On Sunday, the victorious Chula Vista little leaguers invited the boys from Taiwan to accompany them on a victory lap around Lamade Stadium in Williamsport, Pa. It was a genteel reminder of the kind of sportsmanship that ought to be the bedrock of amateurism and youth sports.

About the same time as this memorable moment in amateur athletics was being broadcast live, Michigan football fans — and fans across the nation — wondered if being a big-time (amateur) college football player was really a job.

On Saturday night, the Detroit Free Press Web site reported that Wolverine coach Rich Rodriguez and his staff routinely flouted the NCAA’s playing and practice time limitations.

According to the NCAA, players are limited to 20 hours sports participation a week during the season and eight hours a week off-season. The 20/8-time ruling was enacted in 1991 as a way to provide equilibrium between competing forces of classroom and athletics. To knowingly exceed the limitations can be a serious violation and punishable offense by the NCAA, as it gives a team a competitive advantage.

Rodriguez vigorously denies the allegation. The Free Press stands by its report, university officials say they will investigate and the NCAA has no comment.

While embarrassing for Michigan, this controversy is even more damning for college athletics, as it has prompted the following common refrain on radio, television and in the blogosphere: Anybody who thinks that most schools aren’t breaking the time rules is naive.

One sports talk radio host was dead on when he said — to paraphrase him — that university classes were there to ensure athletes were eligible to play. And a Free Press columnist rightly wrote that college football is a full-time job at Michigan, as it is as Michigan State.

Instead of prematurely indicting Rodriguez or Michigan before the facts, our gaze should turn to the NCAA and its member schools. They ought to be held accountable for creating an atmosphere that pushes coaches to break the rules.

In 2000, three student-athletes told the Knight Foundation Commission on Intercollegiate Athletics that a primary concern of theirs was abuse of the 20-hour rule. A year later, a former University of Iowa women’s athletic director told The NCAA News that the 20-hour rule was not working.

“There are so many loopholes,” she said. “The 20 hours do not include travelling — and what about all the hours for rehab and film watching? Is that less than a 40-hour week? I don’t think so. And, yet, we say that academics come first?”

In 2002, the NCAA board of directors asked a subcommittee to develop options for reducing time demands on student-athletes.

Reducing practice time? Let’s be serious. The stakes are too high.

Division I football is big business. Last year’s Red River shootout between regional rivals Texas and Oklahoma drew nearly 8 million viewers to ABC. And 15 million viewers watched the Southeastern Conference championship game between Florida and Alabama. That’s more than three times the entire population of Alabama.

These games may be between regional rivals, but you can find boys and men in places like Milwaukee and Fort Wayne sporting burnt orange Texas hoodies or blue-and-orange Florida Gator T-shirts. Folks love a winner, and in this cash-strapped era, universities feed on the cash that follows from TV revenue and licensing agreements.

Let’s face it: The stakes are high and football is a job — and not just for the coaching staff.

Something radical must happen to bring reality and the rules closer together.

Here’s one idea: Add more practice hours and offer three- or five-hour elective credit for football during the season.

How many times have we heard that these athletes are learning about time management, strategy, leadership and other skills transferable to the real world?

If that’s true, then have student-athletes write season-end portfolios — read and graded by academics, not coaches or athletic department personnel — on applying their experiences to, say, organizational leadership or interpersonal communications.

Go ahead, laugh.

Yet is this idea any less sane than the NCAA continuing to mandate a joke of a rule that few schools follow?

This latest scandal makes the phrase “student-athlete” look archaic and sound cynical. The NCAA should stop this charade.

Fredrick McKissack Jr. is the author of the recently published novel “Shooting Star.” He lives in Fort Wayne, Ind. He can be reached at pmproj [at] progressive [dot] org.