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Who Owns The Catch?
NFL Players and the Legal Erasure of Athletic Creation
February 7, 2026
The Question Nobody Asks
When Odell Beckham Jr. made The Catch in 2014—one-handed, falling backward, defying physics—the moment became iconic instantly. The NFL sold the footage to ESPN, Fox, CBS, and every network that wanted it. NFL Films packaged it into documentaries. YouTube channels monetized highlight compilations. Advertisers used it in commercials. The play generated millions in revenue over the next decade.
Odell Beckham Jr.'s share of that revenue: $0.
Not because the NFL is withholding payment. Not because of a loophole. But because, under U.S. copyright law, Odell Beckham Jr. didn't create anything. He just happened to be there when the camera was rolling.
The camera operator who filmed it? That person created a copyrightable work. The editor who cut the highlight package? Creator. The producer who directed the broadcast? Creator. The athlete who performed the acrobatic feat that made the moment worth filming in the first place? Not a creator. Just raw material.
This isn't an oversight. It's structural. And it's why athletes—unlike musicians, actors, or any other performer whose work generates billions—have zero ownership rights over their own performances.
The Legal Erasure
U.S. copyright law protects "original works of authorship fixed in a tangible medium of expression" (17 U.S.C. § 101). That includes broadcasts, recordings, films, and photographs. But it does not include the underlying performance being recorded.
Here's how it works:
The athletic performance itself is not copyrightable. A catch, a tackle, a touchdown run—these are not considered "intellectual creations" or "original works" under federal law. They are functional acts. Sports events, courts have ruled, lack the creative authorship required for copyright protection. The game happens live, and unless it's recorded, there's nothing "fixed" to own.
The broadcast of the performance is copyrightable. The moment a camera captures the game and transmits it (even live), that broadcast becomes a fixed audiovisual work. And ownership of that work vests in whoever produced it—the league, the network, the broadcaster. Not the players.
So the law creates a bizarre paradox: The person who makes the play has no rights. The person who films the play owns it forever.
This is not how other industries work.
MUSICIANS:
• Own sound recordings (federal copyright protection)
• Earn royalties from streams, sales, radio play
• Can reclaim master recordings after 35 years (Copyright Act § 203)
• Example: Taylor Swift re-recording albums to own her masters
• Lifetime earnings from a single hit song: potentially millions
ACTORS:
• Negotiate residuals via SAG-AFTRA collective bargaining
• Get paid every time a show reruns or streams
• Performances treated as protected works under union contracts
• Example: Friends cast still earns ~$20M/year from reruns
• Residuals = ongoing income for past work
ATHLETES:
• Own nothing
• No royalties from highlight reuse, documentaries, archive footage
• Performances not copyrightable under federal law
• Example: Franco Harris estate gets $0 from 50+ years of Immaculate Reception licensing
• One-time salary. No residuals. No ownership. Ever.
Why Musicians and Actors Have Rights—And Athletes Don't
The difference isn't arbitrary. It's structural, and it's rooted in how copyright law defines "creation."
Musicians create fixed works. When an artist records a song, that recording is a tangible object protected by federal copyright law. The musician (or their label) owns the master recording. Every time that recording is played on the radio, streamed on Spotify, or used in a commercial, the owner gets paid. Musicians fought for these rights—through litigation, lobbying, and union organizing—and won. They own their work.
Actors negotiate residuals through unions. SAG-AFTRA (the actors' union) bargains collectively with studios to ensure actors get paid every time their work is reused. A TV show that airs once pays the actor. A TV show that reruns for 20 years continues paying the actor. These aren't copyright royalties—they're contractual residuals negotiated through collective bargaining. But they function the same way: actors get compensated every time their performance generates revenue.
Athletes have neither. They don't own copyrights (because performances aren't copyrightable). And they don't have residuals (because the NFLPA has never successfully negotiated them). The result: athletes are the only major category of performers in America who generate billions in media revenue and receive zero ongoing compensation for it.
The $110 Billion Question
From 2023 to 2033, the NFL's media rights deals are worth $110 billion. That's roughly $10 billion per year split among broadcast partners:
- Disney (ESPN/ABC): $2.7 billion/year
- Fox: $2.2 billion/year
- CBS: $2.1 billion/year
- NBC: $2 billion/year
- Amazon (Thursday Night Football): $1+ billion/year
That's just live game broadcasts. It doesn't include:
- NFL Films—which controls the league's massive archive of historic footage and produces documentaries, highlight packages, and "Greatest Plays" compilations sold to networks, streaming platforms, and advertisers
- Highlight licensing—every time ESPN shows a touchdown on SportsCenter, they're licensing NFL footage
- Streaming rights—YouTube TV, Peacock, Paramount+, and others pay separately for NFL content
- International rights—the NFL sells game footage to broadcasters in 180+ countries
Add it all up, and the NFL generates tens of billions annually from footage of players performing. The players' share of that revenue: $0 in direct compensation.
Yes, players are paid salaries. Yes, roughly 48.5% of total league revenue goes to players under the current CBA. But none of that is tied to reuse of their performances. When NFL Films sells a documentary featuring Franco Harris's Immaculate Reception for the 1,000th time, Franco Harris's estate doesn't get a check. When a network pays to air a "Top 100 Plays" special, the players in those plays don't get residuals.
The NFL owns the footage. The NFL licenses the footage. The NFL profits from the footage. The players who created the moments? They were paid once, in 1972 or 2005 or 2023, and never again.
THE PLAY:
Franco Harris, December 23, 1972, AFC Divisional Playoff. Deflected pass, one-handed catch,
60-yard touchdown. Called "Immaculate Reception," instantly iconic.
THE REVENUE (ESTIMATED):
• 50+ years of licensing to networks, documentaries, highlight packages
• Used in commercials, NFL Films productions, streaming compilations
• Conservative estimate: $5-10 million in cumulative licensing revenue since 1972
• Actual figure: likely higher, but NFL doesn't disclose footage licensing revenue publicly
FRANCO HARRIS'S SHARE:
$0. He was paid his 1972 playoff salary (~$18,000). No residuals. No royalties. Nothing.
FRANCO HARRIS'S ESTATE'S SHARE (SINCE HIS DEATH IN 2022):
$0. NFL still licenses the footage. Estate still gets nothing.
IF HARRIS HAD MUSICIAN-LEVEL RIGHTS:
He'd own (or co-own) rights to footage. Every license = payment. Estimated lifetime/estate
earnings from one play: $2-5 million+. Instead: zero.
WHY:
Copyright law says the broadcast is a fixed work (NFL owns it). The performance is not
a fixed work (Harris owns nothing). Law treats the athlete as raw material, not creator.
The Precedent That Ended the Debate
Has anyone tried to fight this in court? Yes. They lost.
Dryer v. NFL (2014-2016) was the definitive test case. A group of retired NFL players, led by former Rams defensive end Fred Dryer, sued the league over its use of game footage in NFL Films documentaries and promotional materials. The players argued that the NFL was violating their right of publicity—state-law protections that give individuals control over commercial use of their name, image, and likeness.
The NFL's defense: Copyright preemption.
Under Section 301(a) of the Copyright Act, federal copyright law preempts (overrides) state-law claims—including right-of-publicity claims—when the use involves a work that falls within copyright's subject matter. The NFL argued that game footage is a copyrighted audiovisual work, and therefore the players' publicity rights don't apply.
The district court agreed. The 8th Circuit Court of Appeals affirmed. The ruling was unambiguous:
- The NFL owns the copyright to game broadcasts
- Using that footage in documentaries and highlights is an exercise of the NFL's copyright
- Players' right-of-publicity claims are preempted by federal copyright law
- The fact that the NFL profits from the footage doesn't matter—copyright owners are allowed to profit from their works
Translation: Even your face belongs to the NFL if it appears in footage the NFL owns.
The case was part of a larger class action that eventually settled for $42 million in 2013—but that settlement was about compensation for past use, not establishing ownership rights. And players who opted out of the settlement and continued litigating (like Dryer) lost completely.
The legal principle is now settled: The NFL owns game footage. Players have no rights to it. Federal copyright law prevents them from claiming otherwise.
THE CLAIM:
Retired players sued NFL over use of game footage in documentaries/highlights, arguing
violation of state right-of-publicity laws (control over name/image/likeness).
THE DEFENSE:
NFL argued federal copyright preempts state publicity rights. Game footage = copyrighted
work owned by NFL. Using it = lawful exercise of copyright. Players have no claim.
THE RULING (8TH CIRCUIT, 2016):
"The Copyright Act preempts the Players' right of publicity claims... The Films are
expressive works that fall within the subject matter of copyright, and the Players'
claims seek to vindicate rights equivalent to those protected by copyright."
TRANSLATION:
• NFL owns the footage (it's a copyrighted broadcast)
• Players don't own their performances (not copyrightable)
• Publicity rights don't apply when footage is involved
• NFL can use, sell, license footage forever without player compensation
OUTCOME:
Players lost. Precedent set. No further litigation. Legal question resolved:
Athletes are not creators. The NFL is.
OTHER CASES WITH SIMILAR OUTCOMES:
• Baltimore Orioles v. MLB Players Ass'n (1986) — Clubs own telecasts, preempting publicity rights
• NBA v. Motorola (1997) — Sports events not copyrightable, but broadcasts are
• Baiul v. NBC (2013) — Skater's performance recording owned by broadcaster
THE PATTERN:
Every court that's ruled on this issue has sided with leagues/broadcasters. Players
have no ownership rights to footage of their performances. The law is settled.
The CBA Trap
Even if copyright law were different—even if athletes could theoretically claim ownership of their performances—they've already signed those rights away.
The NFL's standard player contract (Appendix A, Paragraph 4 of the 2020 CBA) includes this language:
"Player grants to Club and the League... the right to use Player's name and picture for publicity and the promotion of NFL Football, the League or any of its member clubs in newspapers, magazines, motion pictures, game programmes and roster manuals, broadcasts and telecasts, and all other publicity and advertising media."
Translation: Every player, upon signing an NFL contract, grants the league perpetual rights to use their name, image, and likeness in any media—including game footage—for promotional purposes.
This isn't a "waiver" of copyright (because players never had copyright to waive). It's a contractual grant of publicity rights. And courts have consistently upheld these grants as enforceable.
The NFLPA has negotiated some protections—Article 4, Section 5(e) prohibits individual contracts from transferring player IP to clubs or sponsors, and Article 47 establishes the NFLPA's group licensing program for trading cards, video games, and other commercial uses involving six or more players. But none of this overrides the league's rights under Paragraph 4(a) to use footage for "promotion of NFL Football."
So even if a player wanted to sue for ownership of footage, they'd face two insurmountable barriers:
- Copyright law says they don't own the performance (it's not a fixed work)
- Their contract says they've granted the NFL rights to use it anyway (even if publicity rights applied)
The legal trap is airtight. And it's been tested in court. Players lose every time.
Why No One Fights Back
Given the stakes—billions in licensing revenue, lifetime earnings from iconic moments—why don't more players sue?
1. The law is settled. After Dryer, there's no ambiguity. Courts have ruled definitively that copyright preempts publicity rights and that the NFL owns game footage. A new lawsuit would face the same precedents and almost certainly lose.
2. The costs are prohibitive. Litigating against the NFL requires millions in legal fees. The Dryer case took years and involved a class action with significant resources. Individual players can't afford to fight.
3. The risks are real. Players who challenge the league face potential retaliation—being blackballed from coaching opportunities, broadcasting jobs, or Hall of Fame consideration. The NFL is a powerful institution with a long memory.
4. The NFLPA lacks leverage. Unlike SAG-AFTRA (which can shut down Hollywood with a strike), the NFLPA has limited strike power. Football careers are short (3-4 years on average), and players can't afford to sit out seasons. The union has never successfully negotiated residuals for footage reuse because it doesn't have the leverage to demand them.
5. The money is hidden. The NFL doesn't publicly disclose how much it earns from highlight licensing, NFL Films productions, or archive footage sales. Players don't know how much they're losing because the league doesn't report it. Without transparency, it's hard to build a case for what's being taken.
So players stay silent. The system continues. And the NFL keeps profiting from performances it didn't create.
What Other Industries Did Differently
Musicians fought—and won. The history of music copyright is a history of artists reclaiming power from record labels. In the 1970s, artists like Paul McCartney lobbied Congress to amend the Copyright Act, establishing the right to reclaim master recordings after 35 years (17 U.S.C. § 203). In the 2000s, artists sued streaming platforms for fair compensation, leading to new royalty structures. Today, artists like Taylor Swift re-record albums to own their masters. Musicians organized, litigated, and legislated their way to ownership.
Actors struck—and won residuals. SAG-AFTRA has gone on strike multiple times to secure residual payments. The 1960 strike established residuals for films sold to TV. The 1980 strike secured residuals for home video. The 2023 strike secured protections against AI use and better streaming residuals. Actors used their collective power to negotiate ongoing compensation for reuse of their work.
Athletes did neither. The NFLPA has never struck over footage rights. It's never lobbied Congress to amend copyright law to recognize live athletic performances as copyrightable works. It's never built a coalition with other sports unions (NBA, MLB, NHL) to push for residuals. The union fights for salary increases and health benefits—important battles—but it has never seriously challenged the fundamental structure that allows the NFL to own and profit from player performances in perpetuity.
Why? Partly because the legal barriers are higher (copyright preemption is a statutory wall, not just a contract dispute). Partly because football careers are too short to sustain long strikes. And partly because the issue has never been framed as a fight worth having.
Until now.
The Structural Power Question
This isn't just about money. It's about who controls the story.
If players owned rights to their performances—even partial rights—they would have:
- Veto power over usage. A player could refuse to let footage be used in a context they find objectionable (e.g., a documentary glorifying a team they hate, or a highlight package promoting gambling).
- Negotiating leverage. Players could demand residuals as part of CBA negotiations, the same way actors do.
- Control over legacy. Retired players could decide how their iconic moments are remembered and monetized, rather than leaving it entirely to the league.
- A revenue stream that outlasts their careers. Instead of earning money only while playing, athletes could earn from their performances for decades—the way musicians earn from songs recorded 50 years ago.
But under the current system, players have none of this. The NFL owns the footage. The NFL decides how it's used. The NFL profits from it forever. And players get nothing beyond their one-time salary.
This is structural power imbalance by design. The law doesn't just fail to protect athletes—it actively defines them as non-creators. And contracts enforce that definition.
Could the Law Change?
Technically, yes. Practically, no.
Congress could amend the Copyright Act to recognize live athletic performances as copyrightable works, the same way it recognizes live musical performances or choreography. This would give athletes ownership rights to their performances, which could then be licensed to broadcasters rather than owned outright.
But this would require:
- A massive lobbying effort by athletes and unions
- Overcoming opposition from leagues, broadcasters, and media companies (who profit from the current system)
- Convincing Congress that athletes deserve the same protections as musicians and actors
None of that is happening. The NFLPA isn't lobbying for copyright reform. SAG-AFTRA and the musicians' unions aren't joining forces with athletes. And Congress has no political incentive to take on the NFL.
Alternatively, the NFLPA could negotiate residuals through collective bargaining. This wouldn't require changing federal law—just convincing the NFL to share revenue from footage reuse.
But the NFLPA has never seriously pushed for this. The 2020 CBA expires in 2030. When negotiations begin, the union will fight for higher salaries, better health benefits, expanded rosters—all important. But unless residuals become a priority, the issue will be ignored again.
And even if the NFLPA demanded residuals, the NFL would argue: "We already share 48.5% of revenue with players. Footage licensing is built into that number. You don't get to double-dip." Without transparency into how much the league earns from highlights and archives, players can't prove they're being shortchanged.
So the law won't change. The CBA won't change. And the system will continue exactly as it is: players create value, the NFL owns it, and nobody questions the arrangement.
The Uncomfortable Truth
The reason athletes don't own their performances isn't because the law is neutral. It's because the law was written when sports were small-time entertainment, not multibillion-dollar industries. Copyright law developed to protect authors, musicians, and filmmakers—people who create fixed works that can be sold and resold. It never considered that a running back breaking a tackle might be just as valuable as a guitarist recording a solo.
And by the time sports became big business, the structure was already locked in. Leagues owned broadcasts. Players signed contracts granting publicity rights. Courts ruled that copyright preempts any challenge. The trap was set before athletes realized they were in it.
Now, changing the system would require dismantling decades of precedent, renegotiating contracts, and convincing Congress to rewrite federal law. It would cost billions. It would face opposition from the most powerful media companies in the world. And it would require athletes to organize across sports and fight a battle that could take years—time most of them don't have in their short careers.
So it won't happen. The Catch will continue to belong to the NFL. The Immaculate Reception will keep generating revenue for the league, not Franco Harris's family. And every highlight, every documentary, every "Greatest Plays" package will profit everyone except the people who made the plays.
Because under U.S. law, those people aren't creators. They're just the raw material someone else used to make something valuable.
RESEARCH APPROACH:
Randy identified the legal question: Do players have IP rights to game footage? Claude conducted legal research using primary sources: U.S. Copyright Act (17 U.S.C.), case law (Dryer v. NFL, Baltimore Orioles v. MLBPA, NBA v. Motorola), and CBA contract language (2020 NFL-NFLPA agreement). Every claim sourced to statute, case ruling, or contract provision. No speculation without clear labeling.
FINDINGS:
• Copyright law does not protect athletic performances (not "fixed works")
• Broadcasts are copyrightable, owned by producer (NFL/networks)
• Right of publicity preempted by federal copyright (Dryer precedent)
• Player contracts grant NFL perpetual use rights (CBA Appendix A, Paragraph 4)
• No successful litigation challenging NFL ownership of footage
• No legislative effort to amend Copyright Act for athletes
• Result: NFL owns footage, players get $0 from reuse
WHAT THIS MEANS:
This isn't fixable through lawsuits (Dryer settled the law). It's not fixable through CBA negotiations (NFL won't voluntarily share footage revenue). It would require Congressional action (amending Copyright Act) or unprecedented union organizing (cross-sport coalition demanding residuals). Neither is happening. So athletes remain the only major category of performers in America who generate billions in media revenue and receive zero ongoing compensation for it.
WHY IT MATTERS:
Because the law doesn't just favor the NFL—it defines athletes as non-creators. And that definition has consequences: no ownership, no residuals, no control over legacy. Just one-time payment, then permanent extraction. This is structural by design.
Sources: 17 U.S.C. § 101 et seq. (Copyright Act); Dryer v. NFL, 814 F.3d 938 (8th Cir. 2016); Baltimore Orioles v. MLBPA, 805 F.2d 663 (7th Cir. 1986); NBA v. Motorola, 105 F.3d 841 (2nd Cir. 1997); 2020 NFL-NFLPA CBA (Appendix A, Articles 4, 47); NFL media rights contracts (public reporting). Full citations available on request.
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