I mean, sports are big, big, big business.

Hear the words of Phil Lesh, who with plainness and repetition revealed a truth both obvious and profound: “I mean, sports are big, big, big business.” At first, the words may sound casual, like a passing observation. Yet within their simplicity lies an ancient recognition—that what begins as play, as contest, as the striving of bodies beneath the sun, can grow into an empire of wealth, power, and influence. For the games of men are never only games; they become business, vast in reach, commanding the loyalty of nations and the gold of kings.

The meaning of this saying is clear: in our age, sports are no longer the simple diversions of village greens or dusty fields. They are spectacles, engines of commerce, industries that bind together media, merchandise, and money. Athletes become brands, stadiums become temples, and billions flow through the veins of these enterprises. Lesh repeats the word big three times, not out of accident, but as a rhythm to impress upon us the enormity of this transformation. Sports are not small; they are titanic, shaping culture, economy, and identity on a scale that rivals politics and religion.

The origin of this truth can be traced to the roots of history. Even in ancient Rome, the gladiatorial games were not mere sport, but industry. Entire fortunes were built and lost in the management of arenas, in the feeding of crowds, in the training and purchase of fighters. The Colosseum was more than stone and sand; it was the beating heart of Roman entertainment, tied to power and money. Likewise, the chariot races of the Circus Maximus commanded such loyalty that entire factions rose, blue and green, binding sport to the wealth and politics of empire. Thus, Lesh’s words echo across centuries: sport has long been business, but in modern times, it has become big, big, big business.

Consider the tale of the Super Bowl, an event not merely of football, but of commerce. Millions watch not only for the game, but for the advertisements—thirty seconds of screen time costing more than the lifetime wages of common laborers. Companies wage battles of branding while athletes clash upon the field. What was once a sport has become a festival of business, blending play and profit into one vast enterprise. It is here that Lesh’s words find their perfect embodiment: the contest itself is only part of a larger machinery of wealth.

The lesson is not to despise this transformation, but to recognize it with clear eyes. For when something grows into business, it gains power but also faces danger. The spirit of play, the purity of competition, risks being consumed by profit. If unchecked, the joy of the game becomes only spectacle, the athlete only commodity. Yet if balanced, sport as business can inspire, uplift, and provide livelihoods to millions. The challenge, then, is to keep the flame of the game alive beneath the weight of gold.

Practical actions must follow. As a fan, support your teams and athletes, but be mindful of how your loyalty feeds the machine. As an athlete, remember that contracts and endorsements are not the true measure of greatness; your discipline, your passion, and your courage are. As a society, ensure that the wealth of sport serves not only corporations but communities—building fields for children, programs for health, and opportunities for the poor. In this way, the bigness of business may still serve the nobility of play.

And so, child of tomorrow, remember Phil Lesh’s simple yet weighty words: sports are big, big, big business. Do not be naïve about their reach, nor cynical about their influence. Instead, see in them both the power of human passion and the lure of wealth. Strive always to preserve the spirit of the game, the joy of the contest, even as you navigate the currents of commerce. For in the end, it is not money that makes sport eternal, but the timeless cry of the heart that rejoices in play.