It wasn’t that long ago that many University of Louisville fans liked to wear jersies with a basketball star’s number on them — Darrell Griffith’s 35, Rodney McCray’s 22, Francisco Garcia’s 42. But now the numbers you see most often belong to football players, especially Brian Brohm’s 12 and Michael Bush’s 19.

Somebody is making a lot of money off these players’ popularity. Surely Tom Jurich’s corporation gets a cut. So do the manufacturers and the retailers. But you know what the players get — zilch, zero, nada — because of NCAA rules against the “commercialization” of student-athletes. And hasn’t that become nothing but a big joke?

This Neanderthal thinking seems grossly unfair to Brohm and Bush. They should get a piece of the pie. So I wonder why somebody hasn’t petitioned the NCAA to pass a new rule that would allow athletic departments to set up escrow accounts for its most marketable players? Put the money in there for them and let it sit until they graduate, turn pro, or get a real job.

What would that amount to for, say, Brohm? Probably enough to pay the insurance premiums on the policy his family will take out against a career-threatening injury next season. How many No. 12 jersies have been sold in his career? How many more will be sold next season?

Long ago, greedy presidents and athletics directors rendered the term “amateur” meaningless. Unless you’ve spent the last 30 years in a cave, surely you know what big-time college football and mens’ basketball have become. At the least, they’re semi-pro sports. Feeder systems for the pros. At the most, they’re full-fledged imitations of what’s happening in the NFL and NBA. But the players — and I’m talking about the special ones, not the bench-warmers or the underwater ballet stars — don’t get a cent extra.

A couple of years ago, the U of L mens’ basketball program led the nation in revenue with $18 million. Who knows how much Coach Rick Pitino lists on his income-tax form? Besides getting handsome salaries — and incentives out the wazoo for essentially doing the job they were hired to do — coaches of Pitino’s stature get lots of other perks. Cars, country-club memberships, use of private airplances, free clothes, revenue from commercials. Wouldn’t you love to see Nick Saban’s tax form after his first year at Alabama?

And yet, unconscionably, the student-athletes — has that become an oxymoron? — don’t get a dime.

When U of L plays a mens’ basketball game in Freedom Hall, the commercialism is virtually non-stop. It assaults your senses and wears you out. During timeouts, the cheerleaders even have to stand and wait on the floor until a commercial is finished on the P.A. system. The pep band often is drowned out by hucksters. Personally, I hate the Dean’s Milk Jug. And before the end of the season, I will open anti-aircraft fire on the Dean’s blimp. Well, maybe not. But I resent its intrusion on my enjoyment of the game.

And it’s only going to get worse. Wait until U of L moves into the new downtown arena. If you don’t think tickets and parking will cost more, let me introduce you to the Tooth Fairy. As the principal tenant, U of L is responsible for generating the revenue to pay off the debt and to do it within the confines of, oh, 35 or so dates, counting both the men and the women. Is this realistic? How much pressure does that put on Pitino and his staff. They have no choice but to be a Top 20 team year in and year out. There is no wiggle room for the kind of mediocrity we’ve seen the last two seasons.

Personally, I’d buy a Terrence Williams jersey if he would only agree to learn how to play under control. He has Michael Jordan-like talent. But he won’t reach his potential unless he learns to think like Jordan did. But who knows? Maybe, like LaBradford Smith, he’s only a superb athlete who will never have enough basketball instincts and smarts to fulfill his promise.

One more thing while I’m on a roll here.

I wish U of L or UK, or both, would take the national lead in establishing a legitimate academic major for those athletes who are bound for the pros. They could take classes in accounting, law, money management, public speaking, business, ethics, banking, and journalism, because knowledge in all those fields will help them deal with the sharks waiting to pounce. Why won’t colleges do that? It doesn’t compromise their academic integrity (as if anybody cares about that any more). It will send specially gifted youngsters into the world better prepared to handle their resources and obligations. Isn’t that what education is all about?

I might buy a David Padgett jersey. He’s my favorite Cards’ player. Sure, he’s not the quickest guy in the world and he doesn’t jump the highest, but, my, he certainly works hard and he certainly appreciates the nuances of the game. For a basketball purist, he’s a joy to watch. But maybe I wouldn’t want to get a Padgett jersey unless I knew that he was getting some of the proceeds.

Maybe I’ll buy a Paul Rogers jersey. Or, at least, get some printed up. The “Voice of the Cards” is a terrific play-by-play man whose broadcasts have been sullied by all the commercial spots he must inject. I don’t see how he does it. I don’t think Cawood Ledford would have. I simply can’t see Cawood saying, “And now here’s the Kenway Chemical stinker of the game…” I’d like to know exactly how many commercial plugs Paul is required to do in the course of one broadcast. I’ll bet it’s more than the Bears will score in the Super Bowl.

So can we all agree that there’s not much that’s “amateur” about big-time college football and mens’ basketball? Can we agree that if Pitino gets to keep his shoe-contract money and gets paid for speeches, it would be OK to set up an escrow account for the likes of Brohm and Bush?

It’s a business, folks. A big business. We can’t go back to the days when amateurism really meant something — when Bill Bradley, future Rhodes Scholar and U.S. Senator, was playing at Princeton and when Gerald Ford, future U.S. President, was a football All-American at Michigan. But we can, and should, at least find ways to compensate the special players who generate so much cash for their employer.