Just How Exploited Are My Students? An Adventure

Yesterday, I tweeted this out:

Screenshot 2016-01-19 14.46.11

 

It’s gotten a certain amount of traction (Twitter tells me around 20,000 people have seen that Tweet) and so I began to be concerned that I was being irresponsibly provocative.  So let me explain how I got that number.

The Indy Star reported that the NCAA made $769.4 million off March Madness in 2013 ($681M from CBS for TV rights, $82.3 in ticket sales, and $6.1M in ancillary revenue streams).  So, partly for fun, partly out of curiosity, but also out of the conviction that the labor of performing athletes is the primary driver of these revenues, I divided the total revenues by the total player minutes to come up with a figure of $30,224.91 generated per player minute of the 2013 NCAA D1 Men’s Basketball Tournament.  Based on that figure, my five students together “generated,” with their 1017 minutes of basketball over 6 games, $30,738,733.50.

Incidentally, some other facts I discovered in the process: 674 players saw action during the tournament, sharing a grand total of 25,254 minutes of playing time.  Of course, common sense would tell you, since half the teams are eliminated after the first round, that the players on teams making deeper runs are going to have a higher share of the minutes.  What I found, though, was pretty amazing

  • Just 14 players used 10 % of the total minutes.
  • Just 36 players used 25 % of the total minutes.
  • Less than one tenth of players used more than half of the total minutes.
  • Just one third of the players used 75 % of the total minutes.
  • Half the players used 85 % of the total minutes.

People go to NCAA games and watch them on TV to see basketball players play basketball.  In a very real sense, minutes of basketball played creates revenue dollars for the NCAA, a fact not lost on the NCAA which has increased the number of minutes played by expanding the tournament.  If so, then imbalances in the distribution of overall minutes matter. They matter no matter what. But they matter doubly, I would argue, when we consider that black players are disproportionately represented among the group of players using most of the minutes and so generating most of the interest and dollars (11 out of those top 14).

But minutes and NCAA revenues are just one way to frame the story.

Even someone who values the performance of these athletes as much as I do, who knows that if it weren’t for their hard-work and talent there would be no March Madness, must also admit that arenas, coaches, training and all other manner of capital investments (laid out before and during the tournament) also contribute to the madness and so to the revenues.  It also reduces player labor to a single quantity: minutes, which isn’t the worst way to do it, especially from the NCAA standpoitn.  Though I recognize the NCAA will make a bit more or less money depending on who makes a deep run in the tournament, it essentially makes its money regardless of who wins.

But there’s a reasonable argument to made that the productivity of a player, measured in terms of contributions to wins (which generate revenues) matters more, at least at the level of individual institutions.  So while I think my $31M figure illuminates, albeit roughly, the correlation between minutes of player labor and revenues, I wouldn’t necessarily go the mat with an economist arguing that it’s the best way to measure exploitation.

So, to begin get a more precise sense of the exploitation of those five students of mine during the 2012-2013 season, I’m borrowing a page from Dave Berri, who in 2014 wrote a useful primer on the economic exploitation of college athletes for Time magazine.  Let me walk you through that.  Berri defines exploitation as “paying a worker less in wages than their economic contribution to the firm.” In terms of college athletes, exploitation occurs when the value of the scholarship, housing, and any stipend the athlete receives in exchange for competing is lower than the amount of revenue the athlete generates for the school. So, though I’m not mathematically adept, I believe we can turn this definition into relatively simple formula (as Berri goes on to do).

Exploitation (E) = Scholarship Value (SV)/Revenues (R) x 100%

Following Berri, I begin by getting the basketball revenue figures reported by Michigan to the Department of Education and posted on the latter’s “Equity in Athletics Data Analysis Cutting Tool” and discover that Michigan basketball reported $13,636,966 that year.  Let’s just call it $13.6M.

2012-2013 University of Michigan Men’s Basketball Revenues = $13.6M

According to Berri, “Currently the NCAA restricts the payment of athletes to essentially the cost of attending the institution. But in a typical labor market, the payment to workers is unrestricted.” So the question is, what would Michigan have to pay its basketball players in an unrestricted market?

To get at this, we follow Berri in adopting the revenue sharing proportions used in the comparatively unrestricted major professional sports leagues in the United States, including the NBA, where the collective bargaining deal (because, you know, NBA players, unlike “student-atho-letes“, have a union) stipulates roughly a 50/50 revenue split between owners and players.  (Berri notes that the labor market for professional athletes in the US is, in fact, still restricted and that the proportion of revenues they’d receive would likely be higher in a truly unrestricted market, but whatever.)

So, if the 15 players on Michigan’s roster were to receive 50% of the 2012-13 revenues they’d be splitting $6.8M, which works out to $400K apiece.

2012-2013 University of Michigan Average Men’s Basketball Player Revenue Share (In Unrestricted Market) = $400,000

The University of Michigan estimated the cost of attendance for out of state freshman and sophomores living on campus for 2012-2013 at $51,976.  Let’s be generous and call that $52K.

2012-2013 University of Michigan Cost of Attendance = $52,000

Now let’s plug these values back into the exploitation definition/formula Berri gave us before.  E (UM) = 52K (COA/player)/ 400K (1/2 hoops revenue/player) x 100 %.  Do the math and I come up with Michigan players getting about 13 % of what they generate. Or, to put this another way that makes more sense to me: Michigan netted about $348K in profits off each player on the team in 2012-2013.

Average University of Michigan Profit Per 2012-2013 Player = $348,000

Here I hit a wrinkle that Berri does not account for (and I welcome anybody reading this to correct my efforts to do so). The University told the Department of Education that it cost about $7.5M to operate the men’s basketball program in 2012-13. I don’t have a breakdown of those costs (though I assume scholarships are figured in there and so I’m probably double-counting that expense).  But just for fun, let’s subtract that from revenues.  Doing so ($13.6M-$7.5M) gives us $6.1M in profits. Now let’s split that 50/50 with our players, leaving them $3.05M to split 15 ways.  They’d each get a bit over $200K, which is still 75% more than the school’s own COA figure.  In other words, by the most generous calculation I can come up with, the school made nearly $150,000 off each and every member of the 2012-2013 men’s basketball team.

Adjusted Average University of Michigan Profit Per 2012-2013 Player = $148,000

This gives us the average rate of exploitation.  But, Berri, recognizing that pro franchises don’t pay all players the same amount but rather pay them to win games, applies a further calculation to factor in an approximation of each player’s contribution to the team’s wins. He takes the total revenues divided by the team’s wins to get at the value of a win, and then multiplies these by each player’s “win share” (or contribution to total wins, calculated through this complex formula, but also available here) to get at what he consider to be a more realistic and so equitable estimate of each player’s share of the revenues based on their actual productivity on the court.

[Caveat: I’m not really on board, philosophically with the individualistic, laissez-fair economic principles driving these calculations so you shouldn’t take this to mean that I argue that these numbers alone should dictate solutions to the problem of college athlete exploitation. But I think these numbers should be the starting point, after which we need to factor in other things that have value, even though that value isn’t reflected by an unrestricted market.]

Let’s go back to the five students I started with, who also happen to be the five players on the 2012-13 roster who led the team in win shares: Trey, Glenn, Nik, Tim, and Mitch.  And don’t forget, if I were using Berri’s values, which do not subtract expenses from revenues, these figures would all be about twice as high. Here’s how that turns out:

Screenshot 2016-01-19 12.49.03

That’s annually.  In other words, when productivity is taken into account using win shares, we find that the University of Michigan made $1.3M off its $52,000 investment in Trey Burke.

Now, for each of Michigan’s 31 wins during that season, the numbers look like this:

Screenshot 2016-01-19 13.44.14

Okay, now, let me also go back to my other starting point:  March Madness, where Michigan got five of their 31 wins before losing to Louisville in the title game.  How much did my students contribute to those wins? How much revenue did those five wins generate? How much did the UM pay for the players’ services in those five games? And how much profit did UM make off each of those players?  To be really precise, I’d have to calculate the WinShares for each player for the five March Madness victories and I don’t have time.  But to give an estimate, we just have to multiply the per win figures above by 5 (the number of March Madness wins).

Screenshot 2016-01-19 13.55.29

Lastly, I want to relate all this to minutes.  Basically, I want to know how much the UM made per minute that each of my students was on the floor during March Madness. So I’m going to take the total UM profit for each player for March Madness (the right hand column above) and divide it by each player’s total minutes.

Screenshot 2016-01-19 14.01.37

So that’s the bottom line for me. The University of Michigan reaped just under $1,000.00 off of every minute of Trey Burke’s performance during the 2013 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament.

I want to say that I recognize I am neither an economist nor a statistician, and that both are real scholarly disciplines that people take years to master, just as I spent years mastering the skills involved in cultural interpretation.  So perhaps I have something wrong here. If so I welcome corrections.  I have not intended to mislead, but simply to find my way through a thicket of ideologies and numbers to get a sense of what the school I work for is doing in its contractual relationship with the students whose educational well-being and, in some sense, overall growth, I am entrusted to protect.

Lastly, a word on the term “adventure” in my title. I take it from Ian Hacking’s remarkable book The Emergence of Probability, in which, at the point in question, he describes four different kinds of “experiment” in early modern Europe.  One of these is “the adventure,” which he describes as follows and in the spirit of which I have conducted my own little experiment:

Screenshot 2016-01-19 15.20.57

 

 

 

 

On Mitch McGary, Nietzsche, and Ressentiment

I’m coming at this thing as a fan and as an educator, and as an educator who is a fan of those he educates. Yes, I’m talking about UM men’s basketball players, but not only about them. I’m a fan and educator also of water polo and volleyball players, of hockey and lacrosse players, of soccer and tennis and baseball players; of swimmers and divers and runners and throwers, and of dancers, trumpet players, and writers. Read more

A Last Bit of Hoops Culture Awesomeness

Screenshot 2015-06-15 15.20.05And then this happened:

What is Hoops Culture Class For? Unleashing Humanity

In my research and teaching on the culture of sports, I’ve oriented the intellectual tools of my discipline toward helping my readers and students understand and reflect critically upon how the language and stories that prevail in the culture of sports have taken shape, how and why we consume and purvey them, and, above all, how we may empower ourselves to become, as Nietzsche put it, the poets of our lives; how, I mean, to take a more active and creative role in shaping the language and stories, including those pertaining to sport, that circulate around and through us.

“Cultures of Basketball,” which was my first effort in this regard, is an advanced undergraduate humanities course with a typical enrollment of around twenty five. Because demand for the course is high, and given the way registration operates at Michigan with athletes and more advanced students having priority in course selection, the course usually has a high percentage of seniors from a variety of disciplines and varsity athletes including members of the men’s varsity basketball team.

The Problem

Here’s what I see when I walk into Cultures of Basketball on the first day:  a certain number of “basketball players,” whose names I usually already know, and a certain number of “students” or “non-players,” whose names I don’t. I’m certainly not proud of this, but I think it’s worth reflecting upon. To begin with, it’s clear to me that I’m not alone. The students who aren’t basketball players (including many who are athletes in other sports) appear star-struck to varying degrees, somewhat disoriented by the flesh and blood presence of these young men who until now, as fans, they’ve primarily seen on a television screen or from the stands in the Crisler Center. The basketball players, meanwhile, tend to sit together, as do the athletes from other sports. But unlike those other athletes, the basketball players seem shy and almost suspicious, or at least cautious. Perhaps they are aware of their status in the eyes of other students, aware that they are—on this campus anyway—public figures, who must weigh their words and actions carefully. Perhaps they have internalized or are at least sensitive to the common public view that they are somehow not “real students.”

All in all, that first day feels tense to me, fraught with division and a kind of defensive, mutual wariness that strikes me as emblematic, if not symptomatic, of the strain that our model of intercollegiate athletics and the social values it expresses can place on education. For it’s not just a matter of a simple, superficial impression. Rather, undergirding that superficial impression, a number of other dichotomous categories are at work. I’m thinking, for example, of how those “students,” as fans of the players, are consumers in the entertainment industry and thus relatively passive, whereas the players, in that same industry, are producers and so relatively active. I’m thinking, too, of the presumption that the students at the University are primarily there to do something with their minds, and the basketball players to do something with their bodies. Finally, it’s difficult and probably undesirable, not to notice that the majority of the basketball players are African-American (and, moreover, that the majority of the African-Americans in the class are basketball players), and that the vast majority of the rest of the students are white.

The Conceptual Toolbox

In a lecture first delivered in 1909, when basketball was really taking off, the American philosopher William James warned against what he called “vicious intellectualism” or “the abuse of naming.” He defined this as “the treating of a name as excluding from the fact named what the name’s definition fails positively to include.” Offering an example of how it works, he said you might as well argue that “a person whom you have once called an ‘equestrian’ is thereby forever made unable to walk on his own feet.” James is describing how we turn partial impressions of things and people into confining pseudo-definitions. So, we might as well argue that a person whom we have once seen as a ‘non basketball player’ is thereby forever made unable to shoot a ball at a hoop. Or we might as well argue that a person whom we have once seen as a basketball player is thereby forever made unable to write an academic paper or formulate an argument in a class discussion.

I think James nicely captures the deforming impact of the way my students and I see at the start of class. We basically strip away from all the students all the capacities and potentials that are not positively included in the labels we’ve placed on them. I sometimes think of these names or labels as filtering lenses. And whatever change I need as a teacher to make in myself is a change I need to make also for them, one that entails getting my own deforming, reducing lenses off so that I can do all the other things I’m supposed to do as a humanities professor: get them to see that they have lenses too, get them to see where the lenses come from, get them to see the goodness that is obscured by those lenses, and then help them to cultivate and draw forth—through the layers of fear, the inhibition, the shyness—all those abilities, capacities, potentials, and desires that the lenses kept me (and to various degrees each of them) from seeing, knowing, and activating.

A kind of philosophical teammate of James, John Dewey (who, incidentally, was teaching philosophy at Michigan around the time that James Naismith was inventing basketball), argued for the need to come up with a better way of modeling how we know things. The problem, as he saw it, was with what he called—so aptly in this context—“the spectator notion of knowledge.” In that way of defining knowing, we would-be knowers imagine ourselves standing outside the world, passively observing the stuff we would like to know about; the way we might watch and analyze a basketball game on television. That stuff becomes a fixed object to us and we figure that by analyzing it deeply enough, perhaps by running it through some experiments to see how it behaves under different conditions, we will come to know it.

Let me return to my class: player versus student, producer versus consumer, active versus passive, bodies versus minds, black versus white: I think it’s fair to say that these make a good start on a list of troublesome dichotomies defining intercollegiate athletics; certainly, but perhaps not only, the revenue-generating sports.  At least, that’s how economist Roger Noll seemed to see it when he wrote that big time college athletics were a system whereby “poor, primarily black students are used to finance the educational and athletic activities of wealthy white students.” I see overcoming these dichotomies as they operate in all of us in the classroom as one of my primary educational responsibilities in the course.

To do so, I find useful Dewey’s description of the alternative he proposed to the spectator theory of knowledge: “the self becomes a knower . . . in virtue of a distinctive way of partaking in the course of events. The significant distinction is no longer between the knower and the world; it is between different ways of being in and of the movement of things.” In other words, Dewey proposed valuing knowledge as a hands-on process of getting mixed-up in the things we want to know about, and recognizing and reflecting upon the different ways we have of doing so. In that sense, the significant distinctions to be explored in Cultures of Basketball lie not between so-called players and so-called students, but among the two dozen or so different ways of being in and of the movement of the culture of basketball as it unfolds in real time before our eyes in our classroom.

Fixing the problem: the classroom

It seems obvious to me that facilitating this process of becoming knowers ought to begin with me. That means, first of all, sharing my initial perception with my class, as well as sharing why I believe that perception is something to struggle to overcome I’m talking about calling this out in an informal way: “I can’t help but notice that I’ve already divided you up mentally into ballers and fans. And I assume you see yourselves the same way from the way you’ve segregated yourselves in the classroom. I hope that through this course we can figure out why we’ve done that, what’s wrong with it, and how not to do it in the future.” In doing so, I’m trying to model for them the kind of openness and desire for integrity that I hope they’ll be able to achieve in their own class participation. Of course, I’m also beginning to draw attention to the fact that in this particular course, our own attitudes and experiences are inseparable from the ostensible subject matter of the class and that this is a good thing, not a problem.

Meanwhile, I try to create conditions in which all students themselves can practice fixing what might be wrong with their way of seeing. This entails some of the practices that most people probably think of as at least reasonably appropriate for a college classroom in the humanities. In other words, students read scholarly perspectives, listen to lectures, and participate in discussions about the history of the culture of basketball and the ways in which it has put lenses in front of our eyes that lead us to see what we see when we walk through the classroom door for the first time. They also select from a menu of individual and collaborative assignments, including both traditional papers and more unconventional tasks, to begin to practice doing for themselves what they, hopefully, are noticing that I am modeling for them: the effort to take the lenses off, exchange them for others, or at least polish them up a bit.

In this way, students, who are also fans, transform themselves into active producers, rather than merely passive consumers, of the culture of basketball and, in the process, perceive the celebrity athlete in their midst as a peer, a student, a human being, a vulnerable adolescent in transition like themselves. Meanwhile, those “basketball players” become the students they always have been, challenged to reflect intellectually on what they do and the broader social and cultural context in which they do it and to articulate their positions in discussion with classmates or in papers for me. Everyone learns to craft their own story and to respect the story of others. But, as indispensable and valuable as these activities are, they aren’t in my view the most important way that we in the class become active knowers.

Fixing the problem: the court

I’m pretty sure that probably nothing we do in Cultures of Basketball looks less academically rigorous or important than the intra-class 3 on 3 tournament we hold at the end of each semester. That’s right.  And yet if we take seriously Johan Huyzinga’s argument that play, which he saw as the substrate of all human civilization, is, essentially, freedom, you might begin to see why I feel that our little tournament embodies, culminates and, eventually, supersedes all the “traditional looking” academic work that has come before. So that I’ve come to believe also that perhaps nothing I do as a teacher does more towards realizing my educational goals as a humanities professor.

For the sake of brevity, let me quickly summarize how the tournament works: first, the idea comes from the students and is not a course requirement; second, the students organize the tournament entirely, forming themselves into committees in charge of creating teams and brackets, selecting nicknames, securing a venue, designing logos, printing jerseys, documenting the event, and creating and distributing awards; third, I play in the tournament; fourth, the UM basketball players and other, especially large elite athletes who volunteer, are distributed evenly among the 3 member teams; and finally, the tournament is played during our free time after the semester has ended.

The tournament takes what we’ve been doing in the classroom all semester and shows students that this same thing can happen on a basketball court, with our bodies and with fewer words. In that sense, it is, as I sometimes jokingly call it, the laboratory or workshop component of the course. But that’s not really right. It’s really just an extension of the classroom: we sit at desks, we read books, we write and talk with words, we set picks, we catch bounce passes, we shoot jumpers, we help on defense, and we talk with dunks. We think and act, we cooperate and compete. And then it expresses our overcoming of deficiencies in our perception, our thought, and our practice. It becomes a celebration of humanity, growth, connection, and friendship.

I’d like to conclude by sharing three brief anecdotes that I hope will convey what this experience can mean.

Fixing the problem: three stories

A couple of years ago, for the 2013 version of the tournament which the student naming committee had dubbed “CoB 2.0: Unleashed,” I walked into the Central Campus Recreation Building with my teammate, nicknamed “Jam” and also known as Jimmy King, member of the famed University of Michigan freshman class of 1991 known as the Fab Five. Jimmy, who had visited the class as a guest lecturer a few weeks before, shook his head and said something along the lines, of “Damn! I haven’t been in here like twenty years! We used to have some great games in here.”

Of course, the two teams Jimmy played on that reached the NCAA championship game have received from the University no official acknowledgement or recognition for their achievements. On the contrary, the banners remain tucked away, a reminder, former President Coleman said, of a shameful period in Michigan history. But walking on campus with Jimmy, its obvious to me that he is moved in complex ways by this visceral reminder of his college experience.

And official disregard notwithstanding, it’s also obvious that Jimmy and his teams still mean a great deal to people at the University. At our tournament, he was asked to sign countless autographs: by other students in the CCRB, by parents of my students who were attending the tournament, and even by CCRB staff members. He did so not only patiently but with enthusiasm, posing for pictures and engaging everyone in conversation. Here’s Jimmy signing one of I don’t know how many autographs he was asked to sign by current UM students, parents, staff members who recognized him instantly.

44380_2123486807209_146163668_n

Our team, Old Skool Ballers (Gil aka G-Baby Naamani, and fourth man and Cultures of Basketball alumnus Ron “The Professor” Beach joined Jimmy and me), made a solid run. We went into the semi-finals having won our first three games. In the semi’s we faced WTF Are You Ewing? also undefeated, consisting of Lauren Brandt, Mitch McGary, and Evan King. But we were stiff, tired and really our bodies just couldn’t keep it up.

Now, at a certain point in one of our games that year, Mitch McGary, at that time a freshman on the UM team whose breakout performance during the NCAA tournament put him in a position to make a decision about whether to turn pro or not during our last week of classes, inbounded the ball to his teammate Lauren Brandt who began the semester as a non-player in my eyes and whom I was guarding. Mitch, guarded by Jimmy, cut around Lauren, who dropped off a little bounce pass to him as he passed her. Jimmy followed Mitch, but was partially screened by Lauren. I remained rooted by age and infirmity to my spot on the floor, thus failing to provide help defense. Mitch saw that he’d gained a step on Jimmy along the baseline went under the basket and then up for a reverse dunk. Mitch, who had been idolized by his classmates, in turn idolized Jimmy King, proudly telling me later that Jimmy was following him on Twitter. Mitch, Lauren and their teammate, tennis player Evan King went on to win our tournament championship and the awards committee named Mitch Most Valuable Player.


But it wasn’t just Mitch’s time. One of his teammates, Lauren, also known as Sweet n LoLo, wrote me that she’s always loved basketball but for most of her life she’s been a spectator and when she does get to play it’s shooting games like horse or around the world. Here is Mitch placing the Championship medal around her neck:

936675_10151622615111753_1841856304_n

She told me:

I loved that I didn’t feel like I was letting anyone down in this tournament. I could shoot and miss and that was okay. I tried. We were in it together. The last game, Mitch told me I was “clutch”. That’s right! He also kept saying that it was the team and not him (which I am not so sure that is true…like at all, but he really made me at least feel like the three of us did it together).
After the tournament the first thing she did was call her dad, who called her Champ and Sweet n LoLo (her official nickname) for three days. That weekend, after the tournament was over, she went home and she and her dad went down to the park on the corner to shoot hoops.

At the end of the tournament, after the awards have been handed out, after everyone has friended each other on Facebook, we all pose for a class picture.

 

531965_2123490527302_2108571522_n

I’m proud that when I look at that picture, all of us squeezed together, sweating and smiling, in our brightly colored jerseys with the tournament logo printed on the front, I really have to try hard to pick out the basketball players in the group. I just see “Speedy” and “Ratboy Genius,” “Wild Bill” and “Chicago,” “C-Love” and “Cage” and, well, you get the idea.

How the Fab Five Saved John's Life: A Reader's Letter

time

Only when the past ceases to trouble and anticipations of the future are not perturbing is a being wholly united with his environment and therefore fully alive.  ~ John Dewey (Professor of Philosophy, University of Michigan, 1884-1894)

A man I’ve never met or heard of, a stranger, wrote me a letter on Saturday morning.  It’s not the only one I got in response to my open letter to Chris Webber.  But this one, more than any other, stopped me absolutely cold in my tracks so simple, direct, and vivid was it in its declaration of why and how things like the Fab Five, their banners, and Michigan basketball matter.

They saved John Gorman’s life. Read more

An Open Letter to Chris Webber: You Are Loved

543890_10102493121291763_325914565_n[1]

Dear Mr. Webber,

You don’t know me. And I don’t know you, though I know some of your close friends. So let me first introduce myself. In 1993, when your heart was broken in front of a national television audience, I was 27 years old and near the end of my first year as a professor at the University of Michigan. Read more

Alphabet Soup, or, Not "Fab," Not "Fresh," but Just "Five"

Alphabet-soup

When Jimmy King visited class last week, one of the things he advised the students was to treat negative publicity  “like alphabet soup.”  I won’t directly reproduce his salty metaphor, but the gist of it was that you take the negativity, digest it as fuel, eliminate the waste product, and move on.  He’s really, really, really good at that.  I don’t know how many times some outrageous, negative thing has been said about Jimmy or his teammates or about some of the current Michigan players that I’ve taught over the past two years, and I begin to blow my stack about it and Jimmy always comes back to calm me down with some version of “alphabet soup.  It’s not that I don’t understand it.  I do.  And if I were the target of the negativity I think I would find it easier to follow Jimmy’s advice.

But when my friends or my students are targeted by the negativity, I’m unable to tolerate it. Read more

Teen Beat, or, How I Love the College Game

12111288

Everything that stirs us and causes us to cringe during the NCAA Men’s basketball tournament every year can be explained in this way:  adolescents using adolescence to try to overcome adolescence. Read more