What we’ve heard lately about the performance of our college students has been anything but reassuring.  Incidents of cheating are frequent; dropout levels disturbing.  Time spent in class preparation continues to shrink while drinking and socializing remain excessive.  Changes of all sorts have been suggested to ensure the college years become more rigorous, intellectually challenging and rewarding.  To that end I offer a modest proposal, one intended to reorder collegiate priorities and set in motion academic reforms sorely needed.

Why, I’ve long wondered, have most all colleges chosen names for their athletic teams that have absolutely no bearing on their school’s intellectual pursuits and primary scholarly objectives?  Instead, they’ve selected nicknames that are consistently unimaginative or simply offer us a compendium of the animal kingdom.  Thus, as most will recognize, we have Cornhuskers, Sooners, Blue Devils, the Fighting Irish, Spartans, Buckeyes and Boilermakers, as well as an endless selection of Lions, Tigers, Panthers, Rams, Gators, Badgers, Wildcats, Huskies, Razorbacks, Eagles, Bruins and Wolverines.

We must change all this, employ team nicknames that represent and reinforce the serious business that constitutes a college education.  If organized athletics has a place on campus it should remind students why they’re there.  Thus, it’s time we saw the Boston College Brainiacs, California Cerebrals, the Michigan Mentalists, the San Diego Scholars, the Siena Skeptics, Idaho Intellectuals, Trinity Thinkers, Toledo Test Takers, Stanford Smart Alecs and Brigham Young Bookworms take the field.

Be assured that such changes will likely usher in a new sense of purpose for undergraduates who, when they graduate, will now be intellectually equipped and thus better prepared for the serious challenges and opportunities that await them.

It’s my impression that professional athletes these days are more openly supportive of teammates than in years past.  It’s true, for example, that pitchers over the years have taught other moundsmen the tricks of the trade, that rookies were taken under the wings of veterans and that in the clubhouse or after games teammates in most all sports enjoyed hanging out and socializing, but I’m talking here about on-field, game time behavior.  Mutual support and encouragement seem more obvious and frequent nowadays.

Baseball offers us many an example from perfunctory rituals to the far more demonstrative expressions (such as bench clearing brawls in support of fellow players).  A batter singles up the middle and can, as a result, expect a pat on the back or butt by his first base coach.  A pitcher watches as a line drive rockets toward the gap in left center, but is snared when the leftfielder lays out  and catches it to end the inning.  He points his glove in approval, then waits near the mound for the fielder to arrive and promptly extends for a high five.  Or with the pitcher seemingly on the ropes, the veteran shortstop arrives at the mound to offer advice and encouragement, after which the pitcher manages to dig himself out of a hole and, upon entering the dugout, is greeted warmly by his teammates.

Batters who succeed can also expect an enthusiastic reception.  A hitter who bunts successfully and advances the runner will be congratulated upon his return to the dugout, as will one whose sacrifice fly scores the runner from third.  Of course there’s nothing quite like the response of teammates to a hitter who has just belted a walk off home run.  Everyone pours out of the dugout and rushes toward the plate.  Once the batter touches home he is mobbed, pummeled, sometimes driven to the ground, his team mates stretched out on top of him.  Then with the game over, team members remain on the field, form a line with handshakes extended to all around – an on-field ritual of rejoicing of recent vintage.

In basketball, players are introduced individually by the public address announcer as they bound onto the court.  They then welcome and embrace as each teammate strides onto the court.  And before the tipoff all gather together, hold hands and offer up a rousing cheer.

With the game underway other gestures of open support follow.  When two foul shots are awarded it becomes obligatory for teammates to slap hands with the shooter whether or not he’s made his first attempt.  When a player falls and hits the court his teammates never fail to rush over to help him up.  If one hits a three-pointer, or skillfully assists on a basket, teammates are quick to acknowledge his contribution, even as they scamper back on defense.  Likewise, players on the bench leap to their feet and erupt into cheers and high fives after a critical basket.  And when that player heads to the bench for a breather he’s greeted enthusiastically by those sitting on the sidelines.  Of course, in basketball as in all team sports, teammates rush in to defend a player who’s been pushed, shoved or verbally abused by an opponent.  Right or wrong, they fly to his defense.

Football is no exception here.  A player who’s made a great play and returns to the bench can expect a procession of team members to arrive and offer their congratulations.  Teammates rush over to pick each other up if they’ve been knocked down or fallen and to defend one another when a fight seems imminent.  Predictably touchdown celebrations are exuberant and occasionally excessive.  Players pile on top of one another, the scorer swamped beneath layers of mammoth bodies.

Have I made my point?  Still old timers may claim that mutual support always was part of the game.  They’re entitled to their opinions, but they would best check their facts.

Remember how much we enjoyed the cartoons we watched as kids.  Part of the attraction was the physical pain meted out to the characters.  Typically, they’d be smashed by a loose plank, barrel headlong over a cliff, get whacked by a revolving door or flattened by a speeding or falling object.  First we’d wince and then laugh at this mayhem.  What made it possible to watch this brutality was that none of it resulted in injury.  Inevitably the characters bounded back up, ignored the pain and headed off to their next misadventure.

Now, as adult sports fans we marvel at the fact that so many athletes seem nearly as resilient and indifferent to pain as those loveable cartoon characters of old.  Of course, they do get injured during the course of a game, some quite severely, but remarkably many of them, though involved in violent collisions and punishing falls still manage to get right back on their feet as if it had all been an optical illusion.

Watch as the runner going full tilt rounds third base and heads for home, aware that the baseball has already arrived there.  His only hope of scoring requires that he smash into the catcher so as to cause him to drop the ball.  Runner and catcher meet in a fierce collision, the impact so severe that both are sent sprawling along the ground.  Nevertheless, each picks himself up, dusts off his uniform and play continues.

The puck is shot down the ice, a player from each team in hot pursuit, flying over the slick surface at breakneck speed.  They reach the puck at the same time.  Neither puts on the brakes as they smash into each other and into the sideboards.  Both collapse in a heap, but in an instant are back on their feet, once more in pursuit of the puck and each other.

The speedy guard weaves through the defense and then accelerating, heads toward the basket.  Before he can release the ball, an opposing player slams his forearm into his head.  Because he’s in midair he is unable to brace himself for the blow.  Instead, his forward motion stops abruptly and he is sent crashing down onto the hardwood floor where he lands on his back with a sickening thud.  A foul is called.  Seconds later, he picks himself up and calmly sinks both free throws.

The quarterback fades back to pass, but the defense is blitzing.  A defensive end and a safety have broken through and are sprinting toward the passer.  He sees them at the last second, tucks the ball in but is hit violently, one rusher heading for his ankles, the other smashing his helmet into his chest.  He is driven to the ground and buried under the two of them.  He remains on the turf for a moment or two, then springs up and scans the sideline looking for the next play to be signaled in.

Remember now, all these battered athletes are not the creatures of cartoonists.  They are flesh and blood human beings who, though well conditioned and tough, feel pain, bleed, break bones and suffer concussions.  They understand the risks and accept them.  So, if we look up to them, as many do, it’s in part because of their exceptional skills and also because they can take the blows that would demolish lesser men.

At first glance it’s easy to conclude that the result of any game, whether baseball, football, hockey or basketball, is determined by events on the field  of play, be it an exceptional team performance, superior skills of a star athlete, an opponent hobbled by injuries, home field advantage, a lucky break , or a bad call by officials.  That may be the way it appears, but in reality the outcome is at least partially influenced by fans watching the game at locations far distant from the action itself.

Most every true fan understands this, recognizes his special responsibilities and stands prepared to do his part once the game gets underway.  It is within his power, he believes, to alter the course of the contest, to put his favorites in a position to win.  How he’s able to exercise such measures of control is never fully explained, but seems plausible to the fan at least, given his close identification with the team.  This bond creates obligations on both sides.  The players must put forth maximum effort while the fan engages in other tactical maneuvers  that tilt the balance in their favor.

So what can he do?  Plenty, it turns out.  There may be few groups as superstitious as sports fans (the players themselves may not be far behind); few as willing to rely on ritualistic behavior (to the point where some shy away from actually attending sporting events based on past experiences when their presence jinxed their team, which then lost).  The rituals themselves are simple enough, but they must be applied carefully and at the proper time.

Involved here is a deliberate manipulation of conditions and objects within the immediate viewing area in the home.  This arsenal includes clothing (e.g., a lucky cap or team jersey), selecting a room in which to watch, choosing the chair, overhead lighting options and TV sound levels.  Whatever the initial arrangements, if the team moves out in front, no changes need be made.  Things stay exactly the way they are – because they’re working.  If, however, the team falls behind, the fan must take action.  His task is to determine what’s responsible for this turn of events and make the necessary change.  This is tricky.  Is it one factor or several?  Experimentation at this point is needed.  It could be he’s in the wrong room watching the wrong TV.  Could be the chair.  He may need to switch.  Or he may sense that being seated is at the root of the problem.  Stand he must.  If his team has fallen behind, while the TV sound is on, he may choose to watch with it off.  He may even conclude that his watching the game is the problem.  If that means turning the TV off, he will – no sacrifice is too great.  There can be no compromise or indecision – too much is at stake.

If after his readjustments the team now rallies he’s made the right moves.  At this point, it’s critical to maintain the status quo.  If, for example, he’s standing in a particular spot in the room, he cannot move from there.  Bathroom calls must be suppressed; his distress will translate into team success.  Several shifts may be necessary during the course of a game because some succeed only for limited periods.

If the strategy works as he hopes, there are two winners – the team, of course, and the fan.  Never could he qualify to play big time sports, but he’s discovered a way to get in the game, and to make a difference.  WE won!