It's all meant to fire up the campus populace and anyone else who might be inspired to throw down money for tickets, T-shirts and whatever gewgaws the campus men's and women's basketball teams have to offer. But the beauty of Midnight Madness is that the affair is not completely cynical. It's a way for team members to say to their fellow students, "Even if you don't see us in class that much, we are a part of you — we are representing you." For one night, everyone is a student-athlete. In that spirit, many Midnight Madness ceremonies feature student contests, from 3-point shooting to, in the case of Ouachita Baptist University in Arkansas, student relay races.

Put it all together, and Midnight Madness becomes a place to feel good and excited about college basketball.

And, man, does college basketball ever need something to feel good about this year. Scandal, it seems, has always been a part of the men's game, but until recently you never heard about president-sponsored academic fraud, like you did at St. Bonaventure, or a player's murder, followed by his coach's idea to deflect an illegal payments scandal by portraying that player as a drug dealer, as happened at Baylor.

The college basketball holiday is not without its grinches, like the Kansas businessman who in 1998 alerted schools he had trademarked "Midnight Madness," and would they please send four percent of the gross his way. (That's why many schools have come up with different names, like Kentucky's re-christened "Big Blue Madness.") Some major-conference schools such as Xavier and Kansas State have dropped Midnight Madness in favor of more sedate, "family friendly" events guaranteed to repel most college students. Last year, Cincinnati, the site of the most famous Midnight Madness moment — student Cory Clouse getting free tuition for a year (and his books paid for by ESPN human bobblehead Dick Vitale) for hitting a half-court shot in 1994 — dropped the event. In its place, we have the desultory "Breakfast with Bob," the opportunity to, pinch me, sip orange juice with coach Bob Huggins.

Other schools say Midnight Madness is a waste of practice time. Southern Illinois dropped Midnight Madness for the 2001-02 season because its coach wanted a more "serious" tone to the start of practice, which was less fun, even if it paid off in a Sweet Sixteen appearance that year. Arizona has dropped the event this year, with Coach Lute Olsen saying all it does is make his players tired for their real first practice later in the day. Then again, he may have wanted to avoid seeing his players in skits with the emcee of last year's event, Tom Arnold.

But those schools are killjoys. Really, is the possibility of one good day of practice worth giving up the good will Midnight Madness can bring? Not for the schools picking up Midnight Madness, such as Yale and Loyola of Chicago, two of the most recent schools whose students and alumni successfully lobbied their schools to hold the event.

These schools realize that Midnight Madness isn't about the road to the NCAA championship. It's about saying, for one night, that students and athletes are one. It may be a myth, but without that myth, college basketball is just a bunch of mercenaries in short pants.

E-mail Bob Cook at bobc@flakmag.com.