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In 1940 undefeated Cornell visited Dartmouth on a late-autumn afternoon with the hopes of securing the national championship of college football. Cornell hadn't lost in three years, and the Associated Press had ranked them No. 1 in the nation all year, and for good reason: they had pummeled all comers by an average score of 30-2.

Dartmouth was not about to roll over, though, and gave Cornell the fight of the season. The teams slogged it out in an exhausting defensive battle—until the fourth quarter when Dartmouth kicked a field goal to take a 3–0 lead.

By the time Cornell was able to drive to the Dartmouth 6-yard line, there were only 45 seconds left to play. Three running plays brought Cornell to within inches of the goal line. With nine second remaining and staring at a fourth down, Cornell called a timeout. But before they could get off the next play, they were flagged for delay of game and penalized five yards. For its final play, Cornell attempted a pass, which Dartmouth broke up—after which the refs huddled immediately. Because of the penalty, the refs were confused—did the previous play occur on third or fourth down? The hurried officials decided to give Cornell one more down. Now with three seconds left, Cornell threw a pass over the middle for a touchdown and the win.

Though there was no instant replay at the time, there was replay—but it took 24 hours to develop the film. The evidence was unmistakable: the refs had given Cornell an extra down. Given the rules, however, the refs were powerless to reverse the score.

But before the day was out, Cornell's coach and university president telegrammed Dartmouth: "We congratulate you on the victory of your fine team. The Cornell touchdown was scored on a fifth down, and we relinquish claim to the victory and extend congratulations to Dartmouth." The gesture of sportsmanship cost Cornell both the game and a national championship.

We were reminded of this noble story last week at a conference on sports law and ethics entitled "Winning at All Cost, Today's Addiction," sponsored by the Valparaiso University School of Law. There were talks and panels that included the likes of Bob Costas and Dick Patrick (USA Today), as well as dozens of lawyers whom I had never heard of (but whose infamous athlete clients I had). There was much talk about steroids and recruiting violations and fights both on the courts and in the stands, as well as talk about legal and medical issues. But I was most interested in what participants thought about the causes of the ethics crisis in sports.

A serious problem, of course, has complex causes. Take just one crisis: baseball's steroid scandal. Bob Costas said, "The media should have started talking about this in the mid-nineties." One lawyer pointed the finger at colleagues who overzealously defend clients they know have taken steroids. Baseball owners, player union representatives, and even clean players came under indictment—why start trouble when fans were once again finally streaming to the parks in record numbers to watch Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, and Barry Bonds hit home run after home run after home run. Steroids were "good" for baseball, no?

Bill Curry, former NFL lineman (with two Super Bowl rings), college coach, and now ESPN analyst, argued that the larger problem is cultural. He said that professional athletes are driven by fear of losing one's position and pride in competing with the best. When he was a pro, playing in the NFL was more important to him than "God, family, money, parties—anything." And he would doanything to stay competitive, to be one of the best in the world. That included using steroids, which he did for a short time (thanks to the intervention of his father, he stopped immediately).

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February (Web-only) 2005, Vol. 49