Here you go, guys.
At the NCAA Division III 10,000-meter final last Thursday the University of Chicago team was chanting, "Where's Nick? Where's Nick?"
And the team from Washington University wore white T-shirts, reading, where's nick?
And people in the stands were whispering to each other, "Hey, where's Nick?"
Well, where was Nick?
Nick End, a 22-year-old Carnegie Mellon senior, was sitting in his apartment, wishing he were dead. After all, he had one of the nation's best 10,000-meter times this year in Division III. He was last year's University Athletic Association champion. He'd been running five miles every morning and 10 to 15 every night, through three throat infections, a dozen injuries, snow, sleet and wind. One day a dog bit him, and he ran nine more miles before he went to the emergency room.
So what the hell was Nick doing sitting at home?
Thinking about a tiny, slippery mouse and a dumb, stubborn elephant, that's what.
See, his track coach accidentally clicked the wrong button with his mouse on the online entry form and entered Nick in the 5,000-meter race for the NCAA nationals instead of the 10,000. Only Nick didn't qualify in the 5,000.
The coach, Dario Donatelli, didn't realize his mistake until the next morning. But the field was still marked "unofficial" on the website. No problem. He got hold of the selection committee chairman, Josh Payne, and told him about the goof. "Will you change it for me?"
This is where you're going to want to start chewing on a table leg.
Payne said no, he couldn't change it. He said the coach had 12 hours to correct his mistake but didn't, and that, even though the committee hadn't finalized the field of 17, there was nothing he could do.
Donatelli started dialing like crazy. The NCAA said that even though it knew there could be no harm in putting Nick in the field, and even though it was an honest mistake, and even though as many as 18 runners are often entered for the event, and even though the race wasn't for four days, there was nothing ... it ... could ... do.
"Payne told me, 'We are under no obligation to fix this,'" Donatelli says.
So the coach had to call his runner and tell him that his right index finger had DQ'd Nick from probably the last important race of his life.
Nick was just leaving his commencement, on his way to a celebratory brunch. He was so upset that he couldn't eat.
"This is unconscionable," says Nick's mom, Gloria, a high school teacher in Milwaukee. "It was an honest mistake. You make mistakes. I make mistakes. The NCAA makes mistakes. You just revise the list! Simple!"
Apparently not so simple for the cold, gray, immovable elephant the NCAA has become. It can't seem to keep track of nationally celebrated players such as USC's Reggie Bush, whose parents allegedly got a sweetheart deal on their rent, or Chris Webber, who got thousands of dollars illegally at Michigan. Kelvin Sampson cheats at Oklahoma, and the NCAA lets him skate happily to Indiana with a slap on the wrist. But a nonscholarship engineering student in a nonrevenue sport gets more screwed than plywood.
Nick and his parents and his coach and his AD tried to contact everybody up to and including NCAA president Myles Brand and got bupkes. The only person who would return my calls was Payne, who kept repeating, "I can only refer you to our press statement on the matter."
It reads, "The NCAA is much too big and important to care about one tiny, sniveling athlete. Hell, this schmo isn't even on TV!"
Actually, I made that up. The real statement reads, "The committee must follow the procedures and protocol and remain consistent in how it handles these situations so NCAA championships can remain as fair and equitable as possible."
Fair and equitable?
There was room for Nick to run (especially after one runner scratched). But a dumb click (Donatello's) and a dumb cluck (Payne) kept him home. How fair is that?
Nick, to his credit, forgave his coach. "It's an easy mistake to make," he says.
And even easier to fix.
Arrrrgggh. The NCAA makes Nurse Ratched look open-minded. Nothing ever changes about these small-hearted, rule-worshipping pencil pushers. They can't control the John Dillingers of the world so they take it out on the jaywalkers.
"I just wish I could buy the NCAA and fire all these bastards," Nick says.
Well, he starts as a mechanical engineer at Johnson & Johnson this summer. Maybe if he starts saving now.