Millionaires U.

He was now facing several more decisions. Five companies, including two online social networks, had approached him about partnering with Go Big. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to. But should he continue to self-fund, or reach out to venture capitalists or angel investors? Would he need to hire another employee to handle other sports besides football? "This is where I need your help," he told the class.

Players raised their hands but didn't offer many suggestions. Instead, most asked questions about how Go Big works. Nate Lawrie, tight end for the Cincinnati Bengals, for instance, wanted to know how kids at inner-city schools would be able to participate.

Tucker dealt with each query easily, saying: "That's a fair question. That's a good point." But when he made an offhand remark that his business was "gaining traction," Spencer Hoffman, forgotten on the far side of the room, spoke up. "How do you know you're gaining traction?" the investment analyst asked sharply.

Tucker replied that he was close to financially breaking even.

"That just tells me you're not spending enough," Hoffman retorted.

Surprised, Tucker said nothing. As all eyes turned toward him, Hoffman explained that he'd been taking notes throughout Tucker's presentation and had compiled a list of 20 points about Go Big that needed "to be explored more." What were the metrics Tucker was using to measure his progress? Was he in line to make more than he did playing football? How much was he willing to risk? What was his return?

There was a palpable shift in the room, from the politely detached acceptance of a peer's success, to the electricity that athletes draw from a challenge. Hoffman's critique was what the players had come to Wharton to hear. Later, a few would tell Taheripour that Thompson's session had been the most worthwhile.

"I can't tell you the number of crappy business plans I see," Hoffman said after the class, briefly breaking away from the line of players eagerly waiting to talk to him. "No one likes to have their baby called ugly. I'm a cynical, cynical guy."

Tucker invited Hoffman and Thompson to have lunch with him in the dining room to talk more about his business. Their conversation ran so long that Tucker was late to his next session.

Afterward, he was resolved to "move faster" with Go Big, from immediately raising finances to more sharply defining his priorities. And he wanted to stay in touch with Hoffman and Thompson.

"I went to a good school, and I'm a smart guy, but just because a guy is 6-4 and 350 pounds doesn't mean he's ready to be on an NFL team," he says. "I'm not a pro at this, but there are other people who are."

At the final session for the program the following afternoon, several players had been selected to give closing comments, and the event was surprisingly emotional. Bryce Fisher, a defensive end for the Tennessee Titans, was first to bound down to the microphone. A 31-year-old, eight-year NFL veteran, he urged his fellow players to put as much energy into their business ventures as they had into football. "I was the best at football. Now I plan to be the best at something else," he said. "John, your name has value not just because you're John Owens of the Detroit Lions, but because you're John Owens, businessman."

He also jokingly cautioned his fellow players: "As an investor, take your time. And as an operator, don't dabble. No restaurants or nightclubs."

Afterward, Kenneth Shropshire, a professor of legal studies and business ethics, and director of the Wharton Sports Business Initiative, welcomed the class into the Wharton family. "You are now allowed to contact us for office hours forever," he boomed in a James Earl Jones-like voice.

As Shropshire offered each player a handshake, a certificate stating he had completed the program and a class photo, the atmosphere turned slightly punchy, like the last 15 minutes of summer camp. When Troy Brown, 36, wide receiver for the New England Patriots, tripped and almost fell down a step while reaching for his certificate, the 15-year veteran, who the Boston Globe had just reported would not be offered a new contract, joked, "My career's almost over anyway!" Everyone roared.

There was back-slapping and hand-shaking, promises to call, and good luck wished on contract negotiations. Then there was a mad dash downstairs to the luggage room, where stacks of black duffel bags and suitcases were waiting to be claimed. Tucker slid the straps of his backpack onto either shoulder. It was time to go home, and on to the next phase of his life.

Stephanie Booth is a freelance writer in New Jersey. She can be reached at StephanieBB@gmail.com.