How does a basketball program at a Division I university -- with a rigorous academic reputation -- build a connection between the gym and the classroom?

That's what Margaret McKeon asked herself after she agreed to become head coach of a moribund Boston University women's basketball team in 1999. Before McKeon's arrival, the program had had only one winning season throughout the 1990s. Her mission? To build a winner. Oh, and by the way, to make sure her players meet and maintain the same academic standards as any other student applying to BU. With the overall grade-point averages of incoming freshman hovering near 3.500 and SAT scores approaching 1300, that is a formidable task.

In an effort to help players succeed academically, she thought about ways for her players to reach out to the "other end of the street" -- a phrase that aptly depicts the perceptual barriers that exist between athletics, at the west end of the elongated urban campus, and the academic classrooms at the east end.

She introduced a guest coach program as a way to help players interact with their professors outside the classroom and to give the professors a chance to meet the players and gain some idea of the outside responsibilities that a student-athlete has to deal with to remain scholastically eligible to play for this institution.

I received an invitation to participate from two student-athletes in one of my classes. I hesitated about participating because I thought it would make the players uncomfortable. Actually, I thought it would make me uncomfortable. After reassurances that neither would be the case, I agreed.

* * *

The next week I find myself in the unusual position, for a professor, of being a classroom observer during the pregame meeting before the team's opening conference game against the University at Albany. The 14 members of the team are listening to an assistant coach's machine-gun-like delivery on tonight's opponent. He covers more topics in 10 minutes than Kornheiser and Wilbon cover in a half-hour on "Pardon the Interruption." Using a 4-by-6-foot erasable marker board as a prop -- every inch covered with diagrams or neatly hand-lettered lists -- he provides a detailed outline that covers BU's offensive sets and defensive zone coverage during the game. He points out Albany's starting five players' offensive tendencies, with special attention given to No. 24. He wraps up his lecture with an admonition to be aggressive ("but don't foul; keep your feet moving") because the Great Danes shoot 75 percent from the line. The students nod in rhythm as he races through each topic.

As the assistant finishes, McKeon, who has been standing silently in the back of the classroom, moves to the front where she gathers the team around her as they prepare to go out and finish their warm-up before tip-off. She offers some last-minute advice and then names the starters for the game. She and the players yell, "Win!" as the team heads for the court. "Wait," a player cries out, "we haven't heard from the guest."

The players, caught in mid-flight to the court, hustle back to their perfectly aligned classroom seats and glance over at the guest, awaiting words of brilliance. What do I say to a team that has just spent 15 minutes being mentally prepared to tear apart the Great Danes' defense? This is no time for a lecture on how team play benefits one's ability to communicate and make quick decisions, or on the concept of leadership experience. "Hartford is a great place to be in mid-March when you win the conference tournament; good luck tonight" is what pops out. The team laughs and the classroom rapidly empties, leaving the guest and real coaches a few moments to contemplate the evening's game.

McKeon takes the opportunity to introduce herself and talk about her team. She doesn't just discuss how many wins the team has or how tough the post-Christmas travel schedule has been, but about the weekly hours her players contribute to basketball and how they must balance that time with their academics. She also points out that her leading scorer was on the America East Conference academic honor roll last season and that one of the freshman was a National Merit finalist before enrolling in the School of Management.

Few outside a university's athletics family realize the pressures these student-athletes face. Basketball may come first, but studies are 1-A. If you don't get a 2.000, you don't keep your scholarship. No scholarship, no degree. Practice time, meeting time and travel time all conspire to challenge the players each semester to find four classes that not only meet their program's academic requirements, but also fit into the time frame of their practice/game schedule during a seven-month basketball season that spans two academic semesters.

As the clock approaches 7 p.m., the coaches move onto the court. I am assigned a seat in a row of chairs directly behind the bench. As I settle in to wait for the tip-off, I wonder if having a male professor, a stranger to most of the players, so close to their bench is an unwanted distraction. It seems not. They are so focused on their game-time assignments and immersed in the activity on the floor that to them I'm not even there.

What I see while on the bench this night is not just a basketball team performing at a high skill level, but a group of intensely focused, aggressive young women who play hard and show a caring intimacy with each other. They join hands for the national anthem while standing single file in front of their bench. They slap palms along the entire bench every time a player comes out of the game, shouting encouragement to their teammates throughout.

A scare hits the team at the end of the first half as a teammate goes down with what will turn out to be a season-ending ACL tear. The injured player remains on the bench while being attended to by the athletic trainer during the intermission. As the players return to the court for the second half, each consoles the injured player with a brief word or touch, and one player gives her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

BU emerges with a 19-point victory, the team's first win in five games. My experience as a guest coach ends abruptly. At the buzzer, the players and coaches race off the floor. With a "thanks for coming" from an assistant coach, I head out of the gym.

* * *

Several weeks later, three of the players agree to meet with me before a practice to answer a few questions about the guest coach program. The players' game days are actually easier on them than practice days. On game days they have a shoot-around several hours before the game, break, come back to the gym, get taped and dressed, warm up, and then it's game time. Practice days involve lots of stretching, treatment for injuries before and after practice, which is a two-hour high-intensity affair, topped off with weight training. Oh, then study time.

The players laugh at the thought of having a professor follow them around for a week. "They would never believe the stuff we go through," one says.

A program like McKeon's helps create a greater understanding of the stresses that student-athletes endure while working toward their degrees. Unfortunately, an unintended side effect of the heightened interest in intercollegiate sports is the negative attitudes that grant-in-aid scholarship student-athletes encounter inside the classroom. When asked about any stereotyping by faculty, one of the players confides: "I have definitely felt there is a bias against athletes in some programs. When I transferred from the College of General Studies (an intense two-year program designed for those students who exhibit academic potential but may not have the grades needed to enter the traditional schools at BU), I applied to one of BU's more academically challenging schools. I was told outright by one of the counselors not to apply, and that I would never make it through, due to my basketball commitments. I came to BU for that program, not just to play basketball. There are no programs as good as this one in my home state. I made it through. Now I'm a senior and the professors know what I can do. A bunch of them come to the games now and are very supportive."

The media also does its fair share of typecasting by focusing on the rap sheets -- as opposed to grade sheets -- of college athletes. Often, faculty and administrators view student-athletes as automatic candidates for a letter of academic suspension versus a letter that places them on the dean's list at the end of a semester. Many don't understand the role of the student-athlete.

One of the players tells a story about taking a letter to her Spanish professor from the athletics department, outlining the classes she would have to miss due to game conflicts. The professor looked at the list of five games, pointed to one and said, "You can go to this game, but none of the others." The player rolled her eyes, laughing at how professors don't get the fact that student athletes don't have a choice between attending class or playing a game.

McKeon's team won 17 games last season. This season she upped the ante by scheduling more difficult opponents before the beginning of conference play. The profile of the program is growing, and she hopes awareness for it eventually spills over into the faculty. "My hope," says McKeon, "is that by getting the faculty interested in the BU women's basketball program through my players, that more will attend our games, and -- just maybe -- this will help bridge the gap between the other end of the street and the student-athletes."

Let the record show that I am one who has walked that bridge.

Chris Cakebread is an assistant professor in the College of Communication at Boston University. Cakebread has an Ed.D. from the School of Education at Boston University, where his dissertation focused on the motivations of youth coaches.