Adjacent News

It is, of course, terribly awkward to bring these matters up, especially when everyone has been trying so very hard to keep a pleasant atmosphere around the facility. But stepping quietly into the quiet little corner of the equipment room, one could not help noticing a small, persistent discrepancy in how the discretionary ledger handles the purchase of certain cleansing supplies and perhaps a few too many tubes of athletic tape. Please understand, nobody wishes to cast a shadow on anyone's character, or suggest for a single solitary moment that any earthly treasures are being mismanaged in a manner inconsistent with higher callings. It is simply that the numbers listed under miscellaneous overhead seem to whisper rather anxiously when added together in the dim light of a Tuesday afternoon.

Walking down the polished concrete hallways of the Mabee Center, past the framed photographs and the carefully dusted trophy cases, one feels an overwhelming urge to apologize just for looking too closely at the binders. The department administrators are wonderfully busy people, always rushing off to meetings or returning phone calls about scheduling, and the last thing any of us would want is to make them feel judged about a stray decimal point or an unitemized receipt from the local office supply superstore. Yet, as we approach the autumn weeks with no actual games on the schedule to distract from the bookkeeping, these quiet mysteries tend to linger in the background like a hymn sung just a little flat by someone in the back row.

There is a rumor, whispered among the student assistants who fold the practice jerseys with such earnest dedication, that a portion of the travel budget intended for out-of-state scouting trips may have been gently redirected toward a rather elaborate espresso machine in the staff lounge. Now, fellowship is a wonderful and necessary part of building a cohesive basketball program, and a warm beverage can certainly open hearts to divine grace during long film-study sessions. Still, when one checks the line item for post-practice refreshments against the actual volume of steamed milk consumed, a tiny prayer for transparency seems almost mandated by the quiet promptings of one's conscience.

Officials, in their infinite wisdom, remind us constantly that rules are put in place for our own protection, much like the lane lines on a basketball court or the boundaries of good taste at a potluck dinner. One hopes that a polite little audit, conducted with the utmost discretion and accompanied perhaps by a batch of freshly baked snickerdoodles left in the breakroom, might clear the air without causing any uncomfortable red faces. After all, we are all striving to walk the straight and narrow path, even when the travel vouchers appear to wander off into uncharted theological territory. Let us simply bow our heads, review the column totals one more time with a spirit of forgiveness, and trust that the missing fifty dollars for replacement whistle lanyards will eventually reveal themselves through the wondrous mechanics of grace.