The game is afoot.
Just three months after his sudden and bizarre disappearance from the world of Big Ten basketball, the reemergence of Wisconsin point man Boo Wade proved everything we’ve come to expect from this story — inexplicable, unexpected and suspiciously auspicious.
At the time when Wade returned to the practice floor, everything appeared on the up-and-up. Two-guard convert Sharif Chambliss displayed consistent improvement, the development of sophomore guard Kammron Taylor seemed promising and now, lo and behold, Wisconsin’s wayward son had returned from the East with the greatest gift of all: options at the one-spot.
After months of seeking nothing more than a solution, the prospect of options carried unequivocal promise. Indeed, for the cardinal-and-white faithful, it seemed too good to be true. Naturally, it was.
In a sudden and bizarre twist of fate (after all, what else?), the junior guard once again vanished into the darkness like an injured bird on the winter wind. Not even two weeks after returning to the scene, Wade departed from Wisconsin for good, leaving nothing behind but a prepared Dear John letter and that familiar sense of uncertainty. Two days later, Chambliss once again fueled the point controversy with undoubtedly his worst performance of the year Jan. 8 against troubled Indiana.
Chambliss shot a horrendous 0-for-7 on the night, committed a number of costly turnovers and failed to execute the swing offense against a Hoosier squad packed with more teenagers than Mark Chmura’s condo on a Saturday night. Make no mistake, Chambliss is a quality off-guard, but a system like Wisconsin’s requires something more than a role player at the point to really succeed. At a moment like this, one can’t help but wonder if the seemingly square peg will ever fit the round hole.
Of course, this raises another question, one where the answer is not forthcoming: Just what, exactly, is going on with Boo Wade? Now we know he failed to comply with the First Offenders Program — but can that really be the whole reason? Hardly. Keep in mind Wade’s deadline to complete the terms of the plea bargain was Dec. 15 — one week before his return to the squad. Therefore, either Wade was oblivious to the fact his bases weren’t covered — in which case, the man’s got bigger issues — or something else is going on that prompted him to miss those appointments.
Since releasing the initial statement, head coach Bo Ryan and his Badgers have made it abundantly clear the topic of inquiry is now taboo. Wade is entitled to his privacy, so they say.
Of course, Ryan can hardly blame Badger hoops enthusiasts for their continued interest. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle couldn’t have scripted a sports-related mystery loaded with more intrigue. With clues abounding and rumors plentiful, the Dairy State can’t help but speculate, and Ryan’s statement falls tragically short of quenching the thirst for details.
Well, more’s the pity, but valid it remains.
In and of itself, the appeal won’t stop the buzz. After all, an entitlement of privacy only extends so far as legality prohibits a technical violation of it. Furthermore, such requests by the likes of Kobe Bryant, Chris Webber or Nate Newton always fell on deaf ears among media and fans. So why should Wade be treated differently?
The answer is simple. Amateur athletes — as we are often swift to forget — owe no explanation.
In the world of professional sports, everything revolves around contracts — both the kind people sign and the social contracts embedded in the very system. Whether the players are willing to suppress their egos enough to realize it, they are nothing more than employees of organizations providing entertainment to their customers. If an athlete errs in a way that inhibits his ability to do his job, he carries the responsibility to explain himself to the organization that pays his salary. By the same token, the franchise owes an explanation to the fans according to the practices of good business.
Take, for example, Bryant’s ongoing scandal. We all know the cossacks won’t haul Bryant off to the clink anytime soon — this is America, after all. Nevertheless, the possibility remains that a scenario could come about where Bryant might need to hang up his jersey for a period of time to get his affairs in order, and Lakers’ fans are entitled to that information. Why? Because they pay to see the Lakers take the court WITH its star playmaker.
The very practice that elevates college basketball to a more pure spectacle of athleticism is also the reason we can’t, in good conscience, demand the same from Wade. Naturally, I’m referring to the matter of compensation. When fans support Wisconsin basketball, they support the program rather than the sum of its current parts. As a result, the team will never leave the state for a warmer climate, the administration will never liquidate a struggling roster to curb losses and the tradition of Wisconsin basketball will endure so long as people continue to carry on the legacy.
Unfortunately, recent trends seem to be corrupting the spirit of college sports. Many of these ideals upon which the first programs were founded over 150 years ago have become besieged by outside interests. For those seeking to defend the purity of the game, the efforts need to come full circle. To decry such things as player benefits, corporate endorsements and recruiting impropriety, and then hold amateur athletes to the same level of accountability, fosters a vicious double standard.
It’s really a shame, though. The temptation to reach out for those answers is almost too great to resist. For the good of the game, however, it’s better if we close this case.
There once was a player named Boo Wade who, for two years, became part of the Wisconsin legacy. In that time, he filled the role of teammate, champion, prospect, hero, goat and, eventually, pariah. One day, his career came to a bewildering end. Bewilderment gave way to intrigue. Intrigue to investigation. However, ultimately, Wisconsin basketball survived.
And the story ends here.
