SMU convened alumni, boosters and former teammates this weekend to honor the “Pony Express” era, bringing renewed attention to a pair of tandem rushers whose college exploits remain part of Dallas sports lore. A FILE photograph from Oct. 20, 1982, of Eric Dickerson and Craig James posing before an SMU billboard was projected at the event, underscoring the split between glory on the field and the scandal that later enveloped the program.

Dickerson and James were icons of a high-powered SMU offense in the early 1980s, the athleticism and complementary styles of the two backs producing highlight reels and sellout crowds. Dickerson went on to become an NFL Hall of Famer and set the single-season NFL rushing record with 2,105 yards in 1984; James followed with an NFL career and later turned to broadcasting. Their play remains a case study in tandem running attacks and in cultivating campus fervor around college athletes.

But the reunion also reopened conversations about the way college football was run then. SMU was later revealed to be a repeat violator in a pay-for-play scheme that culminated in 1987 when the NCAA imposed the only program-wide “death penalty” in Division I history: a multi-year suspension of the football program that devastated recruiting and institutional reputation. The sanction, meant to send a stern warning, had consequences that reverberated through the program and the sport.

SMU’s athletic department issued a statement at the tribute recognizing the on-field achievements while acknowledging institutional failures. “Their accomplishments are woven into the fabric of SMU, even as we reckon with the mistakes that followed,” the statement read. The balance between celebration and contrition threaded the event and framed larger questions about accountability and athlete welfare.

Analysts say the same arc would likely look different in today’s landscape. Name, image and likeness rules, legal alternatives to strict amateurism, a robust transfer portal and multibillion-dollar broadcast contracts have transformed incentives and leverage for players and programs alike. “If the Pony Express played now, there’d be different mechanisms for athletes to benefit, and for universities to be held accountable,” said a longtime college football analyst. “That changes both the calculus of risk and the business model.”

The shift is not merely commercial. The SMU case is part of a longer cultural reckoning about how predominantly Black athletes produce revenue for universities and conferences while having limited control over that wealth. The honor paid to Dickerson and James brought those dynamics into sharp relief: fans cheered the memory of breakaway runs even as conversations at the event probed how power, money and compliance intersected to punish an institution — and, indirectly, the athletes who risked their careers.

For SMU, the reunion was both homage and a reminder that athletic brilliance cannot be wholly separated from governance and ethics. As college football continues to evolve, the Pony Express legacy is a cautionary tale and a cultural touchstone: it celebrates athletic artistry, illustrates the sport’s changing economics, and underscores the social imperative to build systems that protect athletes and institutions alike.