By John Burtis
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The arrest of veteran NBA referee Tom Donaghy for gambling finally reduces the NBA from a simple employment system for a growing host of athletic felons and muscle bound ne'er-do-wells to mere scripted entertainment.
The victor in this form of garishly tarted up amusement, just like the WWE, where Mr. Benoit recently went a little crazy in the head and murdered his family after apparently drugging them while battling a low testosterone level brought on by the prolonged steroid use needed to puff him up for the close-up cameras, and which is all about bad behavior on and off the mat or court, is always determined in advance. But we know it and nobody goes to a professional wrestling extravaganza without understanding that the winners are selected in advance.
However, unlike the WWE, where the entire show and every nuance is pre-scripted, the NBA is now showing a bit of skirt because, thanks to the sudden exposure of Mr. Donaghy, the outcome of many of their finest shows were said to be determined, play by play, to a foregone conclusion, with the winners and losers pre-selected by the mob, the big bettors, and by Mr. Donaghy's alleged on court calls.
Isn't it about time that the NBA is finally reduced to the level of professional "wrestling?" I mean, come on, with all the court-side dust-ups, arrests, re-arrests, gun toting, illicit behavior, accidental suicides, shabby comportment, the trouncing of hapless sitting fans by enraged gargantuans, and the always attendant ludicrous narcissistic behavior, it was well on its way to mere brawling for bucks in front of an expensive crowd when the FBI clipped poor old Tom Donaghy.
Donaghy, bless his troubled soul, didn't enter the basketball hustle to turn it into mere carnevl, he just sort of sloughed his way there. It has been said that he first began to gamble, which later became one of those obsessions you read so much about. Then he ran out of money and owed his bookies big time. Then he turned to the shylocks for money. The shylocks, always looking for an angle, then informed the mob of his growing addiction. The good fellas decided to enlist the hapless referee as their pawn in a plan to recoup his losses and to provide them with enormous largesse.
All Mr. Donaghy had to do was to start calling the games foul by foul, free throw by free throw, double-dribble by out of bounds, in order to cement their relationship. And presto, the fabled game of hoops had progressed from a decent living for the likes of Tommy Heinsohn and Bill Russell, on to the era of bare knuckled brawling, and finally to the level of sheer contrived horseplay worthy of the Texas cage and the velvet roped ring.
Archeologists of the game will find that first trace of solid mob induced knavery at the KB Boundary, where knuckles gave way to betting, to throwing the game for the mob, and for lining the pockets of referee, player, and made-man alike.
Somewhere a dispirited and chastened Pete Rose understands this idiocy, while basketball fans are wondering if certain games will have the dreaded asterisk appended to the final scores in games where Mr. Donaghy "refereed" the "outcome," much as the poor troubled Roger Maris had his 60 similarly emblazoned.
Professional sports in general are slipping down the catch basin. Football fields almost as many convicted crooks as basketball, while similar arrests seem to plague the National Hockey League.
Players make too much money, which gives them ability to break the law in the off season rather than work.
Remember Johnny Unitas? He used to work in the steel mills in the off season to make ends meet. Jerry Kramer of the Green Bay Packers made about 38 grand a year in his heyday, which, despite inflation and the erosion of the dollar, doesn't come close to replicating the millions made by players with far less talent today.
And what do we have today as a prime example of the ill effects associated Brobdingnagian compensation? Why, Michael Vick of course.
Mr. Vick, currently the quarterback of the Atlanta Falcons and late of the horrific dog fighting capers, where the poor canines were electrocuted and beaten to death for failing to fight, alleges that he never visited or had much to do with that multi-million dollar manse where the bloody spectacles are said to have routinely taken place. Of course not, why would he?
Something has happened to professional sports. Somewhere along the way toughness, decency, fair play, and sportsmanship have gone from exhibiting the stellar qualities of a Bart Starr, a Larry Bird, or a Lou Gehrig, to demonstrating an effete ugly manliness based on the wallowing in abject cruelty, prolific drug use, the seemingly endless defilement of women, multiple felony arrests, and sheer mean beastliness to animals – in essence the thug life. And we, the sporting and wagering public, have allowed it to take place by not boycotting these ridiculous games or calling their owner's to task.
Many sportswriters knew that someday something akin to Mr. Donaghy's misbehavior would crop up, and now it has. And it's time to begin cleaning up professional sports in order to return them to a past level of relatively tarnished glory.
I am not in any way saying that problems never existed in the bygone eras of sports, the Black Sox scandal puts that quaint notion to rest. But when the referees, the keepers of the game and the defenders of the final score, allegedly go bad and face prison time for throwing games, and possibly championships, for personal gain, it is a wake-up call for the fans and a clarion call for reform.
We are now hearing that others may be involved in similar misdeeds in the NBA and that Mr. Donaghy may be singing soprano allegro non troppo to the FBI.
Indeed how many more have thrown basketball games and turned the NBA into Wrestlemania?
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