The obituary for Jeff Webb is being written as a eulogy for a visionary who transformed a sideline hobby into a global sport. That narrative is a convenient fiction. Webb didn’t just build an empire; he engineered a vertical monopoly that would make a Gilded Age oil tycoon blush. He didn't "save" cheerleading. He captured it, commoditized it, and locked the gates behind him.
If you want to understand how to dominate an industry, stop looking at Silicon Valley and start looking at Varsity Spirit.
The Illusion of the Sport
The standard argument is that Webb’s genius lay in creating the "competitive" aspect of cheerleading. This is half-right. The real genius was realizing that if you control the rules, you control the revenue. By founding the Universal Cheerleaders Association (UCA) and later folding it into Varsity Spirit, Webb created a closed loop.
Varsity didn't just run the competitions. They manufactured the uniforms. They ran the camps where the routines were learned. They dictated the safety standards that required specific certifications—which, naturally, they provided.
In a traditional sport, the equipment manufacturer and the league commissioner are separate entities. In Webb’s world, they were the same checkbook. If a school wanted to compete in a Varsity event, they often found it much easier—or implicitly required—to be wearing Varsity polyester. It wasn't about the "spirit" of the game. It was about capturing the entire lifecycle of a teenage athlete’s participation.
Safety as a Barrier to Entry
Everyone points to Webb’s work with AACCA (American Association of Cheerleading Coaches and Administrators) as a noble pursuit of safety. I’ve seen this play out in dozens of industries: regulation is the ultimate moat.
By spearheading safety regulations, Webb positioned his organizations as the sole arbiters of what was "legal" on a mat. This wasn't just about preventing concussions; it was about professionalizing the barrier to entry. Independent gyms and smaller startup circuits couldn't keep up with the shifting regulatory landscape that Varsity helped write.
When you define the "safety" of a stunt, you define who is allowed to teach it. Webb didn't just make cheerleading safer; he made it expensive. He turned a grassroots school activity into a "pay-to-play" model where the elite tier is reserved for those who can afford the $5,000-a-head travel season.
The NBC Deal and the Birth of the Infomercial
The 1980s partnership with ESPN is often cited as the moment cheerleading became a "real" sport. Look closer. Those broadcasts weren't sporting events in the traditional sense; they were high-production infomercials for Varsity’s brand.
Unlike the NFL or the NBA, where the league sells media rights to networks to generate revenue for teams, these broadcasts functioned to drive registration for the next year's camps. It was a brilliant, self-sustaining marketing engine funded by the parents of the participants.
We are told this "elevated" the athletes. In reality, it turned them into unpaid influencers for a private equity goldmine. While the athletes performed more dangerous stunts every year, the profit margins moved upward to Varsity and its eventual private equity owners, Bain Capital and Charlesbank.
The Private Equity End Game
If you want to see the "success" of Webb’s model, look at the 2018 sale of Varsity Brands for roughly $2.5 billion. That is the true legacy.
Webb proved that you can take a fragmented, community-based activity and use "standardization" as a tool for aggressive consolidation. He understood that "tradition" is just a brand asset you can leverage until it’s time to exit.
The downside? The soul of the activity was hollowed out. Ask any coach who has been in the game for thirty years about the "Varsity tax." They’ll tell you about the skyrocketing costs of music licensing, the mandatory hotel blocks at competitions that kick back to the organizers, and the crushing weight of a monopoly that owns the mat, the air above it, and the shoes on the floor.
The Fallacy of "Spirit"
The industry likes to use the word "Spirit" to deflect criticism. How can you be against spirit? It’s a linguistic shield.
Webb’s empire succeeded because it weaponized the social capital of American high schools. He took a localized ritual and turned it into a standardized corporate product. You don't "cheer" for your team anymore; you "perform" for a score sheet designed by a corporation to ensure you need to buy more "training" next summer.
Stop Asking if Cheerleading is a Sport
The perennial debate—"Is cheerleading a sport?"—is a distraction that Webb played like a fiddle. While critics argued about athleticism, he was busy acquiring his competitors.
The question isn't whether it's a sport. The question is whether we should allow a single private entity to own the entire infrastructure of a youth activity from the ground up.
Webb was a master of the "Total Market Capture" strategy. He didn't wait for a market to exist; he manufactured the demand, the supply, and the regulatory body to oversee both. It is a terrifyingly efficient blueprint for the death of independent competition.
The next time you see a highlight reel of a "world champion" cheerleading squad, don't just look at the tumbling. Look at the logos. Look at the event banners. Look at the mandatory "official" gear. You aren't watching a sport. You are watching a perfectly executed monopoly in its natural habitat.
Build an empire? No. Jeff Webb built a cage, painted it gold, and charged everyone admission to stay inside.
Go buy the ribbon. Pay the registration fee. Don't forget to smile for the camera—Varsity owns the rights to the photo.
