Note: This article has been heavily exaggerated to pad the self-esteem of the writer.
Like most incoming freshmen at Washington University, I hold a love of sports. And like some of you, I was devastated when I recently discovered that there was no polo program-nor even a sizable stable-on the South 40. You see, polo, the noble sport of gentlemen, is my game. Though I have never actively participated in it and despite the fact that I do not know how to ride horses, I have always felt an affinity for the game of polo. Sadly, my ill-conceived designs of becoming the greatest polo player in all of St. Louis were quickly laid to rest, leaving me in need of a new pursuit.
I was never recruited very heavily as a high school athlete. Eight years ago, as a middle-school student, I was considered the next great American gym scooter hockey player. Scouts came to fourth period, the bleachers were packed with fans, the pundits were calling me the next Tiger Woods, the Freddy Adu of scooters, even Lebron Novack. But it all began to slip away from me as I bought into the hype. I slipped deeper and deeper into a serious video game addiction and spent countless sleepless nights glued in front of the television watching Nick at Night. Super Mario and Ricky Ricardo were my new entourage, and they took every cent I had. By the time I had reached the twelfth grade, I had lost my love of gym sports completely. Though I flirted briefly with recruiters from the University of Phoenix, who offered me a full ride on a cyber athlete scholarship and a free optical mouse if I would play Starcraft for them, there was only one other ticket to a first rate college education that was not over the Internet.
It was about a year ago that I received the call from Jeffrey Novack, player coach, GM, older brother, and part owner of the creatively titled Ligget 1’s of the Washington University in the St. Louis Intramural Basketball B League. They needed a point guard who could shoot from out to, but no further than, 15 feet with his eyes closed, especially one lacking the ability to dribble with his left hand. Call it luck, call it destiny, call it kismet, call it nepotism, but I had found my opportunity. I applied early decision, and to no one’s surprise, except that of my family, peers, and teachers, I was accepted-no doubt because of what I can potentially offer to intramural basketball. Many critics claim that Intramural sports are not exciting. Some go as far to suggest that IM sports should not be allowed to recruit. They claim that the programs do not bring in any revenue and that recruiting the very best defeats the purpose of a league where anyone can play. Though these imaginary detractors, created for the purpose of this article, are probably 100 percent right, I cannot disagree more completely.
Just as many claim (incorrectly) that college basketball is more compelling than the NBA, one can just as easily carry out that faulty reasoning to the ultimate conclusion that IM basketball is more compelling than the NCAA. If it’s rivalries you seek, look no further than the spirited contests between neighbors. The only battles more heated than those between powerhouses such as North Carolina and Duke is those between houses on the South 40 – or better yet, between roommates. Some feel that the slam-dunk has all but ruined the fundamentals of basketball. Frankly, fundamentals are all we have at the intramural level; some of us probably cannot get rim even if it were SlamBall, the exciting and stupendously moronic fusion of basketball and trampolines. Fans are tired of the NBA prima donnas who only play for the money, or one year-and-done college stars such as Carmelo Anthony who use college basketball as a tune up for the pro level. Our desire is what separates us intramural ballers from the rest – we don’t get paid and we aren’t going anywhere, giving fans the chance to watch us grow as athletes.
Our limitations as athletes are what make us intramural players endearing. Only in our beloved IM league can my inability to convert on a left-handed lay-up attempt be misconstrued as a strength rather than a weakness. Where else are players encouraged to be selfish if they are better than the rest of their team? Though that was perhaps the most flawed example out of many weak arguments I have made, if Dick Cheney has taught us anything, it is that if you repeat something over and over again people will believe it to be true. Intramural Basketball is the greatest sport, Intramural Basketball is the greatest sport, Intramural Basketball is the greatest sport. (Intramural Basketball is the greatest sport.) For those of you who have stuck with this piece and managed to make it this far, I salute you. Though this article was for the most part self congratulating, self promoting, and wonderfully well-written, if there is only one thing I can impart, it is that there really is no greater honor than that of representing your dorm in the intramural tournament of champions, and bringing home the elusive “Intramural Champion” T-Shirt.
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Dan is an entering freshman. Usually, freshmen who haven’t started school yet don’t write for Student Life. But Dan is the brother of Sports Editor Jeff Novack, which means he is, uh, fortunate enough to have the opportunity to share his thoughts here with you.