How Not to Bribe College Basketball Coaches
The alleged bribery of top collegiate players and coaches sounds like a slick operation. But an ongoing federal trial shows that ineptness and low comedy were sprinkled in liberally with the cash.
Federal prosecutors from the Manhattan U.S. attorney’s office allege that Christian Dawkins, pictured, bribed assistant college coaches so they would steer star players to his fledgling sports management business. PHOTO: SETH WENIG/ASSOCIATED PRESS
By
Andrew Beaton and
Rebecca Davis O’Brien
Updated May 1, 2019 11:22 a.m. ET
The suite at the Cosmopolitan Hotel in Las Vegas looked like the set of a heist film: iridescent blue light cast shadows across low-slung couches, where three men in suits made deals. One by one, college basketball coaches came through. Some left with stacks of cash and agreements to steer star players to the men, who said they were starting a sports-management company.
But one of the three men was an undercover FBI agent posing as an investor. Another was a cooperating witness. The cash was provided by the federal government, and the hotel encounter was recorded by law enforcement.
Oh, and their plan—to bribe college coaches and secure their players as clients—was ridiculous. Even one of the men who was charged by federal prosecutors in connection with the alleged bribery scheme thought it was a bad idea.
Testimony and government evidence in a federal trial under way in Manhattan has exposed the seedy underbelly of college basketball—showing how shoe companies, athlete managers and university coaches undermine college amateurism rules.
But while the trial is about how a handful of people attempted to beat the system, their scheme also shows how not to.
Federal prosecutors from the Manhattan U.S. attorney’s office allege that Christian Dawkins, an aspiring sports agent, bribed assistant college coaches so they would steer star players to his fledgling sports management business. But Dawkins’s lawyer told the jury that federal investigators concocted the bribery plan, then drew his client into it. His defense was the idiocy of the plan: Dawkins, his lawyer said, thought bribing coaches was “a complete waste of money” that “made no business sense.”
Dawkins and his co-defendant, Merl Code, were convicted in a related trial last fall, on charges that they bribed high school players’ families alongside a former Adidas AG executive. Both cases emerged in 2017 from a yearslong probe of college basketball corruption that implicated some of the biggest names in the sport.
The alleged bribery of top collegiate players and coaches sounds like a slick operation. But this trial—featuring a cooperating witness, secret recordings and undercover FBI agents in featured roles—shows that ineptness and low comedy were sprinkled in liberally with the cash.
The Yacht
In June 2017, a month before college coaches paraded through the hotel room, the key figures met on a yacht docked off downtown Manhattan’s Battery Park. Because, of course, every ruse like this needs a yacht.
“I’ve never heard of a story where two guys get on a yacht where it turns out good,” said Dawkins’s lawyer, Steve Haney.
On board was an undercover FBI agent who went by the name Jeff D’Angelo. Posing as a wealthy investor—Haney told the jury to picture Sperry boat shoes, with a sweater tied over his neck—and came with a “very attractive” blonde. She was also an undercover FBI agent.
The agents were working behind the sceneswith Louis “Marty” Blazer, a Pittsburgh financial adviser who had been cooperating with federal investigators. Publicly, Blazer had created a partnership with Dawkins and another financial adviser. Together they devised a scheme to secure the next generation of basketball stars for their sports-management company by giving money to the right people. Dawkins, his lawyer conceded, had done similar things before.
Dawkins and the other man thought D’Angelo was going to fund their business—which seemed awfully easy when D’Angelo went downstairs on the yacht and returned with a duffle bag holding tens of thousands of dollars.
Dawkins didn’t think highly of his new business partner, Haney told the jury during his opening arguments. “He calls Jeff D’Angelo stupid,” Haney said. “He calls him an idiot.” But he proceeded to work with him anyway.
The Shoes Full of Money in the Shoe Money Trial
Not long after, Dawkins had a problem. He had been a runner for a sports agency, gaining access to top basketball players at the grass-roots level by greasing hands. He was looking to get money to Robert Williams, then a top player at Texas A&M, according to Blazer’s testimony at trial.
Former Texas A&M star Robert Williams during a game in 2018. PHOTO: GERRY BROOME/ASSOCIATED PRESS
In July 2017, Dawkins met with Blazer in the Vegas hotel suite and explained that he needed cash quickly. Blazer and the undercover FBI agent, D’Angelo, agreed to give Dawkins $11,000. The only question: how would they get the illicit payment to Williams?
Which is how $11,000 of the government’s money ended up in a shoebox that would be sent across the country.
After D’Angelo gave Dawkins the money, the men went downstairs to a store inside the Cosmopolitan Hotel, Blazer says. There, they bought a pair of shoes. The trio stuffed the cash inside the shoes, went to a nearby FedEx and shipped it off to Williams. (Williams, who now plays for the Boston Celtics, has said he never received improper payments.)
The ‘I Got Lost on My Way to Zion’s House’ Routine
Before Zion Williamson laid siege to college basketball rims around the country and extirpated his own shoe on national television, he was a South Carolina teenager with millions of Instagram followers who hadn’t decided where he wanted to go to college. And because he lived in South Carolina, Clemson had the ambitious notion that it could potentially nab the prized recruit.
That’s why Clemson assistant Steve Smith came into the Cosmopolitan hotel suite, where he was also unwittingly recorded by federal investigators. On that recording, Dawkins said powerhouses like Duke and Kentucky would have their “resources” ready to get Williamson, and that if he picked Clemson, they would be prepared to provide Smith with the same. And Smith believed he had an in.
The recruitment of Zion Williamson was mentioned in recordings played during the trial. PHOTO: JACOB KUPFERMAN/CSM/ZUMA PRESS
On the wiretap, Smith bragged that he was so familiar with Williamson’s stepfather—who also coached his AAU team—that Smith knew precisely how long it took to drive to his house: one hour and four minutes.
Smith knew that he shouldn’t know this. Such trips would have violated NCAA rules. And in order to cover his tracks in front of his boss, his idea was to play dumb.
So when Smith and Clemson head coach Brad Brownell took an official trip to the house at a time that didn’t violate NCAA rules, Smith planned to purposefully take a number of wrong turns en route so it would look like he had never been there before.
Clemson has said it is reviewing information from the trial.
The alleged bribery of top collegiate players and coaches sounds like a slick operation. But an ongoing federal trial shows that ineptness and low comedy were sprinkled in liberally with the cash.
Federal prosecutors from the Manhattan U.S. attorney’s office allege that Christian Dawkins, pictured, bribed assistant college coaches so they would steer star players to his fledgling sports management business. PHOTO: SETH WENIG/ASSOCIATED PRESS
By
Andrew Beaton and
Rebecca Davis O’Brien
Updated May 1, 2019 11:22 a.m. ET
The suite at the Cosmopolitan Hotel in Las Vegas looked like the set of a heist film: iridescent blue light cast shadows across low-slung couches, where three men in suits made deals. One by one, college basketball coaches came through. Some left with stacks of cash and agreements to steer star players to the men, who said they were starting a sports-management company.
But one of the three men was an undercover FBI agent posing as an investor. Another was a cooperating witness. The cash was provided by the federal government, and the hotel encounter was recorded by law enforcement.
Oh, and their plan—to bribe college coaches and secure their players as clients—was ridiculous. Even one of the men who was charged by federal prosecutors in connection with the alleged bribery scheme thought it was a bad idea.
Testimony and government evidence in a federal trial under way in Manhattan has exposed the seedy underbelly of college basketball—showing how shoe companies, athlete managers and university coaches undermine college amateurism rules.
But while the trial is about how a handful of people attempted to beat the system, their scheme also shows how not to.
Federal prosecutors from the Manhattan U.S. attorney’s office allege that Christian Dawkins, an aspiring sports agent, bribed assistant college coaches so they would steer star players to his fledgling sports management business. But Dawkins’s lawyer told the jury that federal investigators concocted the bribery plan, then drew his client into it. His defense was the idiocy of the plan: Dawkins, his lawyer said, thought bribing coaches was “a complete waste of money” that “made no business sense.”
Dawkins and his co-defendant, Merl Code, were convicted in a related trial last fall, on charges that they bribed high school players’ families alongside a former Adidas AG executive. Both cases emerged in 2017 from a yearslong probe of college basketball corruption that implicated some of the biggest names in the sport.
The alleged bribery of top collegiate players and coaches sounds like a slick operation. But this trial—featuring a cooperating witness, secret recordings and undercover FBI agents in featured roles—shows that ineptness and low comedy were sprinkled in liberally with the cash.
The Yacht
In June 2017, a month before college coaches paraded through the hotel room, the key figures met on a yacht docked off downtown Manhattan’s Battery Park. Because, of course, every ruse like this needs a yacht.
“I’ve never heard of a story where two guys get on a yacht where it turns out good,” said Dawkins’s lawyer, Steve Haney.
On board was an undercover FBI agent who went by the name Jeff D’Angelo. Posing as a wealthy investor—Haney told the jury to picture Sperry boat shoes, with a sweater tied over his neck—and came with a “very attractive” blonde. She was also an undercover FBI agent.
The agents were working behind the sceneswith Louis “Marty” Blazer, a Pittsburgh financial adviser who had been cooperating with federal investigators. Publicly, Blazer had created a partnership with Dawkins and another financial adviser. Together they devised a scheme to secure the next generation of basketball stars for their sports-management company by giving money to the right people. Dawkins, his lawyer conceded, had done similar things before.
Dawkins and the other man thought D’Angelo was going to fund their business—which seemed awfully easy when D’Angelo went downstairs on the yacht and returned with a duffle bag holding tens of thousands of dollars.
Dawkins didn’t think highly of his new business partner, Haney told the jury during his opening arguments. “He calls Jeff D’Angelo stupid,” Haney said. “He calls him an idiot.” But he proceeded to work with him anyway.
The Shoes Full of Money in the Shoe Money Trial
Not long after, Dawkins had a problem. He had been a runner for a sports agency, gaining access to top basketball players at the grass-roots level by greasing hands. He was looking to get money to Robert Williams, then a top player at Texas A&M, according to Blazer’s testimony at trial.
Former Texas A&M star Robert Williams during a game in 2018. PHOTO: GERRY BROOME/ASSOCIATED PRESS
In July 2017, Dawkins met with Blazer in the Vegas hotel suite and explained that he needed cash quickly. Blazer and the undercover FBI agent, D’Angelo, agreed to give Dawkins $11,000. The only question: how would they get the illicit payment to Williams?
Which is how $11,000 of the government’s money ended up in a shoebox that would be sent across the country.
After D’Angelo gave Dawkins the money, the men went downstairs to a store inside the Cosmopolitan Hotel, Blazer says. There, they bought a pair of shoes. The trio stuffed the cash inside the shoes, went to a nearby FedEx and shipped it off to Williams. (Williams, who now plays for the Boston Celtics, has said he never received improper payments.)
The ‘I Got Lost on My Way to Zion’s House’ Routine
Before Zion Williamson laid siege to college basketball rims around the country and extirpated his own shoe on national television, he was a South Carolina teenager with millions of Instagram followers who hadn’t decided where he wanted to go to college. And because he lived in South Carolina, Clemson had the ambitious notion that it could potentially nab the prized recruit.
That’s why Clemson assistant Steve Smith came into the Cosmopolitan hotel suite, where he was also unwittingly recorded by federal investigators. On that recording, Dawkins said powerhouses like Duke and Kentucky would have their “resources” ready to get Williamson, and that if he picked Clemson, they would be prepared to provide Smith with the same. And Smith believed he had an in.
The recruitment of Zion Williamson was mentioned in recordings played during the trial. PHOTO: JACOB KUPFERMAN/CSM/ZUMA PRESS
On the wiretap, Smith bragged that he was so familiar with Williamson’s stepfather—who also coached his AAU team—that Smith knew precisely how long it took to drive to his house: one hour and four minutes.
Smith knew that he shouldn’t know this. Such trips would have violated NCAA rules. And in order to cover his tracks in front of his boss, his idea was to play dumb.
So when Smith and Clemson head coach Brad Brownell took an official trip to the house at a time that didn’t violate NCAA rules, Smith planned to purposefully take a number of wrong turns en route so it would look like he had never been there before.
Clemson has said it is reviewing information from the trial.
