Fritz vs. 'Them'

I would like to begin this post by apologizing to my mother for the headshot that appears in Bryan's last post. To any readers who don't know me personally: I promise I don't usually look like that.

My current thinking on the NCAA is fairly well-captured by a column that Bryan and I ran in the Middlebury Campus newspaper last week, and what I want to get into here is essentially an expounded version of that piece. For posterity: let it be known that Bryan and I penned the column before the NCAA changed its policy on feeding athletes. Call us game-changers.

The NCAA's (from henceforth, 'them') most basic orientation to its athletes is two-fold: to make sure that we are brand ambassadors for the national organization (see Bryan's post) and to ensure that we behave in a way that reflects positively on the brand. The latter point is, in my view, a vehicle to a deeper sort of criticism of how they conduct business.

Consider three anecdotes from my weekend in Lincoln:

1. In the athlete hospitality room, there was a staff member (Tyrone) on hand to ensure that we did not take an unreasonable number of snacks.
2. The championships featured an elaborate and fairly confusing credentialing system. There were certain areas designated for spectators, for athletes, coaches, media folks, etc. There were scores of staff stationed at choke-points to ensure that no one was in violation.
3.When we wanted to go to the field house to warm-up on Friday, they assigned us a volunteer to supervise as we waited for the bus. His name was Alex. I'm not sure what exactly he was looking out for, but I was probably the only athlete who spoke with him all weekend. This show was surely just as dehumanizing for the scores of "volunteers" as it was for us.

The point here is simply that they treat their athletes like children. This point isn't in itself that damning; many 18-22 year-olds probably deserve to be treated like children, and I happen to have the privilege to be part of an athletic program that trusts its athletes to drive college-owned vehicles, host recruits and do their own homework.

It is a bit suspicious, however, that this paternalistic attitude is paired with indulgence. When you're at the championships, they pay for everything: travel, hotel, meals, snacks, gear. I got the sense that all of this expense was supposed to make us feel important, like we were being celebrated for all of the hard work that it took just to qualify for the meet. For most of my teammates, this effect was realized; it just left me feeling like I was being manipulated.

Mark Emmert doesn't stand a chance.

Here is the part where I wave my English-major flag a bit. There is a word in literary criticism for this sort of indulgence that is used to cover up a less fun reality: carnivalesque. The idea comes from Mikhail Bakhtin, who thought of the carnival as a way for those in power to keep their subjects contentedly suppressed. The carnival presents a warped version of reality in which traditional standards and power structures are temporarily put aside and subordinates get to feel like they run the show, if only for a short while. Think Mardi Gras or, in a lesser sense, Halloween.

The NCAA championship doesn't feel like real life. It feels like a slightly altered form of real life in which people are constantly showering you in attention and free stuff, asking in return only that you abide by a few rules that easily go unquestioned in the face of so much free stuff. Bakhtin's point, and mine here, is that we should try to look past such a system to see what is really going on.

What is really going on at NCAA championship events is that athletes are being combed to be NCAA spokespersons who return to their real lives after a weekend of "carnival" to show off their flashy new gear and tell stories about how amazing it all was. As long as that system is working and we all continue to "participate" (their favorite word, but not in the way that Bakhtin uses it) in the big show, no one is likely to ask questions like "What does the NCAA do for me?" and "Why does all of this exist in the first place?" (or, if you are a Division-I men's basketball player, "Where is all this money going?") When people start to do that, they realize, it will mean an end to all the fun and games.

Image courtesy of Wikipedia