THERE IS CRYING IN BASKETBALL
Whitman’s Big Ten rant shows his complete lack of perspective
Somebody help me here. Was it Franklin Delano Roosevelt or Josh Whitman who declared that Dec. 7, 1941, the day the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, would be “a date which will live in infamy?”
I’m confused because Whitman, Illinois’ athletic director, not Roosevelt, the late president of the United States, recently wrote that the Big Ten’s decision to name Michigan its regular-season men’s basketball champion “will forever live in infamy amongst the Illini family.” Tell me he didn’t go there.
Yes. Yes, he did.
There is overwrought and then there’s whatever Whitman was trying to accomplish with his world-class whining. He wrote an “open letter’’ Tuesday complaining that the Illini should have been co-champions with Michigan and that only the pandemic and a lack of spine from the Big Ten (hello, commissioner Kevin Warren!) kept them from their rightful place atop the mountain.
Michigan didn’t get to play all of its conference games because of a two-week pause brought on by positive COVID-19 tests across several sports at the university.
Members of a Big Ten committee (which included Illinois) voted twice in the last five months that the regular-season title would be decided by winning percentage.
Michigan finished 14-3 (.824). Illinois finished 16-4 (.800).
Lots of bad things have happened during the pandemic, including more than 525,000 Americans deaths due to COVID-19. On the importance meter, Illinois’ lack of a shared title ranks way, way down there. That’s the message a hinged athletic director should have sent to athletes. That worse things have happened and let’s move on.
But instead of the end of the story, it was the beginning of a sob story.
“History matters in college athletics, and this is an outcome that will forever live in infamy amongst the Illini family,” Whitman wrote.
Once you’ve played the live-in-infamy card, where can you go? If, say, a foreign power invaded Urbana-Champaign and declared that the University of Illinois would now become a munitions production complex, run by the enslaved populations of both towns, what would Whitman call that day? A really, really bad one? Worse than the infamous day the Big Ten jobbed the Illini? How could it be?
“It stands counter to the very foundations of competition and sport,’’ Whitman wrote. “For a marquee conference that just concluded arguably the greatest, most competitive season in the history of college basketball, this is an unfortunate and disappointing outcome.’’
Lines that didn’t make the cut in Whitman’s letter, due to space constraints: “Mr. Warren, tear down this wall.’’ “Give me liberty or give me death.’’ “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender.’’
“Blessed are they amongst the Illini family who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness . . .’’
Give Whitman this: He knows his audience, which is every audience in every college town and every alumni association. These are people who live and die with their teams. Go to any message board for any athletic program and you will find indignation and outrage about something or other. Mostly outrage. If you were to invite these people to a gathering, you’d name the get-together the Aggrieved Party. Nobody does resentment like college sports fans.
Venting at the Big Ten didn’t appear to be Whitman’s sole aim. He used his letter as a written pep rally for the basketball team. Do the Illini really need help from their athletic director to get pumped up for the Big Ten Tournament and the NCAA Tournament? No, they don’t. If they win the conference tournament, they’ll almost certainly be a No. 1 seed in the national tournament. That’s all the motivation any 18- through 21-year-old kid needs.
But, no. Whitman cracked his knuckles and started typing. I wouldn’t describe his writing as flowery. I’d describe it as a botanical garden.
“Every time we are slighted, every time we are disrespected, use each instance as an excuse to sharpen your axe,’’ he said to the Illini players in his open letter. “And when we accomplish our goals, we’ll use that razor-sharp axe to cut down the nets.’’
Illinois has an exciting, talented team. It knows how good it is. It doesn’t need a piece of a regular-season Big Ten title for affirmation. And it certainly doesn’t need an athletic director playing to the crowd as a source of inspiration. It wants to win the national championship, the only motivation that’s necessary.
If Michigan winning the regular-season title is a day that will live in infamy for a member of the Illini “family,’’ they might want to examine their life. Or, better yet, get one.