TIME FOR A BLUNT QUESTION

Weeding out the troublemakers is one thing, but this is ridiculous.

Kyle McAlarney received a standard pre-trial diversion from the St.
Joseph County prosecutor's office. That fit a first-offense of
misdemeanor marijuana possession, but only one plea applied to his
appearance before the Student Affairs Committee at Notre Dame.

No contest.

A disciplinary suspension from the university transformed McAlarney
from a leader who let down the basketball team into a victim of
disproportionate discipline.

Even a season-long ban from playing would have been a lot, but at
least justifiable under the circumstances.

This should have been a "basketball" decision to the extent that the
game matters to McAlarney. Taking that away for any extended period
would have sent a sufficient message.

Life as a punch line for every amateur Letterman in the student
section around the Big East probably would have been punishment enough.

Some early suggestions for banners and chants, should he return next season:

McAlarney: Notre Dame's high scorer.

Follow every missed shot with, "Bong!"

Shake baggies full of dimes each time he steps to the free throw
line. Dime bags, get it?

Because, seriously, this is a joke.

Comparable misdemeanors involving alcohol -- underage drinking,
public intoxication, etc. -- happen all the time with a fraction of
the sanction.

In 2000, three Irish basketball players were among 147 Notre Dame
students cited for being underage in a tavern. Only Troy Murphy
missed even a minute of playing time as a punishment, sitting out the
beginning of one game.

Former Irish fullback Rashon Powers-Neal, arrested for driving under
the influence in 2005, sat out the rest of the football season. He
stayed in school.

Although alleged to be in possession of a controlled substance, an
arguable reason for such a severe response, McAlarney was not charged
with the more dangerous behavior of driving while intoxicated.

His education did not need to enter this equation, not for a social
debt the people St. Joseph County felt content to collect in
community service hours.

Hours he probably could have completed while the creaky wheels of
campus justice cranked.

Three weeks and seven games elapsed while McAlarney waited for the
university to get around to rendering a decision. Ten more games in
the regular season, and however many Notre Dame might play without
him in March, would have harshed his mellow plenty.

Instead he has to hightail off campus and decide whether he wants to return.

If McAlarney chose not to seek readmission, it would be
understandable. Of all the disciplinary avenues available, Notre Dame
took Draconian Road, the same as if the prosecutor pursued the
maximum year in jail and $5,000 fine.

Students who violate alcohol or drug policies could face "warnings,
fines, alcohol and/or drug assessments, education, disciplinary
probation, suspension or dismissal," the university student handbook reads.

Unless Notre Dame knew something the authorities did not, the
decision exceeded the boundaries of discipline. Among other lessons,
McAlarney learned not to mess with the "Notre Dame family" or risk
excommunication.

None of this absolves him of responsibility for the situation. More
than a slap on the wrist and a pat on the butt on his way back onto
the basketball court were required.

But less, much less, than a disciplinary suspension would have been
more appropriate. Notre Dame had plenty of other options on the books.

Sentenced to the end of the bench for three weeks, dressed in his
repentant best, McAlarney watched the Irish endure, even thrive at
times, in his absence.

He didn't need a semester at some community college to learn the
lesson in that.

To be fair, Notre Dame has a reputation for coming down hard on
recreational activities that fall outside the parameters established
in du Lac, the circa-1950s rulebook for student behavior.

High standards, they might say. So high the judge, jury and
executioner must have had the munchies when they sent McAlarney home.