In one of the most high-profile and complicated transfer sagas college football has ever seen, Darian Mensah and Duke have reached a settlement that effectively ends a legal standoff and reshapes the way we think about contracts in the NIL era.
The Blue Devils have dropped their lawsuit against Mensah, their star quarterback and the centerpiece of last season’s ACC championship run. In return, Mensah is expected to pay a hefty sum to break the second year of a $4 million-per-season NIL deal he signed after transferring in from Tulane. It’s a resolution that clears the way for Mensah to move on - likely to Miami - and gives Duke a financial cushion, albeit one they can’t use just yet.
Let’s be clear: this was never just about one player or one school. This was about the new normal in college football.
Contracts, once seen as binding commitments, now feel more like suggestions. And timing?
That’s everything.
Mensah entered the transfer portal in the final hours of the one and only portal window, leaving Duke without a clear path to replace him. The portal was closed.
The options were slim. The Blue Devils quickly secured a commitment from San Jose State transfer Walker Eget, but he’s still awaiting NCAA approval for an additional season.
So right now, Duke has money - but no quarterback.
And that’s where the frustration kicks in for coaches and administrators across the country. As one Big 12 general manager put it, “I'm sure he didn't just decide on that Friday at 4 p.m. he was going into the portal.
There had to be talks that led up to it.” In other words, tampering - or at least the suspicion of it - continues to cast a shadow over the sport.
Mensah’s case isn’t isolated. During the same portal cycle, Ole Miss fought to keep edge rusher Princewill Umanmielen, who had just signed a new contract before entering the portal and eventually transferring to LSU.
That move came with a $600,000 buyout. Meanwhile, the Rebels flipped linebacker Luke Ferrelli from Clemson, even though he had already started classes there.
Clemson head coach Dabo Swinney alleged that Ole Miss defensive coordinator Pete Golding texted Ferrelli to ask, “What’s the buyout?”
The message from around the sport is loud and clear: signed contracts don’t mean what they used to. One Big Ten general manager summed it up bluntly: “Signed contracts mean nothing.
You just hope you're with a state and a university that will stand by you. Still, you have to look at these as if every year is a new year.”
That’s the reality in today’s college football - a landscape where schools invest millions in players who can still walk out the door with little more than a buyout and a new destination.
The NCAA’s current structure doesn’t help matters. Athletes aren’t classified as employees, which means schools can’t enforce contracts the way a professional team might.
NIL deals are technically licensing agreements - players are paid for their name, image, and likeness, not for playing football. That legal distinction matters.
If Mensah were a Duke employee, the school would have had a stronger case that his departure caused “irreparable harm,” a key standard in arbitration. But because he’s not, the argument gets murky.
Still, Duke’s decision to pursue legal action - and eventually reach a settlement - is being viewed as a bold move by other programs. One Big 12 general manager called it “a good step in the right direction that contracts mean something.”
Another added, “We can hold guys accountable for up to 100% of remaining contract value if they decide to leave, and we plan to do that for any of our top guys. Only leverage we have.”
But even that leverage has limits. Mensah’s deal was massive, and his performance backed it up.
He brought Duke a conference title and national relevance. And yet, it wasn’t enough to keep him in Durham for a second season.
Until college athletes are classified as employees - with binding contracts that reflect that status - situations like this will keep happening. The system, as it stands, is built on a legal gray area. Players have freedom of movement, schools have limited recourse, and the portal has become a high-stakes game of musical chairs.
One Big 12 executive even floated the idea that it might take a full-blown legal battle to force change. “We need one of these transfers to blow up college football, and we can build it back from the ground up,” he said.
That’s the tension at the heart of modern college football. The money is real.
The stakes are high. But the rules?
They’re still catching up.