Meritocracy is a Myth, Just Ask the NFL or Harvard

Americans love to believe we live in a meritocracy, that hard work, talent, and dedication alone determine our success. But let’s be honest: if that were true, Harvard wouldn’t need admissions officers. They’d just accept the top GPAs and SAT scores. Kamala Harris would be president, not a political flashpoint. And in the NFL, drafting a Black quarterback wouldn’t still be seen by some as a gamble.

This year’s NFL Draft felt like a sequel to the media frenzy surrounding the 2024 NBA Draft, when Bronny James, the son of LeBron James, was selected. Critics questioned whether Bronny earned his spot through skill or whether he simply benefited from his father’s fame. After all, he didn’t dominate at USC, and his season was hampered by health challenges. But in the G League and the NBA Combine, Bronny has shown promise, not superstar promise, but enough to prove he belongs on the court.

Enter Shedeur Sanders, son of NFL Hall of Famer Deion Sanders. Like Bronny, Shedeur was scrutinized not just for his game, but for the path he chose. He didn’t play at Alabama or Georgia. Instead, he started at Jackson State and transferred to the University of Colorado. Both are schools that, until recently, weren’t known as football powerhouses. And yet, Shedeur delivered: winning records, game-winning drives, and his senior year capped with the prestigious Johnny Unitas Golden Arm Award.

Still, his talent is debated. Still, the conversation is as much about his last name as his stat line.

These two young men are case studies in America’s complicated relationship with merit. When Black athletes from famous families succeed, the conversation quickly shifts to nepotism. When white athletes benefit from legacy admissions or quiet industry connections, it’s just business as usual. We shouldn’t pretend that merit ever operates in a vacuum; it never has.

What Bronny and Shedeur represent is bigger than sports. They’re examples of how perception, access, and bias shape outcomes. That doesn’t mean they didn’t earn their places, it means our systems often obscure who earns what and why.

Take Shedeur’s 5th-round selection. To many, it felt less like a reflection of his actual football ability and more like an effort to humble him. As if the league were more concerned with “putting him in his place” than with doing what’s good for business and drafting one of the most commercially viable and productive quarterbacks in college football. This is a trend many Black men in America recognize. It’s not enough to be qualified—you have to be exceptional, unproblematic, and deferential, even when the data is on your side.

Just ask Colin Kaepernick. Despite leading the 49ers to a Super Bowl and having stats better than many quarterbacks signed during his free agency period, he was essentially blackballed from the league after kneeling during the national anthem to protest police violence. The public was told it wasn’t about talent, it was about business—he was “too controversial,” “too polarizing,” and no longer good for the brand. So, which is it? Are we hiring based on what’s good for business or on merit? Because if it’s merit, Kaepernick should’ve been on a team. If it’s business, then Shedeur should’ve been picked much earlier. The contradiction exposes the truth: it’s about control, image, and power—not fairness.

It’s time we stop pretending merit is colorblind or context-free. Whether it’s in a boardroom, a classroom, or a locker room, opportunity is not evenly distributed. And acknowledging that doesn’t diminish achievement, it simply tells the truth.