Using people as step-ladders to the top is fine with me. Heck, so long as you own up to it, it’s basically the American way.

Admitting to what you’re doing is the key though; something the NCAA simply refuses to do.

The long-standing organization completely disregards the fact that it leaves student-athletes high and dry while it rakes in billions of dollars a year in revenue, preferring instead to believe it exists for the purposes listed on its website: “To govern competition in a fair, safe, equitable and sportsmanlike manner, and to integrate intercollegiate athletics into higher education so that the educational experience of the student-athlete is paramount.”

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m having a hard time finding the educational value in the recently signed 14-year, $10.8 billion deal for the broadcast rights to the NCAA men’s basketball tournament. That seems like an unnecessarily large budget for an organization simply trying to “integrate intercollegiate athletics into higher education.”

Nobody should ever feel guilty for taking advantage of a lucrative opportunity. Albeit, it still seems pretty convenient for the NCAA to continuously fill its collective wallet while constantly making sure student-athletes obey 4,000 rules devoted to keeping any money out of their pockets.

Georgia football player A.J. Green recently found firsthand why it’s best not to test NCAA regulations. The junior wide receiver was suspended for four games to start the 2010 season for selling his game-worn Independence Bowl jersey to who the NCAA termed an “agent.”

Now, the University of Nebraska is currently auctioning off the football jerseys to be worn during its Oct. 16 matchup with Texas on a public auction site. This example, however, complies completely with NCAA regulations.

The differences between the Nebraska and A.J. Green business transactions?

One, a school is profiting, not a player. Two, before sending the jersey off to the winning bidder, the Cornhuskers will rip the nameplates off the jerseys, in effect giving the university pseudo permission to profit off the individual players.

Apparently, there isn’t any feasible human technology available to tell what number a player wears.

While selling game-worn jerseys is relatively controversial, manufacturing jerseys directly for consumer consumption is an all too well-accepted practice. Jerseys are printed without names by NCAA accredited companies and sold to the public without acknowledging the number of people profiting off of the players likenesses. For example, one can purchase an A.J. Green jersey from the Georgia online store. Oh, scratch that, one can purchase a Georgia No. 8 jersey from the online store.

Any fans of the NCAA football video game franchise know that the money grubbing doesn’t stop at the school bookstores either. The popular game creates rosters for each Division I school down to the smallest detail, except the game will not put any reference to the player’s names.

As it turns out, it’s not all that hard to figure out that No. 12 on NIU is Chandler Harnish.

When the NCAA originally formed in 1905, its sole purpose revolved around rearranging the rules in college football to keep the players on the field from meeting their death. One small century later, the NCAA has morphed into the image of any other red-blooded American corporation – disregard the real workers while making as much cash as humanly possible.

Once again, I’m fine with the concept, but at least throw me a head nod acknowledging the existence of the injustice.