COYNE TOSS: Bring Dunks Our Way

With the lights of the NBA All-Star festivities of this past weekend still radiating a faint glow, one great blinding truth became startlingly clear: Harvard desperately needs its own slam dunk contest.

A microcosm of the trials and tribulations of Man, dunk contests touch us in ways few things can.

The pure creativity and unrivalled artistry of backboard-to-Steve Nash’s head-to-Amare Stoudemire’s soaring hands rivaled the most magnificent accomplishments of Da Vinci and made us question whether we all might have such latent treasures hidden deep within ourselves.

Chris Andersen’s incomprehensible inability to put a dunk down over a seemingly endless expanse of time spoke to tragedy and futility more clearly than Sartre ever could.

Few moments in human history compare to the gravity-defying, muscle-manipulating movements of Josh Smith blazing towards the basket. As his white and red Adidases (Adidae? Adidi? Adida?) launched upward and over the head of Kenyon Martin, we could not help but be reminded of the hardships we ourselves must overcome, and revealed not a little about how best to face such obstacles.

Indeed, there is no doubting the issues treated by the dunk contest.

I ask you—are we not gathered here, at this college, to learn, become familiar with, and grapple with matters such as these?

I dare say we are. I believe it goes without saying that Harvard College should itself host its very first slam dunk contest, with students as participants.

Many will immediately point out an obvious yet easily avoidable impediment—that at any moment there are in all likelihood no more than 11 people on campus who can jam on a regulation-sized hoop.

Parsnips, I say. With the modern innovation of “adjustable hoops,” rims can be lowered to accommodate dunkers of all sizes and leaping abilities.

Set them at seven, seven and a half, eight, eight and a half, nine, nine and a half, and ten feet and let students go at it.

A set of celebrity judges to arbitrate the proceedings, or at least the finals of the competitions at each height, is akin to sending Hist and Lit sophomore essays to outside evaluators.

Wouldn’t you want to be on the top of your game with Fox NFL Sunday host James Brown ’73 (who starred on the hoops team here for four years), men’s head coach Frank Sullivan, and Dunster House Master Roger Porter critiquing your windmill?

Hold the contest outside in a courtyard on a warm spring afternoon, roll some speakers and grills out there, and class will be in session.

Yes, friend, this Boomfest would surely scratch Harvard right where it invariably itches.

Attempt to comprehend the outpouring from such a shockingly new medium.

Indubitably dunks unrivaled in scope and depth would be thrown down by eager young scholars searching for a voice all their own.

The Categorical Imperative would be given a whole new meaning.

Would you like to feel the wake of this 360-degree Hegelian Dialectic?

Don’t get cut by the slashing of my reverse Occam’s Razor.

Care to behold my First Law of Motion?

Exactly.

Boomfest T-shirts could be made; they might even contain funny slogans like “I’ll Rattle Your Rim” or “I Dunked on Your Sorry Class.”

Courtyard legends would be born. Stories will be retold years from now about how The House Master left his footprints on the backboard, Popcorn Chicken dunked blindfolded, and The Senior Tutor jumped over that kid.

House committees, deans, presidents I beseech you; bring in the noise, bring in the dunk.

—Staff writer J. Patrick Coyne can be reached at coyne@fas.harvard.edu.