Mark Montieth: Naming sports facilities is all the rage. What happens, though, when colleges run out of available real estate?

At the rate we’re going, the day will come when every court, field, pool, room and building in the sports world bears someone’s name—either because money has been coughed up for the cause or the school or franchise thought highly of someone.

You can’t say it’s wrong. When attaching a name to something is done as an honor, it makes people happy. And when it’s done as part of a business transaction, it becomes a vital source of revenue within the infinite arms race of athletics.

It’s not always a simple or pleasant process, however. Naming something for someone without taking money for it can inspire a flood of what-abouts—the same issue that haunts those who select hall of famers or retire jersey numbers. And whether money changes hands or not, once everything more meaningful than a supply closet has had a name attached to it, what’s left for the next generation of athletes, coaches and administrators who might perform even better? The explosive growth of women’s sports only further complicates the matter.

That’s for someone else to figure out.

Younger sports fans might be surprised to learn there was a time when sports facilities went unnamed—which is to say they had a name, such as Assembly Hall, Hoosier Dome or Market Square Arena, for example—but they didn’t bear the name of a human being or corporate sponsor. Today, Indiana University’s basketball team plays in Simon Skjodt Assembly Hall, the Colts in Lucas Oil Stadium and the Pacers in Gainbridge Fieldhouse, which is on its third corporate sponsor since opening in 1999.

Selling naming rights is relatively straightforward. A price is determined, usually by an accounting firm, someone ponies up and it’s done. Cindy Simon Skjodt paid $40 million for naming rights to Assembly Hall, which went toward a major renovation project. At Purdue, former quarterback Drew Brees put up $2 million for an academic center named for him and his wife, Brittany. At Butler, former basketball star Gordon Hayward paid to have his name on the men’s locker room within Hinkle Fieldhouse.

What about Knight, Painter?

Ah, yes, Hinkle Fieldhouse. That national landmark represents a simpler, more innocent time in collegiate athletics. Formerly Butler Fieldhouse, it was named for three-sport coach and athletic director Tony Hinkle in November 1965. Hinkle at the time had been coaching at Butler for 45 years and would continue to do so until 1970 when he turned 70 and was forced into retirement by the university’s age policy.

It was a simple process. The B-Men’s Association, a group of former Butler athletes, appealed to the board of trustees, and it was quickly approved.

“It wasn’t difficult,” recalls Bobby Plump, who was vice president of the B-Men’s Association at the time. “People were on board with that pretty quickly.”

The B-Men couldn’t have dreamed what naming rights to the fieldhouse, which opened in 1928, would be worth today given its status as one of the country’s most historic basketball venues. Same goes at Purdue, where university officials also unwittingly squandered an opportunity to bring in millions.

Purdue opened a new basketball arena in 1967 with a dedication game against defending national champion UCLA, coached by former Purdue all-American John Wooden. It was called Purdue Arena and remained so for four years. Wooden, who had won the first three of his national championships by that time, lobbied hard to have it named for his former coach, Ward “Piggy” Lambert, and was joined in the campaign by other former players and some media members.

Purdue’s athletic director, Guy “Red” Mackey—often described in print by words such as “cantankerous”—vehemently pushed back on the request, so the building remained plain ol’ Purdue Arena. That is, until Mackey died on Feb. 22, 1971. Then it suddenly became OK to name it for someone. Less than two weeks later, Purdue Arena became Mackey Arena at a hastily called board of trustees meeting.

Lambert, who had died in 1958, was awarded a consolation prize at the same meeting. His name went on the fieldhouse in which the basketball teams played prior to Mackey. Lambert Fieldhouse and Mackey Arena remain next-door neighbors, probably eyeing one another warily.

Purdue officials have continued to be generous with recognition. The basketball court inside Mackey was named in 1997 for longtime coach Gene Keady. Keady asked that his wife Pat’s name be included as well, but Purdue’s athletic director at the time, Morgan Burke, insisted it be a solo honor. That was a good idea, as Keady remarried after Pat’s death. (Burke was honored at Mackey in 2023 with the Morgan & Kate Burke Southwest Entrance, a project supported by Richard & Alice Schleicher.)

Wooden got his piece of immortality when the street that runs between Mackey and Ross-Ade Stadium was renamed John R. Wooden Drive in 2010, three months after he passed away at age 99.

One, however, can’t help but wonder what will be done for Matt Painter, who has a better winning percentage than Keady and is on track to surpass Keady’s victory total. Painter also has taken a Purdue team two steps further in the NCAA tournament than Keady did, having reached the championship game last year. Keady got his name on the main court, but Painter can’t even be attached to the practice gym. It’s named for Brian and Danielle Cardinal, both former Purdue basketball players, who donated money for the recognition.

Indiana faces a similar dilemma with Bob Knight. Assembly Hall has a sponsor, and the basketball court was named for coach Branch McCracken during the hall’s official opening ceremony in December 1971. A plaque, invisible to all but a small number of fans, commemorates the honor. What’s left for Knight, who won one more national championship (three) than McCracken but generated controversy throughout his 29 years with the university and was fired for violating the zero-tolerance policy to which he had agreed?

One suggested possibility is to rename the section of 17th Street that runs along the front of Simon Skjodt Assembly Hall as “Bob Knight Way.”

IU did not make an official available for comment, but the university has a set of guidelines for “institutional naming.” One rule is that five years must pass following someone’s death before a name can be given to something within the university. Options are limited within Assembly Hall, however. The Roberts Family Center, the Andy Mohr Locker Room, the Oladipo Zeller Legacy Lounge and the Tim Garl Athletic Training Room have all been purchased.

Bigger areas and buildings require bigger donations, of course. Purdue, for example, got $15 million from the family of car dealer Bob Rohrman in 2020 for naming rights to the playing field.

Although business transactions tend to result in fewer bruised egos, they are not always easy. Negotiations take place. Accounting and consulting firms are hired to help determine how many people will see the named-for real estate, both in person and on television. Will the name be used forever, or for an agreed-upon time?

“There’s always a backstory,” said Nancy Cross, a retired senior associate athletic director at Purdue who now works part time for the university’s foundation.

“The family is trying to do something to honor someone. Sometimes it’s for their own egos. They think, ‘Gosh, for what I’m giving you it should be a much bigger whatever.’ You try to manage expectations by telling them it’s a gift and they are receiving a tax credit.

“We try very hard to make them feel good about the impact of that gift [beyond] the naming opportunity.”

What about Keller?

High schools get into the act, as well, although not often for money. Last week, Washington High School named its gymnasium for former Mr. Basketball George McGinnis, who led the school to an undefeated season and state championship in 1969 and went on to a Naismith Hall of Fame career at IU and in the ABA and NBA.

McGinnis obviously is deserving, but there was a what-about for this one, as well. Billy Keller led Washington to the state championship and was voted the state’s Mr. Basketball in 1965, was the captain of the Purdue team that reached the final game of the NCAA tournament in 1969 and played seven seasons for the Pacers. Should he be recognized, too?

Professional teams tend to give away honorary names, as well. At Gainbridge Fieldhouse, the room used for pre-game and post-game interviews bears the names of Bob Collins and Wayne Fuson, former sports editors of the Indianapolis Star and Indianapolis News, respectively. The media room is named for Bill York, the longtime head of the stat crew. Another room is named for former Media Relations Director David Benner.

The list of named rooms and buildings in the sports world, whether paid for or not, is long and growing. Eventually, they all will be claimed. And yet more athletes, coaches, administrators and media people will continue to come along. And then what?

New buildings will go up eventually, and we can start all over again.•

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Montieth, an Indianapolis native, is a longtime newspaper reporter and freelance writer. He is the author of three books: “Passion Play: Coach Gene Keady and the Purdue Boilermakers,” “Reborn: The Pacers and the Return of Pro Basketball to Indianapolis,” and “Extra Innings: My Life in Baseball,” with former Indianapolis Indians President Max Schumacher.