The meeting that sealed the fate of the University of Memphis
basketball program with the NCAA cops took place in November 2007.
Basketball fans and the public know only that former Tiger Derrick
Rose was questioned about his ACT and SAT scores at that meeting by
university officials and coaches. Earlier that year, Rose took the ACT
three times in Chicago and the SAT once in Detroit, where he finally
made a score that gave him eligibility to play basketball.
The university took Rose at his word that he didn’t have anyone take
the test for him, even though entrance test performance over four tries
in a short time is as predictable as a bench press, sprint time, or
vertical jump. The 2007-2008 season had not started. There was still
time to keep Rose off the team, but he played, and the rest is
history.
Coach John Calipari, athletic director R.C. Johnson, and President
Shirley Raines are taking the heat for the NCAA’s decision to strip
Memphis of its 38 wins and championship game banner. But Rose is the
one who should be on the hot seat. The university’s appeal of the NCAA
decision has about as much chance as an 80-foot heave. The person who
should take the last shot is Rose.
Rose knows what scores he made on the SAT and ACT even though those
scores are blacked out in public documents and cannot be released by
the testing services without his permission.
Rose knows whether someone took one or more of the tests for him,
causing the score to be canceled, which happens to only one out of
6,000 tests.
Rose knows why he took the SAT in Detroit.
Rose knows what Calipari and U of M coaches told him after he had
failed to make a high enough score on the ACT three times.
Rose knows what any outside adviser told him about this problem that
could make or break his college career, which was his audition for his
professional career.
Rose knows what his own handwriting looks like. He knows he could
easily disprove or prove the findings of forensic document examiner Lee
Ann Harmless in a September 2008 report that concludes he probably had
someone else take the SAT.
Rose knows what he was asked and what he answered during that
meeting in Memphis in November, which, like the SAT score and the
handwriting analysis, has been completely eliminated from the publicly
available university response.
Rose knows why he refused to take part in any investigations by the
testing service or the NCAA on six occasions in 2008 and 2009.
Rose knows why he didn’t answer certified letters from the
Educational Testing Service that were sent to his home in Chicago in
April and May of 2008 offering him three ways to clear his name. Rose
knows why he declined to meet with NCAA investigators in June of 2008,
August of 2008, January of 2009, and March of 2009 — all dates
before the NCAA sanctions were imposed.
Rose knows that his cooperation, if he has nothing to hide, could have taken the heat off the University
of Memphis. And he knows that if he does have something to hide, his
cooperation could identify others who deserve blame or vindication.
Rose knows why his only “explanation” to date consists of a few
brief comments saying he took his own tests.
It would be wildly inaccurate to call the University of Memphis
Rose’s alma mater and a stretch to suggest he was a student athlete in
any meaningful sense of the word. He was an entertainer who made a lot
of money for the university and himself.
But he is a man, too, who, like the rest of us, has to face himself
in the mirror every day. If he does nothing, no matter how great a
professional ballplayer he becomes, he will always be known as the
ineligible player who cost Memphis a season that branded its basketball
program as an outlaw.
If he fully explains himself, it won’t be easy. It will be harder
than making those free throws at the end of the Kansas game.
But superstars want the ball at crunch time.
Come on, Derrick, you’re the man. Tell what happened before the
clock runs out on the appeal. A lot of damage has been done, but you
can still clear it up. Take the ball.
