Loyal fans priced out of college football

Matt BakerNov. 14, 2025TALLAHASSEE, Fla. — Three hours before kickoff, Ann Whitehead’s Subaru Outback pulls into Lot 13 to continue a longstanding family tradition: attending Florida State football games.What started in 1960 with Whitehead in the student section has grown into a three-generation congregation in the west stands at Doak Campbell Stadium. Through scorching heat and pounding rain, the Whiteheads had a 28th-row seat for the glory days of Bobby Bowden and the up-and-down tenure of Mike Norvell.“We love to go,” said Whitehead’s daughter, Alyson Stone. “It’s just, I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to.”The costs have swelled out of control around sports, an industry of inherent leisure spending. What was once an affordable autumn excursion for a family of four has become a series of $1,000 (or more) weekends.The situation isn’t unique to the Whiteheads or Florida State. Florida Gators fan Rob Dotson, a former local alumni association president, got fed up with Gainesville hotels boosting prices while requiring two-night minimum stays; he called giving up his season tickets after 38 years the second-hardest thing he has ever done (after proposing to his wife).When South Florida started its program in 1997, parking was $5. For this year’s opener against Boise State, it was $32.25. A bottle of water costs $7.50.

Suzanne Ward has been to every non-COVID-19 game in Bulls history and has already downgraded from eight tickets per game to four as monthly costs started feeling like another car payment. She worries about what will happen to prices when USF downsizes from the Buccaneers’ Raymond James Stadium to a new 35,000-seat on-campus stadium in 2027.“I don’t want to get to the point where I have to say, ‘Y’all have priced me out, I’m no longer a fan,’” Ward said.

The broader concern of feeling priced out extends beyond college football. Stadium suites and wristband-only tailgates are no different from skip-the-line passes at theme parks or luxurious lounges at the airport.The thirst for greater revenue has led to more premium amenities and premium offerings at premium prices — often at the expense of patrons beneath the top tax bracket.That tension is part of the backdrop at Florida State. As the Seminoles fight for every dollar to compete with wealthier programs in the SEC and Big Ten, they recently finished a nine-figure stadium update that reduced capacity by 12,000 while turning cheaper bleacher seats into pricier club areas and loge boxes.Athletic director Michael Alford said the Seminoles were cognizant of costs as they met with fans and administrators over the years-long renovation process. They made sure to offer previous patrons a spot somewhere in the stadium at the same price, even if it meant moving over a few sections or up a dozen rows. A season ticket started at $400. But the financial pressures are real on already-squeezed fans and an athletic department adjusting to a new era in player compensation.“Balancing financial sustainability and accessibility is one of the hardest challenges in college sports right now,” Alford said.

Somewhere in the middle of that balancing act is Whitehead, the 83-year-old retired grade school teacher with a “Beat Miami” button pinned to her shirt and a folding camping table plopped behind a Subaru.“This new stadium ordeal,” Whitehead said, “has let me know that I’m not the middle-class person I thought I was.”

Tell us about your experiences with the rising costs of being a college sports fan.Submit your response in the text box below. Whitehead wasn’t much of a football fan until she saw coach Bill Peterson building the Seminoles’ foundation 16 years before Bowden came to town. Her passion never waned, whether she was watching Fred Biletnikoff beat the rival Gators in 1964 or her grandson run through the team hotel with the little brother of Heisman Trophy winner Jameis Winston five decades later.The love of Florida State football spread through her family. Her late husband, Charles, wore a Seminoles tie to church on Sundays after victories. When he died in 2003, his family buried him in the same bright FSU shirt he wore on game days.The Whiteheads bought season tickets in 1990 when their daughter enrolled at FSU. Being there was so much better than listening on the radio by the barbecue pit, but even then, budgeting was a challenge.Whitehead initially paid $110 in booster fees, which include required contributions to buy football tickets plus benefits like parking. By 2019, she was paying $960. This year, it’s $3,845 for football and softball. After adjusting for inflation, her contribution has tripled in the last six years and increased 12-fold since her family became fixtures on the west sideline.

Ann Whitehead’s 1990 handwritten ledger shows her FSU booster donation of $110.The Whiteheads usually eat before kickoff — dinner before the Miami game was Popeyes chicken and Walmart coleslaw — so they skip the $5 peanuts and $18 specialty cocktails from Doak’s new concession stands. But the 250-mile drive from their central Florida town of Bartow to the Panhandle means they can’t get around the sky-high hotel costs.Because more than half of FSU’s fans travel at least 200 miles for games, hotel prices double (or more) on game weekends. The cheapest nightly rate The Athletic found in a recent search around Saturday’s Virginia Tech game was $230 at the Econo Lodge; a room at the Country Inn & Suites that went for $96 the previous weekend cost $561. The Whiteheads’ night at the Homewood Suites is $600.A tipping point arrived when FSU started renovating Doak after the 2023 season as part of a $380 million project on football facilities. The school upgraded the restrooms and concessions areas, widened the aisles and increased the legroom while adding a uniquely Florida State focal point: a giant gold spear planted in the west concourse.Stadium updates play an important part in luring fans away from their couches and high-definition TVs to the stadium. For Florida State, an overhaul was critical.The Seminoles’ annual payouts from the ACC have lagged several million dollars behind what their peers get from the Big Ten and SEC. Alford said FSU’s stadium revenue trailed the SEC average by $13 million and the Big Ten by $9 million — a point the Seminoles stressed as they discussed the project with donors and fans.The financial gap was already a challenge before FSU’s on-field slide created the possibility of another $55 million expense: head coach Mike Norvell’s buyout. The disparity has made it harder to maintain or rebuild a nationally competitive program that keeps fans engaged, so the Seminoles had to start catching up somewhere. At a board presentation to secure the project’s approval, FSU estimated the stadium remodel would grow ticket revenue alone by almost $4 million while reducing maintenance expenses. Alford said giving is up $10 million.“We had to do it,” Alford said.The fan feedback to Alford has been overwhelmingly positive, he said, but the upgrades came at a cost. Chairback seats would have been about an extra $1,000 for Whitehead. She declined.The budget model called for capital gifts — industry-standard, one-time fees separate from ticket prices and booster contributions. For former Seminole Boosters board member Rob Hackley, the gift requirement was $10,000 per seat to stay on the west side (out of the sun) — plus whatever the seats themselves cost. He said no and ended his season tickets after 53 years.When a ticket representative told lifelong Seminoles fan David Walker his old seating area required a $5,000 gift, Walker laughed on the phone.“Even if I had another $5,000 to spend on tickets, I would absolutely, on principle, not pay that,” said Walker, who moved his seats closer to the corner to stay at his original price point. “It just sort of feels like — I wouldn’t quite say a middle finger, but it definitely feels like I’m not valued as much as the surgeons of the area.“We’re all just variables in that formula, and I’m a much, much smaller variable than some people.”The formula isn’t exactly new, but it changed when the House v. NCAA lawsuit settlement was finalized this year. Starting July 1, schools could start paying players directly through revenue sharing. For power programs, the settlement added a new expense of $20.5 million that rises annually.“A lot of these schools are feeling pressure of, ‘Where is the revenue going to come from?’” said Patrick Rishe, the director of the sports business program at Washington University in St. Louis.The answer is, increasingly, from the fans. Especially the richest of them.Walk through the doors where some of FSU’s west side bleachers once stood, and you’ll enter one of the nicest viewing areas in college football.The founders’ loge boxes have cushy seats and plentiful TVs. The aisles are intentionally lowered so servers scurrying by with food and drinks won’t block patrons’ perfect sight lines of the field.The suites are even more lavish: 1,100 square feet of climate-controlled, VIP-only comfort. They’re some 30 rows up from the field — not too high, not too low — with spacious tables for dining (the floor’s buffet area has a carving station, charcuterie board and shrimp ceviche). The eight boxes were customizable, down to the seating options (plush couches or roomy chairs) and the color palette for the countertops. There’s even a business boardroom down the hall.The eight suites sold out, costing upward of $4 million apiece plus annual contributions.The addition of these exclusive areas and other renovations dropped Doak’s capacity from almost 80,000 to 67,277. That’s after FSU previously cut seating by more than 2,000 when it opened a different premium section, the Dunlap Champions Club, in 2016. The Seminoles sold out three of their first six home games this season with an average announced attendance of 66,032, down from a three-year average of 67,690 before the renovation.Florida State’s move reflects what Federal Reserve chair Jerome Powell recently called a “bifurcated economy.” As low-income families spend less, the wealthiest households spend more. Companies and colleges cater their offerings accordingly.At theme parks, it means Walt Disney World can charge roughly $260 for a one-day park hopper ticket. At pro sports venues, it means replacing cheap hot dogs and sodas with BBQ burnt end fries ($16.89 at Astros games) and campfire milkshakes ($15 plus tax at White Sox games). Fans hoping to attend one of the 2026 World Cup matches are facing record-high ticket prices, and a parking pass alone ($75 at least) costs more than a Category 3 ticket to a group match in 2022 ($69).

And in college football, it often means trading larger crowds for smaller ones willing to pay more for finer experiences. Miami’s Hard Rock Stadium did so when it shed 11,000 seats a decade ago. Northwestern and Kansas are making similar moves now, while Penn State, Florida and Oklahoma pursue their own amenity upgrades. UCLA is entertaining a move from its iconic home stadium, the Rose Bowl, to SoFi Stadium for more club seating revenue; the $5.5 billion home to the Los Angeles Rams and Chargers was dubbed the NFL’s “bougiest” venue in 2023.Jason Penry has seen the trend for years. When he worked in fundraising at Oklahoma State, the general axiom was that 80 percent of the money came from 20 percent of the donors. Now the ratio is probably closer to 95-5. And that top 5 percent expects high-level amenities.“It’s easier to secure more revenue from the top donors that have the money,” said Penry, a professor of practice at Texas A&M’s Division of Sport Management. “You hope it’s not at the expense of the middle group or even the family of four that’s on a budget.”Some of it has to be. Fewer seats mean a smaller supply. A smaller supply drives up ticket prices.Although Doak remains a great place to watch a game, the environment has changed. The new ledges in some areas make it harder to high-five neighboring fans after touchdowns. The attendance versus Alabama was down 17,000 fans from the electric 2011 game against No. 1 Oklahoma. Walker noticed the difference during FSU’s famed war chant; the tomahawk chops looked less imposing and unified with a smaller crowd and larger gaps between seats and sections.“I had that moment of sadness for the old Doak to know that that visual, that tradition had been just nuked for the sake of revenue,” Walker said.The push for more revenue has its own financial risks that come back to a line Penry often uses as an industry consultant for Penry Advisors: Involvement almost always precedes investment.Penry grew up attending LSU baseball games with his family, which got a season-long four-pack of bleacher seats for $100 total (roughly $200 in today’s dollars). That early involvement made him a fan and, 30 years later, led him to invest in his Tigers. If this generation’s Penry family can’t afford tickets — or can only afford to go to games against teams like Kent State or Samford instead of Florida or Miami — schools are at risk of sacrificing future donations for current dollars.“If we don’t get the next generation involved, if they feel priced out,” Penry said, “that’s an issue.”An issue the Whiteheads are facing.

Ann Whitehead (center) with her children at a recent FSU game. Whitehead’s booster contributions have tripled in the last six years.Whitehead appreciates some of the new Doak. The bathrooms are much nicer. The stairs are easier to walk up and down.Her seats are 10 rows higher and a little farther to the corner than before, but she still has a great view of touchdowns in the north end zone. Even with fewer fans, Whitehead said the atmosphere remains “spine-tingling.” She still lights up when Osceola plants the flaming spear just before kickoff.“When I’m on that campus,” Whitehead said, “I’m 18 again.”Although the price hikes don’t offend her — “That’s the way the world is,” she said — they frustrate her daughter.“I feel like faithful fans kinda got — I’ll just say it — screwed,” Stone said.The grumblings largely disappear around the Subaru in Lot 13 on game day.The hotel is expensive, but the suite for Wake Forest weekend was big enough for five people: Whitehead, her two children, her granddaughter and her grandson-in-law. That’s three generations of garnet and gold splitting two bags of Mission BBQ around a folding camping table half a mile from the stadium.The moment feels priceless, but it’s not.“I hope you understand, I dearly love my Florida State football,” Whitehead said. “But I’m trying to make sure I have enough to take care of myself. To me, that’s the greatest gift I can give my kids: taking care of myself.”Eventually, as soon as this offseason, that dilemma will lead Whitehead to give up her seats on the west side. The $1,000 weekends will no longer make financial sense for her. And when that happens?“That’s just not something I see my husband and I are going to pick up,” Stone said. “I guess that means someone who’s wealthier will be able to do that.”— The Athletic’s Christopher Kamrani contributed reporting. 

Nov 15, 2025

Connections: Sports Edition

Find the hidden link between sports termsTagged To: College Football, Culture, Sports Business, South Florida Bulls, Florida State Seminoles

Matt Baker is a senior writer for The Athletic covering college sports. He previously spent nine years as the Tampa Bay Times’ Florida college football reporter and also covered college athletics at the Tulsa World and Springfield (Mo.) News-Leader. Matt’s an Indiana native and graduate of Northwestern University.