Mario • January 17, 2004

Mario is head and shoulders above every other player at the school, and everyone knows it. He’s about six foot one and probably around 200 pounds. A manchild. During tryouts he rebounded over everyone, dribbled effortlessly, zipped cross-court passes with the flick of a wrist, and rained jump shots from beyond the three-point line with ease and accuracy. But all you really need to know about Mario is this -- he has a 0.80 GPA. Not even close. The most frustrating thing is that Mario was in my class in the sixth grade (he was big even then), so I’ve been talking to him about his grades for two years now, all to no avail. But as I’ve said, everyone on campus knows that he’s a great player, probably one of the best four or five players in the city. Our principal places an alarmingly high level of importance on our sports program, so she’s been asking me about Mario since the fall. When I told her that he was ineligible, her response wasn’t, “Oh, that’s too bad.” Instead, she said, “What can we do? Can he do some makeup work? What if I call the commissioner?” Remember, this is middle school basketball. Any grade changing would have been highly unethical and against the rules. Even so, I must admit that I was tempted. It’s probably good that his GPA is so low; if he had been closer, the temptation might have been too much to resist, which made me think of Bob Huggins and John Calipari and Jerry Tarkanian and Jim Harrick. If I had somehow slipped Mario on to the team, what would I have had to gain? A shot at a middle school basketball city championship and a cool trophy, and that’s about it. No long term deal, no shoe contract, no increased caché on the recruiting trail, no bump-up in my public speaking fees. Suddenly it’s very easy to understand how these coaches might talk themselves into making an exception “for the good of the kid.” Even though I never really had a decision to make, I’m happy with the resolution of this problem. Hopefully Mario will learn something from this, though I have to say that I don’t really think he will. I just wish he were eligible.