Next money-making stars enter third grade
Branding and promotion of twins, 9, shows explosion of money in youth athletics
GARFIELD HEIGHTS, Ohio — Ashton Jolly and Henry Jolly IV had already posed for a handful of photos with giddy elementary school kids by the time the NEO Boys National Showcase began on a Saturday morning in late June. The twins had been advertised as headliners on social media by event organizers for weeks, and their father, Henry Jolly III, entered the gym with every promotional material he could carry, a black duffel bag full of gear that included mouth guards, knee pads and arm sleeves provided free by prospective sponsors, along with headbands stamped with the personal logo he created for his kids, “Jolly Boys.”
They had traveled more than a thousand miles from their home in suburban New Orleans to this high school gym outside Cleveland, and in case anyone might not recognize his 9-yearold twins, Jolly wore a neon-colored jersey emblazoned with the words: “Born To Go Pro,” the family’s official brand and credo.
When the camp began, the director, Sonny Johnson, called the hundreds of youth players to center court for an introduction. “The Jolly twins are in the building!” he yelled through a microphone, and Ashton and young Henry stood up. Johnson placed a $100 bill on the floor and told them it was theirs if they could hit a half-court shot. Their father jogged onto the court and whipped out his cellphone to begin recording. “I gotta get this,” he muttered to himself.
Both twins missed their shots, but it was still footage their 39-year-old father could use for the online documentary series he has been developing around their brand, along with a basketball camp and a clothing line. As the economics that surround youth sports has exploded, some parents
have fashioned themselves as de facto agents for their young athletes, entrepreneurs who are aggressively promoting their children and priming them for potential endorsement deals as they develop.
Name, image and likeness opportunities, prohibited for so long for amateur athletes, quickly reshaped the college sports landscape, and their influence and financial reach already has started to trickle down to elementary school age, as youth teams, coaches and parents see endless moneymaking opportunities without any regulation or more encumbrance. But while the marketplace is shifting, there also remains uncertainty among stakeholders where it ultimately is headed.
Jolly sees a shifting environment in youth sports ripe for exposure, and he’s intent on his kids becoming the youngest players in the country to land a lucrative NIL deal.
“Nowadays, in 2022, they looking for the next big thing. And I believe we are that. And when an opportunity presents itself, we’re going to jump at it,” Jolly said.
Jolly has taught his boys that everything they do is part of their brand — from the way they play to their shoulder-length brown braids, which their father has made clear must be allowed by any middle school or high school coach recruiting them. He curates their social media feeds, spends hours editing their YouTube highlight videos and sometimes wears a T-shirt he made with the logos of seven youth basketball rankings websites, all of which have rated his sons the top second graders in the country.
“That’s part of my strategy: Build their name up, build the expectations up, build their skills up, build their bodies up, so that by the time they get to high school, these companies are going to pay them to play,” Jolly said. “We want to do it as early as possible. I believe we’re going to be the pioneers.”
For decades, the nation’s top basketball players were prohibited from pocketing any money until they turned professional, which usually couldn’t happen until after at least a year of college ball. But new state laws over the past year-and-a half have upended the rules at the collegiate level, and suddenly there are a lot more hands trying to get a slice of an increasingly lucrative pie.
Throughout the weekend, Jolly would post a handful of photos and videos featuring his sons on Instagram, but there was one trophy that stood out: a selfie with Armando Bacot Sr., whose son, Armando Jr., is a star forward at North Carolina and who weeks earlier had withdrawn from the NBA draft to accept a handful of NIL deals reportedly worth at least $500,000.
Bacot Sr. was in attendance to watch his other son, King, who some consider one of the top fifth graders in the country, and the twins finally posed for a photo with both. “I’m a big fan,” Bacot Sr. told the Jolly kids as he shook their hand. After they ran off toward the concession stand, Jolly stayed to pick Bacot Sr.’s brain on how to build his own children into NIL stars. He rubbed his hands together after the conversation.
“He told me: You’re promoting them right. They’re playing up. They look good,” Jolly said.
More than a dozen states have sanctioned NIL in high school, although deals are typically reserved for teenage phenoms with large social media followings. Mikey Williams, a senior guard from San Diego with nearly 6 million followers combined on Instagram and TikTok, inked deals with Puma and Excel Sports last year and has an NIL valuation of $2.6 million, according to the recruiting site On3. And Jada Williams, a five-star recruit from Missouri who is still only a junior, has already signed deals with Spalding and Dick’s Sporting Goods. Nike completed its first NIL deal with a prep athlete in May when it reportedly signed high school soccer stars Alyssa and Gisele Thompson, sisters who play in California.
“It’s a really rapidly changing environment, and it’s really interesting to see this trickle-down effect, from NIL in college, to kids building their brands, to parents positioning their kids to have success at the next level,” said Travis Dorsch, a professor at Utah State University who researches youth sports. “It used to be we were just focused on parents being at the games and practices and training, and how involved they were and the types of conversations they had in the car or around the dinner table ... whereas now they’re sort of turning into agents for their kids.”
The twin’s mother, Ashley Jolly, gave up her career as a telecommunications engineer and started her own day care in suburban New Orleans, which afforded her a chance to be around her kids more and have an active role in their basketball careers.
“We didn’t see this happening,” she said, and while she supports her sons building their brands and pursuing professional careers, she sometimes worries about the pressure they are facing. Her husband earned a master’s degree in counseling from the University of Holy Cross in New Orleans, but Ashley also keeps the pulse on how her kids are feeling, making sure the twins don’t get overwhelmed.
They travel up to three times a month, spending a couple thousand dollars each time, which sometimes tournament and camp directors alleviate by picking up room and board and other expenses. But there are other stressors: Jolly often worries about his kids doing anything other than basketball on trips because they might get tired or injured for competition — “He is over-the-top basketball,” Ashley said — and when the boys lost at the AAU national tournament earlier this summer, everyone was emotionally drained.
Ashley said the family has lost friends because the Jolly boys have defeated their children on the court. Ashton will sometimes take it personally when a kid scores on him, and the younger Henry has started to follow suit.
“I honestly believe my sons have started something that sparked every child their age and under to step their game up,” she said. “Every time my kids step on the court, they have a target on their backs, so much so, some kids won’t be kids. They won’t come up and talk to them ... they are thinking like little professionals.”
People will sometimes tell Jolly that he reminds them of LaVar Ball, the outspoken father who built his Big Baller Brand around his three high school sons, two of whom now play in the NBA.
“I was doing this before I even knew who he was,” he said as he watched his kids warm up for the camp.
Jolly posts around a half-dozen times each day on his Instagram account (handle: @nbacoachjolly), where he has more than 6,000 followers, along with a separate account for just the boys, which sports another 3,000 followers. His YouTube page is filled with highlight footage and some videos have garnered thousands of views — and which features a new YouTube docuseries called “Born To Go Pro,” which shows clips of the boys training and talking about their favorite NBA players.
“Whatever makes sense, that is good for the brand. That is good for their brand,” he said. “I’m doing this for them.”
He has his eyes on other ways to make money: Last year, Overtime, a digital sports media company, started a high school league that offers kids six-figure salaries. Even though those players must forfeit their NCAA eligibility, Jolly is determined to get his kids into the league before they turn pro.
On the second day of the camp, Ashley and the couple’s 6-yearold son, Hunter, both showed up in gray Jolly Boys-branded T-shirts. The front read: “None and Done.” And on the back, the word “College” was crossed out. Her boys already have their futures mapped out.
“I want to play in the NBA for a long time,” said Ashton. “I want to make a lot of money.”
“Play in the NBA,” added the younger Henry, “and be a hall of famer.”
Back at their home outside of New Orleans, their father has also developed his own camp around the brand, which can be a lucrative endeavor for some stakeholders in the sport. A few hundred kids had paid their $265 entry fee for the NEO Boys National Showcase, which boasted a well-stocked concession stand and a merchandise store selling $50 shorts printed with an assortment of emblems: Kobe Bryant’s nickname, Chucky the Doll, The Joker — along with T-shirts, hoodies and backpacks. There were evaluators in the stands compiling scouting reports on the top kids, along with a film crew shooting mixtapes, which could be bought online later for $179.99, according to the camp’s website.
Jolly still conducted all of his own filming, as he had all summer as his boys traveled the country for tournaments — Miami, Orlando, Dallas. At the camp in suburban Cleveland, even though second graders are below the age threshold, the Jollys were invited to compete against the best third and fourth graders in the country. Their father was also taking notes for himself because for years he’s been trying to grow his own camp into the type of event that he often brings his own boys to. A recent stop on their year-long camp circuit attracted more than 600 players and cost $200 apiece.
“And my kids were the headliners on it. You do the math ... over $100,000 dollars on a weekend,” he said.
Jolly wiped the dust from his own Iverson shoes before his kids began their first scrimmage of the camp, as if he was ready to play himself. His kids wore gear provided free from companies their father hopes will one day become paid sponsors, including Mighty Mouth Guards and CoolOMG, which he said sent the boys free arm sleeves and knee pads earlier this summer.
Johnson ventured over with a cordless microphone to provide colorful announcing to the hundreds of spectators in the gym. Ashton carved up the defense with a coast-to-coast layup, and young Henry followed with his own step-through layup. “They’ve been doing this for years!” Johnson yelled. “They’re as good as advertised!”
Still, their father wasn’t satisfied. The twins’ team trailed by 11, and even though Ashton hit a deep three-pointer — “I didn’t know you were that good!” Johnson yelled over the PA system — the younger Henry struggled. His father pulled him aside after the game.
“You’re going to miss shots. That’s not the problem. The problem is that you’re not playing hard,” Jolly said, before helping his son take his shoes off and giving him a Lunchables to eat. “Everybody is going to know who you are ... you have to be a killer.”