The Man Who Knows Florida Gators Football Better Than Anyone Tells His Story

You know, I love the program and I hate the program for what it's become. I grew up in a time where the players had to struggle to put together two or three dollars to get a pizza. Back in my day, I mean, literally, we were rubbing nickels and quarters and dimes together. We were selling tickets for $7 and $10 and $20 when the games came on. You'd get a handful of tickets Friday, and you'd go out and try and sell them. This is when tickets were $7 apiece back in my day. For nearly six decades, one man has watched Florida football transform from a regional program into one of the biggest brands in college sports. He's witnessed legendary coaches, historic teams, national championships, and generations of players that have walked through Gainesville. But his story isn't about the touchdowns, the trophies, or even the wins. It's about the people behind them. And now, after spending a lifetime keeping Florida's history alive, he believes that something important is being lost. This is family to me. These are real people. They're just not throwaways, you know. Their eligibility's up. See you later. And that's kind of what it's become now. Bill Feinberg. But around Gainesville, and especially among generations of former Florida athletes, he's known by another name, Pizza Bill. His relationship with the University of Florida began long before the national championships, the multi-million dollar contracts, and even before the modern era of college football. It began with his family. And a decision that would change the entire direction of his life. Life. My father went here during World War II, was here for the first semester, boom. World War II broke out, went to serve in Germany, came back, finished his degree. The gentleman that he worked for, Dr. John McQuitty, who was the registrar at the time at the end, the board of examiner, who gave all the exams, the senior placement test, the LSAT, the SAT, that's what my father interned under him when he was a student. And when they had an opening in 1961, without him bringing my father back, I'd still be sitting on a cul-de-sac in New York, you know, probably sitting on a, you know, selling hot dogs, selling hot dogs on a corner with a hot dog stand, if my father hadn't decided to come back and come to work at the University of Florida, which he loved. He was a redneck from Quincy, Florida, whose grandfather grew tobacco, whose father grew tobacco, my grandfather. And my mother was from New York and said, let's go back down south because there ain't nothing here. Yeah, so that was it. I could have ended up in New York City walking the streets doing something. Who knows? Wow. So I'm blessed. I am really blessed to be in Gainesville, Florida. It'll never happen again because I started at 12. I'm 69. So do the math. That's 57 years, I guess, if my math is correct. 12 from 69 to 57. I believe you. Yeah, I have to think about it sometimes because I have to think about it. I've been through so many different seasons with football and basketball and I started doing basketball. I stood under, my dad used to take me to the basketball games and there was no one to shag balls for the players after they missed so I literally started feeding the balls back to Neil Walk and Gary Keller and those guys in the old Florida gym and that's how I really really got started. And then I started handing out batons to the track people at the Florida Relays. You know, they used kids to do stuff back in the day. That had never happened today. You won't see a 12, 13, 14, 15-year-old kid running around running balls or being an equipment manager at the University of Florida. That's a student's job, or that's a guy that gets paid $70,000, $80,000 a year to do. As Bill grew older, the university wasn't just somewhere he spent his free time. It became his second home. Players became friends, friends became family, and somewhere along the way, a simple habit gave him the nickname that would follow him for the rest of his life. What do they call it? That's my government name, is Bill. And my parents named me William David. They've been calling me Bill for Billy. Billy was what my mother called me. And Pizza Bill came from the fact that every time the players would come in, I had just enough money to get a Domino's pizza. They were about two or three dollars back in the day. And they'd bring it down to Yon Hall in the dorm where we lived. And they'd deliver it. And I was always munching on pizza down in the equipment room, or the locker room in the dorm. And I was much bigger then than I was now. And I loved pepperoni pizza back in the day. So I would chomp down on that. And then when I got a little bit better off and Leonardo's opened, we'd go to Leonardo's down by the Slice. I just love pizza, and today, I just had a piece of Paisanos last night. So, so, you know. The name rings true, man. Walk into Bill's Gainesville home, and you'll find something remarkable. Decades of Florida athletics history. Old media guides, photographs, signed footballs, helmets, records of players who wore the orange and blue long before current fans were even born. But the most valuable thing here might not be sitting on a shelf. It's the information Bill has spent nearly 60 years collecting. Names, phone numbers, relationships, and the stories of people who might otherwise have been forgotten. But basically, this is what I do is I create, you know, contact cards on all the guys trying to keep up, make sure that, you know, that Jason's still property claims adjuster and, you know, Eric's still got his own financial advisor stuff. Unfortunately, Maude Williams has passed away. So I keep records and stuff like that and try every A day, reach out to five or six guys, how you doing, got a roof over your head, how's the family, how are the kids, are you coming to the game, you need tickets, what's happening, and put them in touch with Mike Peterson over there at Gatorade. And make sure that they have what they need as far as trying to get them back and involved in the program. You know, You know, I worked with Brandon Spikes when he was in Gatorade. And just try and keep all the classes together because we're so spread out. There's so many different guys and I keep track of all the cards. So let's say you were... a late walk-on or something like that, I'll add you in because you may have lettered or whatever. So everybody that's come through the program for the last, oh I don't know, 58 years since I've been doing this, I keep track. We've got walk-ons, we've got trainers, managers, coaches, staff, and I've got, I'll show you in a minute, that whole closet full of all the old press guides going back to the, as you can see, all the junk I got here and I got a lot of stuff hidden away too. It's kind of a beautiful mess, I call it. It's organized chaos. Yeah, that's pretty much it. I sense, I can feel it. I know where everything is. That's, yeah. People come in and go, oh, wow, this is interesting. Bill doesn't describe this as a collection he built to make money. For him, it's a responsibility. He knows which players are still connected to Gainesville, which ones need help, and which ones are still trying to find their way back to the program. He's become a bridge between generations and because he's lived through so much of Florida's history firsthand, some of his strongest opinions concern the teams and people he believed haven't received the recognition they deserve. I learned about the 84 situation last year. I was at an event and a young lady, she was selling pins to probably Cam Henson. Yeah. I don't, I can't remember. Yeah, it was Cam Henson. And I got one, I bought one. With the Coca-Cola. Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah. To bring, obviously, awareness to like, hey, something needs to be reinstated. Well, we did the reunion, yeah, we did the reunion two years ago for Kentucky, but they just brought us down on the field. They had us in the, they had a nice little reception for us in the Heavener Center, but they need to recognize the team. With all the banners, with all the signage in the press guides and on the side of the stadium and the orange wall and in the indoor practice facility where they have the numbers up for the championship teams. And Shane's team of 1990 never got their due also. They were kind of short shrifted with with the probation from 89 not recognized. They were SEC champs. They won it on the field. The 84 and 85 teams won it on the field. So it's very disconcerting. And it's it's it's. I've disassociated a lot of the players from the program. So I have become that kind of bridge where they'll come to me and they'll say, what can we do? So we hold, we have some meetings, we have some Zoom meetings and talk about it. But the university has moved on, unfortunately. And it's sad, because those were some of the greatest teams Florida ever put on the field. I mean, guys like Lewis Oliver, Harvey Thomas, Scott Trimble. You know, you had three first-round draft picks with Neil Anderson and Lorenzo Hampton and John L. Williams in the backfield. Kerwin Bell doesn't get the love he deserves. Wayne Peace doesn't get the love he deserves. I mean, there's so many of these 80s guys. You know, Jim Gainey, all these guys that played in the late 70s, early 80s, after Charlie Pell came in in 79. And who really, to me, is the godfather of modern Florida football. He came in and changed the program and made it what it is today. I mean, all due respect to Coach Spurrier, Coach Meyer, and all the other guys that came. But Charlie Pell put this place on the map, for better or worse. He really came in with the boosters and I saw it firsthand. I drove him around sometimes to the different quarterback clubs, gator clubs and stuff and he would go in there and he'd tell people bring your checkbook because we're gonna we're gonna get money from you and he would literally sit down and he would charm you out of a check. He was incredible. Yeah yeah and to this day I still speak with Mrs. Pell and uh I've kind of raised our son Carrick a little bit taught him I didn't know how to ride a motorcycle and growing up I had dirt bikes and stuff. When I was about 50 pounds lighter, I rode dirt bikes as a kid, so those are the kind of things. Is this what we've converted to? Well, yeah, we had to go to, we moved to the electric bike here as an old man, so. Those things are awesome. Yeah, they're very nice. A friend of mine sells these out of Tampa, and he took care of me, and I kind of tricked it up gator-wise. Let me get you a chair, man. When Bill was growing up around Florida football, the relationship between a player and his university was very different. Players would spend years building friendships with teammates, coaches, and the people who work behind the scenes. Some will return to Gainesville decades after their final game. But college football has changed. NIL deals, the portal, an entirely new financial system has transformed the sport. Bill understands that players have opportunities today that previous generations never had. But he believes something else is being sacrificed in that process. You know, I love the program, and I hate the program for what it's become. Okay. I grew up in a time Where the players had to struggle to put together $2 or $3 to get a pizza back in my day. I mean, literally, we were rubbing nickels and quarters and dimes together. We were selling tickets for $7 and $10 and $20 when the games came on. You'd get a handful of tickets Friday and go out and try and sell them. And this is when tickets were $7 apiece back in my day, back in the 70s and early 80s. And these kids are now walking away with millions of dollars before they ever play the first down. And that's disconcerting to me. You know, prove yourself, earn a contract, if that's what it's going to become, but for me to have to compete with other schools, if there's no love for the University of Florida, and I can show you some of the guys here in the 20, 23, 24, and 25. Where I follow them, they've got four schools after their name. So it's Shelton and you know he was at Florida for 22, he was at Auburn for 23, he was at Georgia Tech in 24, and he was at Cucamonga Community College in 25 because he had, you know, the slide, yeah he had slid because he wasn't that good or whatever. That's what it's become and every year if I got to try and figure out what Shelton is, well he's not really a Gator. He didn't come here to play for the Florida Gators and get an education at the University of Florida. He's a mercenary. He's a free agent. Respect that. Not a problem. Good deal for him and his family, but not good deal for the program. Doesn't develop any real estate guys or any lawyers or any doctors or any these guys that have gone on. My friend A friend, Max Dean, just passed away. It was at his funeral for the... South Carolina game instead of going to... Instead of going to the game, I went down to DeLand for his funeral. We lost my buddy Matt Morrill here about a year and a half ago. So I go to, you know, these guys are friends of mine. They're personal friends of mine. I grew up with Chris Collinsworth. I grew up with Wes Chandler. I grew up with John Reeves and Carlos Alvarez taking care of me as a 13- and 14-year-old, sleeping in John's dorm room when he wasn't there, and get up and going to school the next day, riding my bike to class and coming back and working in the equipment room. on a daily basis. Guys like Tim Sane and John Magnuson, who were managers, student managers, took care of me as a as a teenager and showed me the ropes and taught me everything as far as taking care of the gear and how to fix helmets and shoulder pads. You can see I got stuff hanging around. I'm working on some designs with a gentleman out of Maine, a guy named Dan Farrell. About the lawyers and the doctors, I think about Judd Davis and Dorian. Dorian has a mortgage. Sure, absolutely. Judd worked at that. I didn't think that far when you think of NIL and how you're losing the legacy because the guys are leaving. Absolutely. You may have played here for a short bit of time and what happens, it's going to thin out. Absolutely. I don't have any lettermen anymore because you guys here one year and he letters. Cam Newton's a perfect example. I was here one or two years. I actually lettered. But I'm sure he considers himself an Auburn Tiger. Blackwood's a good one. Think about what he came in as and how he was viewed upon. And now, I mean, obviously, nothing but the best, but like... That relationship obviously had its, it's worked itself out and it's, it'll never be. And I probably got a half a dozen guys like that. I can go through the list. It's only going to get worse, I'd imagine. And he was kind of like the, and you get guys that transfer because A, they're not playing or B, something happens, you know, disciplinary wise or whatever it may be. Or I made a mistake coming here, you know, and you've got so many different influences now. My father was the registrar here from 1961 until 1986 and he went to school here. My brother went to school, we were both journalism majors. He finished, I didn't. I got into radio because they told me I had a face for radio. He did television and we both worked at RUF. He worked at UFT and RUF and he did sports and he broke the 84 story on the probation there and you know he was in the president's office explaining where he got this information and stuff he's a you know he's like me he's a rabble-rouser we don't give a you know we we want the truth to come out and there's a lot of buried bodies and a lot of stories and you know I just think the university and the UAA doesn't have the testicular fortitude to be able to go in and say, wait a second here, 84, 85, and 90 should be recognized. Let's bring these players back. Let's get people in here like Spikes that were doing good work. Let's get people, you know, Stephen's outspoken, Brandon's outspoken. I have no problem with that because they tell the truth. There is nothing that is short shrifted. There's nothing that's Put under the, you know, under the rug. And that's the way it should be, but I think there's a lot of stuff just not being exposed. For better or worse, and you got to clean your own house out sometimes and fix things to get the players back to generate the revenue they're going to need. I think NIL is going to cost the University of Florida Athletic Association and Florida upwards of $100 million in the next two to three years. You got a $25 million basketball payroll. I watched them beat JU last night by 30 points or whatever it was. Most of those people there, I don't know, maybe 6,500, 7,000 people, they announced it at 10,000. I mean, they're not even honest with the attendance figures. So to me, they may have sold tickets, but there were no butts in the seats in a lot of the areas last night. And it's just interesting how it's become, went from a game when I was there to a business today. And in business, it's ruthless. I understand that. I came out of a business. I made my money doing business. So I understand that, but you don't have to lie to people. You don't have to cheat. Spend enough time with Bill, and you begin to realize his connection to Florida isn't really about the football itself. It's about the people, the players who took care of him when he was a kid, the coaches who gave him opportunities, the friends who welcomed him into their lives long after their playing days were over. And for Bill, those relationships didn't end when the final whistle blew. I've lived with some players that needed health care and took care of them in their last days. So I actually moved in with a couple of players and took care of them when they had some issues. So it's a unique position. I had such a cool relationship with so many of the guys growing up. You have to understand, this is my family. These guys, the late 60s, early 70s guys are family. Even today, the connection continues. When former Gators return to Gainesville, some of them don't just... Check into a hotel? They stay with Bill. The same house where he grew up has become a gathering place for those athletes whose Florida careers span different generations. And while the names and faces have changed over the years, Bill's approach really hasn't. To him, once you're part of the family, the relationship doesn't have an expiration date. And we kind of run an elder hostel staying home here at the house. We've got two or three extra bedrooms where players come and crash. The hotel rooms are outrageous here in Gainesville. Feinberg Inn, though. Well, Feinberg Inn and Suites is what we call it. After nearly 60 years, Bill is beginning to confront a reality that can't be ignored. He won't be able to do this forever. The calls, the records, the reunions, the friendships, and the history he spent his entire life collecting. Someday, somebody else will have to carry that responsibility. And after listening to everything Bill has had to say, one question kept coming back to me. Who's going to take his place? Has it changed your passion for what you do? Yes, very much so. I'm in the last throes of what I do. I'll be 70 years old next year. I'm looking to turn it over to one of the younger players, but you need a very eccentric combination of someone that, A, it'll never happen again because I started at 12. I'm 69, so do the math. That's 57 years, I guess, if my math is correct. 12 from 69, 57, I believe you. Yeah, so I have to think about it sometimes because half of it gets paid $70,000, $80,000 a year to do. And transferring something like this is, I mean, transferring it would be easy, but then you said maintaining it. Yeah, well, I'm hoping my brother won't take my laptop and throw it in the hitch and tuck me. I'm hoping he'll give it to somebody that'll keep things going. But I'm the only one who works for free. I got lucky. Right place, right time with the right gentleman I went to work for. There's nobody else out there like me. I just got very lucky. You know, when people use the term they're blessed, I'm not a religious guy, but I've been at the right place at the right time, I hope. College football will continue to change. The money will grow, players will come and go, coaches will be hired and fired, and new generations of Florida fans will make their own memories inside the Swamp. But the history of a program isn't just found in record books. It's found in the people who lived it, the relationships that survived decades after games were played. In the stories that may never make it to an official media guide, for nearly 60 years, Bill Feinberg has dedicated himself to keeping those connections alive. Not because anybody asked him to, but because to him, these people are family. And perhaps the greatest part of his legacy isn't everything he's managed to preserve. It's the reminder that the people who helped build Florida football deserve to be remembered long after their playing days are over. For HighTop Sports, I'm Sheldon Walker, and this is the story of Pizza Bill.