When the NCAA banned "hostile and abusive" mascots at future NCAA championships, not only couch potatoes but college presidents weighed in on behalf of their alma maters and their Native American mascots. Was the NCAA action just another instance of geeky college professors engaging in well-meaning but flawed attempts at social engineering? While that no doubt played a part, there is far more going on here than clumsy attempts at "political correctness."

Whether Joe or Susie fan articulates it this way or not, a team's mascot is nothing less than a quasi-divine symbol occupying a venerated place in the temple of sport, and to attack or criticize it is tantamount to blasphemy. For better or worse, we worship sports in this country. For nearly every symbol of religion, there is a corresponding sports analog: Each has its own sacred days, pilgrimages, meals, uniforms, language, high priests, music, ritual and pageantry. You think religions bring out deep-seated emotions? Try walking around Norman, Oklahoma, while wearing a Texas Longhorns hat, or carrying on a conversation in Michigan Stadium after the Wolverines score against Ohio State.

Still skeptical? Then consider the following:

• Planning a fall wedding in the South? If you want a full house, forget about scheduling it on Saturday -- folks are watching football.

• Fans routinely drive hundreds (sometimes thousands) of miles to attend games, with their vehicles proudly emblazoned with mascot symbols (decals, bumper stickers, license plate frames, etc.). Such trips are nothing less than sacred pilgrimages, many of which are performed with all the trappings of religious ritual.

• Only a religious fervor could transform such seemingly innocuous animals as ducks, beavers and anteaters into powerful totems that not only drive multi-million-dollar sales, but inspire followers to rabid devotion.

When fans and alums boast of triumphs over the "Bears," "Huskies" or "Warriors," they are engaging in the same type of religious behaviors as prehistoric and indigenous peoples have since time immemorial. One god has triumphed over another. We have bumper stickers, screen savers, pennants and flags with scores and vanquished foes; earlier societies had battle notches, time balls and victory poles. In the past, an Iroquois or Sioux elder would relate tales of glories in battle; modern sports fans spin stories of firsthand knowledge of vicarious victories ("I was there when Doug Flutie threw that pass!").

Does this mean that any and all mascots are acceptable? In a word, no. Just as our religious freedom is not absolute, neither is our freedom of speech. I can envision mascots whose use is so contrary to our values as a country that they must be proscribed. But the burden of proof should clearly be with those who challenge the mascots, not on the sponsoring university or college, suggesting that such cases should be quite rare.

And this is where the NCAA goofed. Just as it is self-evident that no religious devotee denigrates his or her own gods, no fan thinks ill of his mascot or what it represents. It is unthinkable that people would denigrate their own totems. The NCAA was taken aback when administrative officials of Florida State University were outraged that their teams' mascot (the Seminoles) was considered by the NCAA to be "hostile and abusive." Maybe the NCAA should have listened when one Seminole elder said to the university, "You honor us by using our name." Quite so.

For the NCAA to criticize a college or university's mascot -- or to ask them to change it -- is not only to engage in flagrantly patronizing behavior, but to suggest that the alums and students have heretofore been worshipping false gods. You'd have better success telling Pat Robertson that Jesus was a snake-oil salesman.

The evidence for the religious nature of sports and its trappings has always been there for the NCAA to see -- frankly it should have known better. The very word "fan" is short for fanatic, a word that comes from the Latin term for the frenzied behavior inspired by a deity, often in a temple. I remember as a kid, turning the pages of The National Geographic Explorer, transfixed by pictures of faraway tribes, their entire bodies painted in gaudy colors for a religious ceremony. Who would do that? I wondered. I had my answer not too many years later, watching a Monday Night Football game from Green Bay. Despite the arctic temperatures of a December night, a row of young males were naked from the waist up, their chests painted in brilliant green and yellow, their heads adorned with large plastic cheese wedges. Now those are true fans.

Mike McKenzie is an associate professor of philosophy and religion at Keuka College.