I should have seen this coming.

I should have seen it when I was 12.  I was at a summer football camp when one of my peers punched a player in the kidneys.  A coach tried to accost him and the prepubescent brute's father came across the field to knock the coach to the ground.  None of the players seemed to notice.  Yet, somehow, it wasn't clear.

I should have seen it when I was 14.  I was playing summer baseball as an assistant coach mocked my head coach when he benched the assistant's son and the replacement botched a play.  The assistant's son sneered in approval.  I can't believe I didn't see it.

I should have seen it when I was 18.  I was playing in my high school football team's annual intersquad scrimmage when one of our star running backs broke a long run and trotted out of bounds after breaking the last tackle between him and the endzone.  When asked about it later he claimed he was “tired.”  I was blind to it all.

All my life, I held complete and utter faith in sports.  Sports were pure. Sports represented everything that rang true.  This was always the case,until this week.

While I was watching Joakim Noah and the Florida Gators prance around the RCA Dome, I felt that, for the first time, sports had let me down.  Don't get me wrong, I think that the expression of joy is as much as part of the game as anyone, but this, this was different.  Taurean Green was taking part in a pre-choreographed dance while there were still five second left on the clock and he was holding the ball.  Noah was interrupting Billy Packer to inform the world that his dorm would be holding a week-long party and that they wouldn't be doing much homework.  Another Gator was sporting a makeshift heavyweight championship belt with the school emblem affixed to the front.  This was more than a celebration, more than exaltation.  This was over-exuberance and dare I say, arrogance.

When I was young I was taught simple concepts.  Hustle.  Run out the ground ball.  Teamwork.  More hustle.  Whenever a coach tells you to do something, you do it.  When you lose, say nothing.  When you win, say even less.  Keep hustling.

As I grew older I learned deeper life lessons.  I learned it was possible to have a family where none of its members shared blood.  I learned to never trust the media, only to become a member of it.  I learned that no matter what anyone says, they never understand what it's like to be on that field.  I learned that when the end comes, no matter how strong you've been, the tears will fall.  I learned that when it's all said and done, the only people that understand will be the ones that went through everything
with you.

This was the code of an athlete.  An unbreakable series of rules.  However, there was one that was held above all others-Never do anything to disgrace the game you play, the team you play for or the program you represent.

Duke University's varsity lacrosse team's schedule was cancelled on Wednesday due to the ongoing investigation into the allegations that  players were involved in the rape and assault of a woman.  Ignoring the glaringly obvious moral implications, the mere implication of a player's involvement brings shame to a group of men who are suppose to be above the cruelty and inhumanity present we continue to hear about.

I know things like this have happened before, like the scandal-ridden football teams at Colorado.  However, for some reason this was the first time I resented them for it; the first time I felt real anger.  Maybe it was the emails received from the account of a sophomore Blue Devil defenseman which told us about his plans to “have some strippers over” and that he was “planning on killing the *%#@* as soon as they walked in.”  Perhaps this was what bore the rage in my stomach.

These are athletes, men who play a game that teaches them that life is about things nobler than anything seen in the media circus that is playing out in Durham right now.  At least that's what I was taught.  Is this not the case anymore?

For years I've defended the athlete.  After all, one of the golden rules is that one understands what it's like to be on that field.  THEY don't understand the pressure the athlete is under.  THEY don't see the long hours put in to impress those who merely stand by and watch.  THEY just don't understand.

Maybe I'm getting old.  Because, suddenly, THEY has turned into WE.  WE no longer feel the prestige of the athlete.  WE no longer feel as if the athlete deserves the benefit of the doubt.  WE are madder than hell.

What's next for the American athlete?

Somewhere there's a 12-year-old at a football camp.  Somewhere there's a 14-year-old playing baseball.  Somewhere there's an 18-year-old strapping on his pads.  Somewhere there's a kid that's just like I used to be.  Our only hope is that WE get to them before THEY do.  But even if we do, what would we tell them?

For starters? We could tell them to hustle.

Send Jesse an email at jesse.mosser@atomicsportsmedia.com