All is not right with Stanford athletics

Stanford athletics certainly has been making news the past few days.

Both in a good way and a bad way. Both in a strong leadership and a very questionable leadership manner.

First, the good stuff. Cardinal basketball trainer Ali Kershner set the NCAA aflame by posting images of the gross disparity between training facilities for the men’s and women’s tournaments on social media. As the NCAA rushed to do damage control, more inequities were

revealed including, disturbingly, the difference in the coronavirus tests being used for men and women. The men get the “gold standard” PCR test. The women are receiving the less accurate antigen test.

Stanford head coach Tara VanDerveer issued an uncharacteristically biting rebuke of the NCAA. In her statement she called the behavior, “blatant sexism” that is “purposeful and hurtful … I feel betrayed by the NCAA.” She demanded accountability, saying, “The message that is being sent to our female athletes and women across the world is that you are not valued at the same level as your male counterparts. That is wrong and unacceptable.”

On Sunday, after her team rolled over opening opponent Utah Valley by 43 points, VanDerveer said, “I think Ali did the right thing posting on the disparity and that got the ball rolling.

“I said what I thought. Today we’re focusing on basketball and that’s the way it should be.”

As that unfolded in San Antonio, more Stanfordrelated drama was taking place in St. Louis, where Shane Griffith advanced to a final of the the NCAA wrestling championships.

Wrestling is one of the 11 sports that Stanford abruptly announced last summer that it would cut, citing financial distress. Among the other criteria given for cutting teams was impact on diversity, program history and prospects for success.

Stanford wrestling, a 104yearold program that is currently one of the most diverse teams on campus, has raised more than $12 million in private pledges in an attempt to salvage the program. It is also at the highest competitive point in program history.

Wearing a black singlet without the Stanford logo, Griffith, a redshirt sophomore, took down higherseeded Jake Wentzel of Pitt to win Stanford’s secondever national championship. Griffith — who is 401 in his college career — heard the St. Louis arena fill with chants of “Bring back Stanford” and “Keep Stanford wrestling.”

“We want to make this nationally known,” Griffith said after his victory. “We’re going to keep fighting the fight . ... They haven’t given us a straightforward answer about why we were cut.”

Matt Gentry, the school’s only other national champion, was on hand to watch Griffith. Gentry posted tweets expressing the program’s frustration at being “stonewalled” by administration.

“What do you hope to gain with this lack of transparency?” Gentry posted. “Why are we left feeling disenfranchised and frustrated? ... The Stanford I know is a place that prides itself on integrity, holds itself to a high level of accountability.”

Those attributes of integrity and accountability that Stanford holds dear are examined in the new Netflix documentary “Operation Varsity Blues.” Stanford does not come out looking great. The documentary was, according to those with knowledge, damning enough that a university attorney addressed it at a recent annual athletic department meeting.

The documentary, which blends real footage and recreated scenes with actors based on FBI wire transcripts in the college admissions scandal, tells the story of Rick Singer. The “admissions coach” found “side doors” into exclusive universities for wealthy parents, exploiting loopholes in athletic programs.

Former Stanford sailing coach John Vandemoer is part of the documentary. Vandemoer details how Singer wooed him with donations to the sailing program, when the coach was under intense pressure to raise money. Vandemoer says that athletic director Bernard Muir said he “knew” Singer. He described Muir as being largely uninterested in sailing’s national championship, but how, in one meeting, the subject of fundraising arose and Muir praised Vandemoer for his success.

When the scandal broke, Vandemoer was immediately fired and thrown under the bus by Stanford. He eventually pleaded guilty and is still under house arrest. According to the documentary, the judge in the case called him the least culpable, because he didn’t enrich himself, instead putting the illicit funds into his program. According to the documentary, Stanford gained $770,000 in the scandal.

At the end of the film, a note appears onscreen, saying Stanford claims it distributed the money from Singer, “following recommendations from an outside philanthropic group.” It also said that “the university denies that the athletic director knew of Singer or of any improper gift made through his foundation.”

What it doesn’t say: A little more than a year later, sailing was among the 11 programs that Stanford plans to cut because of what it called “financial pressures.” A decision spearheaded by Muir.

All 11 of the targeted programs have faced, like Vandemoer did, intense pressure to raise money. Many of them have successfully done so and are partially endowed.

There is money to be had at Stanford. The university’s endowment grew by 4.5% in a fiscal year that included the first half of the pandemic, to almost $30 billion. It certainly has grown by even more in the past six months. The rich have gotten richer in the pandemic.

The organizers of “36 Sports Strong,” the Stanford alumni group committed to saving the sports, have raised about $54 million, through a combination of pledges and existing endowments. But they continue to be told by administration that it is not enough to save their programs.

There’s a lot happening with Stanford athletics. And that’s just what we can see on the surface.