On New Year’s Eve, while most people were getting ready to ring in the new year, I was sitting in front of a camera, live, doing something I had never done before.
HBCU Sports hosted a 12-hour New Year’s Eve Pod-a-Thon.
It wasn’t a stunt or a gimmick. It was a genuine effort to raise $10,000 to support HBCU Sports and the individuals who help keep this platform operational.
By the end of the day, we raised $978.
And now that I’ve had time to sit and marinate with that number, here’s the truth: I’m not embarrassed by it. I’m not ashamed of it. And I’m not interested in pretending it’s something it isn’t.
But what I am is clear.
Clear about where we are. Clear about what it costs to continue this work. And clear about the uncomfortable gap between saying “Black-owned media matters” and actually showing it in practice.
HBCU Sports has been around since 1997, long before the phrase “support Black businesses” became a hashtag and long before HBCU coverage became fashionable in the eyes of mainstream media conglomerates. We were here when nobody was checking for these stories, and we’re still here now.
But longevity doesn’t protect you from the realities of running an independent media outlet.
It means years of showing up when it would have been easier to walk away. It means paying writers when margins are thin. It means carrying the weight when algorithms change, traffic dips, and ad dollars disappear. It means doing the work even when people assume you’re “good” simply because you’ve been around a long time.
The Pod-a-Thon wasn’t an appeal for sympathy. It was an exercise in transparency.
Throughout the day, I wasn’t alone. Members of our team, Kendrick Marshall, Jarrett Hoffman, and Chris Stevens, were present, engaged, and supportive. Members of the community checked in, commented, shared, and reminded me that the work continues to resonate.
The $978 raised during the Pod-a-Thon represents individuals who chose to support this work financially when they didn’t have to. Every contribution, whether large or small, mattered. To those who donated, thank you. Your support was seen, felt, and appreciated.
I also want to acknowledge and thank the guests who took time out of their New Year’s Eve to be part of this effort. Their presence was not transactional; it was intentional.
Thank you to Virginia State athletics director Tiffani-Dawn Sykes, A.D. Drew, Charles Edmond, Bryan Fulford, Dr. Kenyatta Cavil, Coach Broderick Fobbs, Mo Carter, Keisha Kelly, Reggie Flood, Charles Bishop, Coach Bobby Rome, and Grambling athletics director Dr. Trayveon Scott.
In a moment when everyone is busy, distracted, and pulled in multiple directions, showing up still means something. And I don’t take that lightly.
What I keep coming back to, though, is this: content consumption is not the same as support. And as much as it’s appreciated, clicks alone don’t pay people. Shares do very little to cover infrastructure, and applause doesn’t sustain platforms.
If we genuinely believe that Black-owned media is essential, if we think these stories deserve independence, context, and care, then that belief must be reflected financially, not just emotionally.
The Pod-a-Thon also showed me that we are still in the early stages of this conversation.
What happened during those 12 hours isn’t unique to HBCU Sports. It reflects a broader reality facing many Black-owned media outlets, particularly when it comes to advertising, sponsorship, and long-term investment.
These platforms often generate engagement, influence conversation, and serve loyal audiences, yet still struggle to receive consistent financial support from the very industries that benefit from that reach. That gap isn’t about relevance or effort; it’s structural.
Many people have never been asked directly to consider the cost of keeping Black voices independent. And that may be on us for not asking sooner.
So no, we didn’t hit the goal.
But we did something that hasn’t been done in this space before. We paused the usual grind, spoke honestly, and for 12 straight hours, let the community see the process without pretending everything is fine, because it isn’t.
Sometimes, that matters just as much.
This wasn’t a conclusion, but it was a moment of clarity.
As we move into a new year, I hope that we learn how to support Black-owned media in the same way we claim to value it; with intention, consistency, and accountability.
Because telling these stories matters, but sustaining the platforms that carry them matters just as much.