Fundamentalism: it's not just for religion anymore.

There’s a funny thing about fundamentalism: it’s intrinsically ironic.

One of the main aspects of fundamentalism is its demand that the world be seen as black and white; either / or; us and them. Most of us recognize the irrationality of choosing between white and black when nobody is white and nobody is black: just gray. But fundamentalism doesn’t allow for self-examination. It requires whole-hearted belief and dedication to one’s own righteousness; damning the consequences.

What is ironic about this position is that it requires simultaneous strict adherence to law/scripture as it is written, but broad (dare I say liberal?) inclusiveness in how that is to be interpreted. On the former hand, we can see the Supreme Court’s decision against free speech in the “Bong Hits 4 Jesus” case as specific nuancing of the law: it doesn’t say that minors get free speech. At the same time, this Court would no doubt read the 2^nd Amendment broadly. Christian Fundamentalists (dare I say extremists?) love to demonstrate their strict adherence to scripture (interpreting the Jesus statement of salvation through Him from Matthew as meaning only Born-Again Christians are ‘saved’), but show a strangely broad assessment of the Bible’s supposed opposition to homosexuality (Sodom and Gomorrah were about male rape of angels thousands of years ago: what does this have to do with homosexuals in loving relationships today?). In other words, the order of the day is broad inclusion of things we hate and narrow exclusion for things we like. Sadly, the humor in this is lost on them.

Perhaps the strangest place to find fundamentalism in our culture is in sports, but it is rampant. You can’t blame Barry Bonds for using steroids (‘allegedly’) because they weren’t illegal at the time. Bull!

But the greatest hypocrisy of fundamentalism is shown by the NCAA. That pernicious need to see things in black and white has devolved the game and given us the usual byproduct of fundamentalism: the maintenance of injustice and inequality over the needs of the many.

In the world of Division 1A football (now FBS), there have always been princes and paupers. Alabama, Michigan, Notre Dame, Oklahoma, Texas, and USC have all been perennial powers. Every year, you expect the rich to stay rich and the poor stay poor: that’s what the conservative brand of capitalism has taught us. We get excited when new elites come from out of nowhere: Louisville, West Virginia, Rutgers: and consider this to be proof of true grit and determination on the schools’ parts. But it isn’t quite like that.

It is well established that the schools all see their football programs as a means of income for their schools. Very few of them merely pay for themselves: most of them bring in big money to the school. The biggest programs fund their entire athletic departments and then some. So the addition of a twelfth game was always a money-maker: just as the maintenance of the bowl system is a money-maker.

But the NCAA has encouraged the exploitation of its own rules. By helping the SEC become a ‘super’ conference like the Big-12 (read two divisions with a championship game), they have further favored the haves, by pushing the sport toward extra “championship” games, which the likes of ESPN’s Mark May seem to believe is the only way of naming a champion. The PAC-10 made the alternative choice of actually playing every other team in the conference, round robin style. Until recently, this was a legitimate choice for sports—this method has so fallen out of favor that the SEC has seen fit to declare itself Fascist Overlords of the World (with the help of ESPN).

Despite the SEC’s abandonment of round robin and the use of the extra game by adding another cupcake: LSU, the supposed holder of ‘the world’s toughest schedule’ do not play two of the top SEC teams (Georgia and Tennessee) and play Tulane, Louisiana Tech, and Middle Tennessee. But they have a championship game so it’s all good!

The NCAA has rules about when you can play, how many games you can play, and a minimum number of division teams you are required to play. So why don’t they close the loop-hole of the championship game? Why don’t they cap the season’s end earlier?

Looking back at the end of last season, the number 2 team (Michigan) had only lost to the number 1 team (Ohio State). The dispute over who gets into the title game should have taken these two things into account: Florida’s extra game should not have been seen as Michigan’s fault, but as Florida’s benefit from an unjust system. Similarly, Urban Meyer’s reprehensible parading and pleading for his team’s shot at the title should have been discouraged, not rewarded. Lloyd Carr’s graciousness and character in the situation has been under-reported, because we don’t really want to see our coaches setting a positive example to 55 young men—we want them to be cheaters and exploiters.

Everyone knows that teams bend the rules: it’s an axiom that is embodied in nearly every organized sport. But there is also such a thing as professionalism, balance, and sportsmanship. Yes, conferences should be able to determine their formats, but each team in each conference should each play 12 games: and no more (I’m looking at you, Hawaii!). Similarly, they shouldn’t be able to exploit the system by adding games at the end of the year (which is up to three weeks after the Big Ten is finished!).

I haven’t even touched on the competitive imbalance of the bowl system (giving the most favor to SEC, PAC-10, and Big 12 South teams, since nearly every bowl, and all BCS bowls, are played in their territories) or the support the NCAA gives cheater coaches (Jim Tressel, owner of the dirtiest resume in collegiate sports—“But he wins!” you say; “Oh, but he’s still cheating!” I say).

But like religious and political fundamentalists, the NCAA only looks at the black and the white, ignoring all of that dark charcoal ruining the sport.