news-record.com

"We was robbed."

A number of college sports stars justifiably could make this statement, bad grammar and all.

They are heralded, especially this time of year, as "student-athletes."

But exactly what are they learning?

And why can so can few of them speak in coherent sentences?

For all the excitement March Madness can bring, it also brings the sound of too many young college basketball players mangling the English language in tortuous post-game interviews.

One player from Chattanooga, the champ of UNCG's league, the Southern Conference, offered this reaction to this year's NCAA pairings: "When we seen that we got UConn, I mean, we was happy to be up there on the board. Coming here, we believed we can be one of the teams in history, to make history and beat UConn. It's all about believing in the system, believing in yourself. When you toss up that ball, anybody can win. Ain't just 'cause they UConn it's a lock. It's a basketball game. Both teams we got to play, they just like us."

The quote came up in a listserv for sports writers. The issue: Should you correct the grammar in such quotes when including them in a published article?

The bigger issue, of course, is why you'd have to consider changing it in the first place. College students should have better command of the language than that.

Of course, manglers of the King's English are not consigned merely to the college basketball court. Or the football field.

But colleges and universities make significant money off the labors of these students. According to a recently released Forbes magazine ranking of the top-grossing college basketball programs in the nation, "amateur" athletics is big business. For instance, UNC-Chapel Hill placed No. 1 in the nation, worth nearly $25 million in 2008, including $16.4 million in operating income.

With all that money rolling around and these teams representing, after all, institutions of higher learning, something is fundamentally wrong when a "student-athlete" speaks so poorly.

So what? some may counter. These students are hardly typical and will earn their livings on the strength of their jump shots, not their oratorical skills.

That would be a logical argument, if it were true. But the vast majority of these athletes won't make professional rosters. Less than 1 percent of the Division I football players go on to NFL careers. And only 1 percent of the 3,900 Division I basketball players even qualify as pro prospects.

So, yes, they will need something to fall back on beyond their ability to dunk.

Further, according to an analysis of this year's NCAA tournament men's teams, only 48 percent of them graduated three-fifths or more of their players. Ninety-seven percent of the teams in the women's tournament did. (What do the women know that the men don't?)

Only 32 percent of African American male players, who comprise the lion's share of most teams' rosters, are graduating. By contrast, 70 percent or more of white players are completing their college educations.

The solutions?

* Hold these athletes to higher expectations in the classroom and stricter oversight. If a free education is their compensation for competing in a school's name, see to it that they get an education.

* Provide pre-college academic preparation for new recruits.

* Provide insurance for collegiate players against major injuries.

* Pull the plug on all this "one-and-done" foolishness, in which players with absolutely no intentions of getting a degree spend one year playing in college, then go pro. Adopt baseball's approach, which permits players to be drafted from high school but says they must wait three years to turn pro if they go to college.

* End the hypocrisy of schools and coaches making millions of dollars on the backs of athletes without some reasonable compensation for the players.

Some have suggested at least a trust fund for athletes that they could tap upon graduation.

That seems only fair. The NCAA has sold the rights for its basketball tournament to CBS for $11 billion over six years. Football and basketball coaches at major schools now make between $600,000 and $5 million a year. The University of Kentucky just signed its newest coach, John Calipari, to an eight-year, $31.65 million deal, including a country club membership, two cars and a guaranteed $3 million on each remaining year of his contract if he is fired.

Don't the people who actually dribble and shoot deserve at least a fraction of that kind of consideration?