Hoosier hysteria

 The Indiana High School Athletic Association is weighing an NIL proposal for its high school athletes, and, boy, howdy. You know what that means, boys and girls.

"The end of days?" you're saying now. "Lakes of fire, rivers running backward, dogs and cats living together?"

Well ... no.

But you can't help imagining all of that, as Hoosier Hysteria becomes simply hysteria in some corners of our fair state.

What if the parents of the kid who gets cut from the team sues the coach for restraint of trade?

What if South Northwest Podunk High sues Big Suburban Moneybags High for stealing its 6-9 center with a chunkier endorsement deal?

What if the parents of the current Big Suburban Moneybags High center sues the school for lost wages, because the 6-9 move-in now has their Johnny's former endorsement deal?

Sound, well, hysterical?

Maybe. But any and all of the above could happen. Although a lot of it probably won't.

That seems to be the way these seismic events tend to unspool, with the hand-wringers' worst-case scenarios making only sporadic appearances. Will there be lawsuits? Well, yes, because this is America, and in America everyone sues everyone for everything. Also there already have been lawsuits here and there (emphasis on "here and there") in a lot of the other states that have adopted high school NIL.

Which is almost of them.

As of the turn of the year, 45 states plus the District of Columbia have some form of Name, Image and Likeness at the high school level. Indiana is one of the five that doesn't, which figures. We are, after all, the stubborn coot of states, forever coming around last; we're so notorious for it, in fact, the state seal should include the aforementioned coot shaking his liver-spotted fist and shouting at a too-modern-looking cloud.

Me?

I just wonder WWOD. Or what WWDD. Or WWRMD.

As in: What Would Oscar Do, and What Would Damon Do, and What Would Rick Mount Do. Or George McGinnis, Jay Edwards, Shawn Kemp, Glenn Robinson, any number of others.

Bobby Plump has made a career out of hitting that mid-range jumper for Milan back in 1954; he even has a restaurant named Plump's Last Shot. But he didn't open it in high school. If NIL had been around, he could have -- or at least lent his image to it for a handsome fee.

Damon Bailey?

Shoo. There's already a monument to him in his hometown of Heltonville, and John Feinstein made him famous -- as an eighth-grader -- in "A Season on the Brink." By the time he took Bedford North Lawrence to the state finals as a freshman, everyone in the state had heard of him. Heck, he was so famous he could have opened his own rib joint.

(Ha-ha, just kidding. I know the Damon's Grill chain wasn't named for Damon Bailey. Or at least I don't think so.)

Oscar Robertson, meanwhile, is only the greatest basketball player ever to come out of our basketball state, unless it's Larry Bird.  And Rick Mount was the first high school athlete ever to grace the cover of Sports Illustrated. Think they couldn't have made some NIL jack?

As for the others ...

Well, Glenn Robinson actually had a nickname: The Big Dog. He could have been the public face  -- again, for a handsome fee -- of a chain of dog-grooming places called Big Dog's Daring 'Do's. How perfect is that?

"Umm ... not very?" you're saying now.

OK. But you get the gist, right? 

The point is, the possibilities are endless, and not just in basketball. Just now, for instance, I'm remembering Indiana football legend Jade Butcher, who, before he starred for IU's first Rose Bowl team, was a hometown high school legend at Bloomington High School. Imagine what sort of NIL deal he could have landed as the public face of a rare gem shop?

Hi, I'm Jade Butcher from Bloomington High, and welcome to Jade's House of Jade ...

Great, right?

Um, right?