pressure, especially if your kids have some talent. You feel it a
little more. But we want the kids to have fun and be with their friends. We
have to take a step back and keep asking ourselves, What's the end goal?"
This parenting experience is new, given
that the hypercharged kids' sports scene didn't exist on this scale just a few
years ago. "When parents enter the youth-sports development complex,
they're naive," says sports psychologist Jim Taylor. "They absorb the
message they hear most: 'You mean, your kid's not playing on a travel team?
She's not playing all the time? What's wrong?'" Taylor, who's writing a
book about youth-sports parenting, has two daughters, 12 and 10, who ski and
swim. "It's hard not to get sucked in," he says. "Even for someone
like myself, a quote-unquote expert on this stuff. Because I'm human. I'm a
dad."
King-Riley Owens, 9, who
is ranked as a five-star prospect by the National Youth Basketball Report,
lives in L.A. but has already played in tournaments in Utah, Texas and Nevada.
His parents have used GoFundMe to help pay for the travel. If the NBA doesn’t
work out, King-Riley wants to be a veterinarian.
There are few better places to take the measure of
the youth-sports industrial complex than the Star, the gleaming, 91-acre, $1.5
billion new headquarters and practice facility of the Dallas Cowboys. Turn left
upon entering the building and you'll find the offices of Blue Star Sports, a
firm that has raised more than $200 million since April 2016 to acquire 18
companies that do things like process payments for club teams, offer
performance analytics for seventh-grade hoops games and provide digital social
platforms for young athletes.
Blue Star's investors include Bain
Capital; 32 Equity, the investment arm of the NFL; and Cowboys owner Jerry
Jones, who leases Blue Star space in his headquarters. The company's goal is to
dominate all aspects of the youth-sports market, and it uses an affiliation
with the pros to help. Blue Star's logo bears a not-coincidental resemblance to
the one seen on national TV every Sunday, and the company's conference room has
a view of the Jones family boardroom. The connection is clear for kids and
investors alike.
Other major companies have also entered
the fray. The national retailer Dick's Sporting
Goods has acquired companies that specialize in online scheduling
and score tracking for youth sports. Last year NBC bought Sport Ngin, a
scheduling and social app that had raised $39 million in venture funding, and
rechristened it SportsEngine. In August, SportsEngine launched a searchable
directory of more than 100,000 youth-sports camps, teams and leagues. Time
Inc., TIME's parent company, launched Sports Illustrated Play after acquiring three
youth-sports-software startups. SI Play's apps now have 17 million monthly
unique users. In the past 18 months, investors have plowed over $1 billion into
the youth-sports market, according to SI Play CEO Jeff Karp.
The boom has given rise to countless
entrepreneurial efforts, from new facilities to recruiting sites to
private-coaching outfits. Even during the depths of the Great Recession,
revenue for Travel Team USA, a company that books youth-sports travel,
continued to double year over year. In 2012, entrepreneur Fliegel launched
CoachUp, an app that connects young athletes with coaches. The NBA star Stephen
Curry is an investor. "It doesn't hurt to say Steph's one of the
bosses," says Victor Hall, a New York City teacher and coach who calls the
private hoops lessons he offers through the app a "thriving" side
business.
Across the U.S., the rise in travel
teams has led to the kind of facilities arms race once reserved for big
colleges and the pros. Cities and towns are using tax money to build or incentivize
play-and-stay mega-complexes, betting that the influx of visitors will lift the
local economy.
That was the thinking in Westfield,
Ind., which was hunting for ways to expand the commercial tax base of the small
city some 20 miles north of downtown Indianapolis. "We wondered, Is it
conceivable to create an industry around family travel sports?" says mayor
Andy Cook. Concluding that it was, Westfield issued $70 million in bonds to
build Grand Park Sports Campus, a 400-acre complex that opened in 2014 and
includes 31 grass and synthetic fields for soccer, lacrosse and other field
sports, 26 softball and baseball diamonds, and a 370,000-square-foot indoor
facility. The city is hoping that tax revenue generated by new hotels, retail
outlets and medical facilities near the park will eventually pay off the debt.
Westfield officials had considered
attempting to draw a minor-league baseball team to the city. "That gives
you some prestige," says Cook. "But it's not really our moneymaker.
Our moneymaker is regional tournaments, under 16 years of age. Because they
bring Mom, Dad, brother, sister, grandparents."
The pioneer of this trend is the ESPN
Wide World of Sports Complex, which opened in 1997 on the grounds of Disney World in Orlando. The
220-acre venue allows Disney to collect revenue from tournament fees, hotel
stays and theme-park tickets, while giving it another way to win the
hearts--and future wallets--of its youngest customers. Business is thriving.
Wide World of Sports hosted 385,285 athletes in 2016, up 28% since 2011.
Sometime this winter, the Sports
KingDome, a facility with 347,000 sq. ft. of indoor space--enough to fit a
dozen multisport fields, or six Little League baseball fields--is slated to
open on the site of a former IBM
campus in East Fishkill, N.Y., some 70 miles north of New York City. It will
become one of the largest domes on the planet, and the owner plans to auction
naming rights to the highest bidder. The $25 million, all-weather complex will
allow families in the populous northeastern U.S. to play travel soccer,
lacrosse and baseball 12 months a year, just like they do in the Sun Belt.
Melanie Barcenas, 9,
practicing in her San Diego backyard, hopes to follow in the footsteps of the
superstar Neymar. “He plays just like me,” she says. Melanie plays multiple
soccer games most weekends. To save money, her family stays in a hotel only if
a game is more than a four-hour drive from home.
Would that be so bad? Many families say they enjoy the
travel-sports experience. Parents bond with one another. Kids make new friends.
"We have friends and family tell us that it's too much, too soon,"
says Jerry Martinez, Luke's father. "But this is his passion. I'm not
going to stomp on it."
There are mounting concerns, however,
over the consequences of such intensity, particularly at young ages. The
average number of sports played by children ages 6 to 17 has dipped for three
straight years, according to the Sports & Fitness Industry Association. In
a study published in the May issue of American Journal of Sports Medicine,
University of Wisconsin researchers found that young athletes who participated
in their primary sport for more than eight months in a year were more likely to
report overuse injuries.
Intense specialization can also tax
minds. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, "burnout, anxiety,
depression and attrition are increased in early specializers." The group
says delaying specialization in most cases until late adolescence increases the
likelihood of athletic success.
Devotion to a single sport may also be
counterproductive to reaching that holy grail: the college scholarship. In a
survey of 296 NCAA Division I male and female athletes, UCLA researchers
discovered that 88% played an average of two to three sports as children.
Other consequences are more immediate.
As expensive travel teams replace community leagues, more kids are getting shut
out of organized sports. Some 41% of children from households earning $100,000
or more have participated in team sports, according to the Sports & Fitness
Industry Association. In households with income of $25,000 or less,
participation is 19%.
One weekend in early June, all eyes were on Joey Baseball.
"Is that him?" a rival player asked his coach. Yes, indeed, it was
Joey Erace of southern New Jersey in the flesh, warming up on a field in the
town of Sulphur, La., where he had flown to play for the Texas Bombers at a
regional tournament.
In addition to Joey, the Bombers
imported two star players from California and a power hitter from Mexico, who
smacked a moonshot home run in a preliminary-round game. Bombers coach Lale
Esquivel, who won the College World Series at the University of Miami in 1999,
makes no apologies for running his team like a professional outfit. "I can
see talent at a young age," Esquivel says. "My son is special. I want
to surround him with the best kids from across the country. In return, playing
on my team is going to help your son. Do we win? Of course we win. If I'm going
to be investing all this time and money, we might as well win."
Still, amid the plane rides, autograph
requests and high-pressure tournaments, there are moments when things lurch
into perspective. At one point during the weekend in Louisiana, Joe Erace
tucked Joey's pants in for him and paused. "Sometimes when I'm getting on
him a bit," he says, "my wife reminds me that Joey still thinks a big
fat guy in a red suit delivers presents all around the world."
--With reporting by
ABIGAIL ABRAMS AND TARA JOHNSON/NEW YORK
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