As evidenced by my very first post on this site, I am a passionate and often times irrational fan of the University of Kentucky Wildcat basketball team.

One of my favorite all-time players was a rural Eastern Kentucky-reared shooting guard named Richie Farmer.  Farmer played during a pivotal Wildcat era:  the first four years of Coach Rick Pitino’s rebulding mission, which followed a series of recruiting scandals that had brought the team to the brink of an NCAA-imposed death penalty. The ragtag squad of lesser talents –through unselfish, gritty play — over-achieved to the point of almost scoring one of the biggest upsets in college basketball lore.  (Ugh — yes, this was the 1992 regional final against Duke University that provided the worst moment in world history.)  The squad is still known popularly as “The Unforgettables.”

Indeed, Farmer was the most popular player on the team, and one of the most-beloved Wildcats of all time.  His country roots, his trademark mustache, and his history as a prolific scoring, home-grown high school “Mr. Basketball,” made him into a living legend, particularly among those extraordinarily passionate rural fans who live to the far west and far east of Central Kentucky’s “Golden Triangle” that extends between Lexington, Louisville and the southern suburbs of Cincinnati.

Frankly, after Richie was overwhelmingly elected the state’s Agriculture Commissioner and occupied an office directly across the hall of mine in the State Capitol Annex when I was State Treasurer, I was a bit starstruck.  While famously oratorically challenged, Richie turned out to be a decent, kind, friendly neighbor.

And while Richie endured a little negative press when first entering office — the new fellow-GOP Governor had hired Farmer’s relatives to state jobs — the press mostly treated Farmer with kid gloves.  Farmer got away with things for which other state officials would have been crucified: such as spending thousands of taxpayer dollars in 2006 to distribute Richie Farmer bobbleheads at the state high school tournamen; or running a seemingly endless loop of state-financed television ads promoting Kentucky produce, starring himself and his Unforgettable teammates.

But when State Senate President David Williams chose Farmer to serve as his running mate in his 2011 gubernatorial campaign, the scrutiny became considerably more intense.  And in recent months, a steady stream of articles have revealed Farmer’s ultra-liberal spending practices during an unprecedented state fiscal crisis: 

Taking three aides on a $10,000 taxpayer-financed Caribbean junket. 

Pocketing some of his excess campaign funds.

Giving top staff big raises while the rest of state government was taking cuts.

Purchasing more than $400,000 worth of new cars for his office, including a new luxury SUV for his personal use.

Refusing to voluntarily take a few furlough days — as every other elected executive branch official did — in salary-cutting solidarity with career state employees who were furloughed under statute.  (Ultimately, he did, after considerable pressure from the public and perhaps Williams.)

Renting, at taxpayer expense, a luxury hotel suite for the state high school basketball tournament even though he lives less than 30 miles away.

Read Farmer’s responses (usually through a spokeman) in each of the links.  An obvious sense of entitlement resonates:  He deserves special treament, doesn’t he?

And who could blame him for feeling this way?  Since a young high school student, Farmer has been treated as something of a demi-god.  UK basketball players are our local royalty:  They live in a specially equipped luxury dormitory; They are coddled by administrators and boosters; They are literally the biggest men on campus. 

For nearly his entire life, Farmer’s been told that he’s special, he’s different.  Why wouldn’t he think that he’d be exempt from the same budget slashing that the faceless, nameless bureaucrats have to endure?    This is perhaps why David Williams, a bit inartfully, excused Farmer’s luxury expenditures on his “celebrity status.” 

But a more careful argument might focus on Richie Farmer’s four-year period of indentured servitude to the University of Kentucky and the general fan population.  For four years, Farmer provided enjoyment to millions of Kentuckians, as a teenager and young adult, with no pay, and with all of the privacy complications that much older celebrities have to endure. 

So readers, I ask you to weigh in.  Do we owe our former athletes a special compensation for the joy they brought us for free and the inconveniences they must endure?  Or once you enter politics are you held to the same rigorous standards that we apply to everyone else in the arena?

Do you find Farmer’s conduct par for the court?  Or is Richie’s behavior unforgiveable and unforgettable?

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