I was once banned from taking part in the student-run pep rallies at my rather proud high school.

The administration willfully placed their trust in the student body to excite the masses on the eve of many a rivalry, but on this day they were probably wishing they had put this task in the hands of Tony Robbins or some other toothy motivationally minded animal.

Playing upon the stereotypes of other high schools as a means to pump up our own sense of superiority was typically on the menu at some point during these “pep” rallies, today it was all that could be found.

Myself and four of my classmates routinely performed lively, witty, ingenious skits in which we accomplished nothing but making fun of whatever school was on the docket.

Our “logic” went along the following lines: X High featured a bunch of rich kids riding around in their $40,000 cars.

The students at Y High School were a bunch of meatheads who would pick fights with a street sign or whatever inanimate object they could find simply because they were Neanderthals.

And those poor souls who attended Z High were of such insufficient intellect that upon completing their senior years, they would be sent back to grade school because they weren’t real bright.

We went too far. The five of us paraded around the gymnasium floor, launching into tirades directed at X, Y and Z High Schools.

The faculty had seen enough. Our act was in poor taste. We were all forbidden from taking part in any such future events.

Scripts were now to be turned in prior to all pep rallies and if the language, subject matter and overall tenor of the production were in any way out of line, then all plans would be scrapped.

Just as they’ve done in the past, The Antlers crossed the line. Don’t ask me. Ask Nick Collison.

These particular “fans” from down the road in Columbia who pride themselves on the absurdity of their appearance donned a decidedly foul disposition leading up to the annual meeting of KU and Mizzou at the Hearnes Center.

The shouting of obscenities and the displaying of actual telephone numbers of opposing players (both staples of their arsenal) are incredibly tame in comparison to the stunt they pulled this time around.

Nick Collison’s grandfather recently passed away. During his Senior Day speech, an emotional Collison addressed how much this man meant to him.

In front of a packed house of 16,300 silent KU faithful, he tearfully told his grandmother how he thought of his grandpa every time he heard the national anthem. The seemingly unflappable All-American was overwhelmed. This is real fandom.

These Animals who stroll into their seats decked out in dresses, face paint, and generally resemble extras from “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome” apparently somehow found fodder in this moment.

An Ant-of-a-man mentioned something about Nick’s grandfather. Nobody except for Nick, this idiot, and perhaps the team know for sure what exactly was said, but the specifics aren’t important here. They crossed the line.

During the post-game interview sessions, with a throng of reporters huddled around him, Collison himself said so after delivering a conference MVP-like performance against the Tigers — 20 points, 10 rebounds and enough defense to force Arthur Johnson into a 4-of-11 day from the floor.

Asked about what the week leading up to Sunday’s Border War showdown had been like with respect to putting up with the Antlers, Collison replied “There’s always one or two who take things a bit too far and there was one of them who did that, he knows who he is, and I think that why (Kirk Hinrich’s three-pointer) went down, and if he hears this, he’ll know who I’m talking about.”

Pressed for details on exactly how far is too far, Collison explained “Making jokes about my dead grandpa. It’s stupid. Other stuff, it doesn’t bother me, it’s funny, but sometimes people take it too far and it feels that much better to get a win.”

Chiding an opponent, talking trash, flapping your jaw after dunking on someone all seem to be, for better or worse, ingrained pretty deeply within our culture of sports.

Don’t specifically know where to trace it back to (and no, this did not begin with the Michigan basketball teams of the early 90s, although they didn’t help) but I do know where it should end — the Antlers made the stopping point painfully clear.

Five high school kids in St. Louis were banned from all future pep rallies at their institutions — a classmate made t-shirts which read “Free the Five,” but we were rightfully held to this punishment.

Perhaps it’s time for a banishment of the Antlers. They crossed the line. Don’t ask me, ask Nick Collison.

By the way, he got the last laugh.