The team was a hybrid of two San Diego communities. Those from Mira Mesa were called the Morons; those from Encinitas were the Cows. Together, they forged one of the most formidable alliances ever in intramural basketball on the University of California at San Diego campus. They were the Moronic Cows.

None of the men on the team had played high school ball, but that did not matter. Sure, the competition was chock full of rail-thin engineers, pasty faced physics majors, and computer programmers who never seemed to shower--on game day, they were all ballers. But let one not underestimate the power of team chemistry: The Moronic Cows had nothing if not chemistry.

The man called B was the point guard and spiritual leader of the team. In an emotional half-time speech to his teammates, he called upon the great words of Pat Riley. He brought the team down on their haunches, looked each one in the eye, and yelled, "Win!" And win they did. Maybe B had seen too many old highlights of Magic Johnson, but as point guard, B always had some trick up his sleeve. In the name of chemistry, the other team members were always on the lookout for a behind-the-back pass, a no-look dish, or an errant throw in their direction.

Likewise, Sang the shooting guard always had a play to demoralize the opponents. He would sometimes wait for B to penetrate, and then give B the assist with a three pointer. His driving ability was none too shabby either, as he had developed great leaping ability by playing beach volleyball and eating massive quantities of rice over the years. Unfortunately, he was only 5'6" tall. But he played like a 6-footer.

The small forward position was filled by a tandem of the two restauranteurs on the team. One was the ever-exciting Hien "The human highlight film" Lam. He earned more playing time than the other because he was always willing to give the team free potstickers after a game. The other small forward was the incomparable Willie "Teapot" Tan. His shooting style could only be described as streaky. At times, Teapot could be as smooth and hot as the tea in his restaurant, sinking shot after shot--some hauntingly beautiful, some devastatingly ugly, but the points were on the board. When Teapot hit a slump, he could throw up enough bricks to build a palatial mansion on a southern plantation.

Both the Morons and the Cows had their token white boys. These boys filled the center and power forward spots. The Cows had the man they called Brilliance. Was it his gift with the basketball, his prowess with the ladies, or his ability to grasp calculus of multivariable differentials? We may never know, but that was his name. When he wasn't posing for Playgirl-style shots for the girl next door, he was perfecting a nasty jump hook.

The Morons' token white boy was Dick. At 6'2, the tallest of the Moronic Cows, he was a large man by anyone's standards. His nickname came not from his personality, but, as he claimed, it had more to do with his size fifteen shoes. His role was that of supreme garbage man. As in all intramural competition, shooting percentages were very low, so rebounding was all that much more important. Through his height advantage, Dick under the basket was an almost sure rebound. His ability to rebound, put up a shot, rebound the miss, put up another shot, and rebound again were legendary in the hallowed halls of the RIMAC building.

The Moronic Cows' bench was equally as talented. Buddha was a shaven headed Cantonese guy with a demolishing outside shot. He had been a good basketball player before, but after he lost seventy-five pounds, he was quite a force on the floor, and a much welcome addition to the team.

Not to be forgotten were the Brothers Takenaga. In another situation, Mountain Joe might have been destined for sumo wrestling. His less hefty brother, the Jackal, was a fierce competitor whose defense would stop a rhino in heat (though that might be more appropriate for the co-ed intramural games). The brothers, with their fiery tempers, brought an element of hockey to the hardwood.

As good as the team was, however, they knew they could never win the intramural championship. Half the players were borrowing someone else's ID badge or were using an expired ID with counterfeit validation stickers. Usually there was a team to whom the Moronic Cows could lose without losing face.

But the game was not about winning, it was about camaraderie: the potstickers at Hien's, the free refill drinks at Carl's Jr., and of course, the chance to maim an opponent. No room in the hall of fame? No problem for this team. Satisfaction came with a solid play. Joseph Chao, a $60,000 per year software engineer can attribute that gap in his mouth for the solid play of the Jackal's elbow. Roger Townes, now an engineer in Irvine, can thank the solid play of Dick's size fifteen shoe and 220 pounds for his flat toes.

The Moronic Cows, unsung heroes of the University of California at San Diego intramural basketball tournaments, still play ball, but now are like ghosts of their former selves, as it gets harder and harder to fool the ID badge checker with their ersatz IDs. Their legacy lives in infamy, though, and in this paper.

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