Prior to the start of the 2005-2006 NBA season, league commissioner David Stern alerted all players that they'd have to abide by a new dress code mandating players report to games attired in collared shirts and slacks or jeans, and prohibiting them from sporting "headgear" and chains over their clothing. Establishing this dress code was one of the league's responses to the "Malice at the Palace," a series of altercations between players and fans that erupted after beer was tossed on then Indiana forward Ron Artest during a November 2004 game between the Indiana Pacers and Detroit Pistons. Still reeling from the ensuing fallout from November 2004, Stern and league officials instituted another set of policies to continue reforming the NBA's image at the start of the 2006-2007 season. Per new league policy, players could not question an official's calls. Thus, similar to how politicians have long used images of uncontrollable black men to enforce pernicious drug and anti-crime legislation, Stern turned what many thought was an isolated incident to restrict the liberties and undermine the authorities of his players. He opted to pry on the racist perceptions of the many black men that make up his sport rather than defuse them by not overstating the impact of the Detroit melee.

A year after instituting this no-tolerance policy on his players, Stern finds himself no longer having to defend his sport from perceptions that unwieldy black Neanderthals have overrun it. He now faces the daunting task of convincing the media, fans, and presumably himself that the federal allegations that a referee for fixed games pertain to an "isolated incident" involving one "rogue" referee. Stern strangely preemptively bestowed upon this louse a level of individuality rarely afforded players such as Artest, Iverson and Wallace. The unfettered blackness of Queensbridge Housing Projects' "Tru Warrier," Ron Artest, appears equally matched by the unfettered whiteness of the alleged "rogue" referee, Tim Donaghy, a former baseball standout at Cardinal O'Hara high school and Villanova University. While reporters and league officials publicly mined Artest's psyche to determine the basis of his violent outbreaks, Donaghy's alleged destruction of his neighbor's property and attempts at running down his mail-carrier did not prompt the same level of inquiries, not even by their shared employer.

As it turns out, not only does Donaghy have Philadelphia roots, but so do the low-level mobsters who were reportedly strong-arming him. These details evoke memories of yesteryear when Irish, Italian, and Jewish athletes permeated the national scene and Americans were fixated on scandals such as the 1919 Black Sox affair, and the point-shaving indictments that brought down CCNY's national championship teams in the 1950s. These were the days when artists such as Frankie Avalon and Frank Sinatra titillated teenage imaginations with passing and/or formal affiliations with Philadelphia mobsters like Angelo Bruno and Antonio Caponigro, not unlike current Philadelphia stalwarts Beanie Sigel and Freeway who are often quick to quip about their connections with the Rebel Capital's underworld.

Stern's insistence that Donaghy was a lone "rogue" referee appears to contradict history's lessons. Mob history is laced with seemingly innocent Trojan horses such as Donaghy who, when cornered, have revealed connections stretching as high as former President John F. Kennedy's administration in the 1960s, and as wide as the entire boxing industry which has been plagued to virtual irrelevance by years of alleged mob-ties. Stern's lone "rogue" referee theory also disregards the large role that NBA referees play in determining outcomes of contests. Whereas an NFL official might make a dubious intentional grounding call, these calls will not prompt Tony Dungy to sit Peyton Manning for an entire quarter the same way that two quick fouls can disqualify a player for an entire quarter or half. Furthermore, as 13-year veteran Jalen Rose recently expressed, the one-ref argument does not take into consideration the "domino effects" of a rogue official's actions.

For example, the 2006-07 76ers, for whom Donaghy officiated eight games, finished five games behind eighth seeded Orlando for the Eastern Conference's final playoff spot. While there is no evidence yet to support a claim that Donaghy fixed all eight games, we also do not have evidence that he did not. One of these contests in particular, the January 15 tilt against the Raptors has already drawn a number of raised brows because of the dramatic turnaround in betting that saw the Raptors go from one-point underdogs to favorites.

76ers fans must also contend with whether Donaghy's actions cost their team a playoff berth. The 76ers had virtually the same conference record as the Magic and both teams went 9-7 in their respective divisions. Given how open the Eastern Conference was this year, those eight games could not have only meant leap-frogging the Magic for the eighth spot, but also potentially stealing the sixth or seventh spots from the Wizards or Nets, two teams who only finished six games ahead of the 76ers. Furthermore, what better team to use as a gambling apparatus than one that jettisoned its superstar, seemed primed for rebuilding, and for whose young roster losses could be easily written off as learning experiences.

After spending the better half of two years, trying to rein in his black players after what he once believed was the league's saddest day, David Stern must excavate the NBA from a tarn-filled terrain not seen in professional sports since the gambling allegations first surfaced against baseball legend Pete Rose. Rose, at the time the manager of the Cincinnati Reds, was eventually banned from baseball and barred from taking his rightful place in that league's Hall of Fame. In spite of this decisive action the specter of Rose continues to haunt baseball and, to a lesser extent, professional sports as a whole. Case in point: In the years since the Pete Rose affair, the NBA has weathered disconcerting (non-NBA) gambling disclosures by such athletes as Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley. Donaghy is not a star of the caliber of Rose, Jordan or Barkley; yet, the league tolerated his off-the-field miscues just like they often disregarded allegations against these other members of the sports fraternity. What now remains to be seen is whether the cost of erecting that shield for Donaghy, and swallowing their whistle for this Philadelphia bad boy was worth it for the NBA.