Over the years, there’s been a heated debate in this town over efforts to reduce the number of school districts in this state, which is currently pegged at over 500.

Taking a page from the corporate playbook, where consolidation is a fact of life, not to mention a way to reduce payroll and save money, the proponents contend the current system has too much duplication. Too many buses, too many administrators, too many buildings, etc., etc., etc. If you combine districts, the taxpayers would save money, they say.

However, that movement has steadfastly bumped into the harsh reality that eliminating this school or that and folding it into a neighboring district is not that popular in the hinterland.

You might think local parents oppose the thing on the basis of academics, with fears that their child’s education might be compromised if their favorite math or English teacher got canned in the switch.

But, turns out, academics was not the driving force that drove a nail in this effort.

It was sports.

Parents and their kids did not want to lose their favorite sports team if it combined with some other school, which, perhaps, had been a rival on the field. In many communities, it was discovered that sports is deeply ingrained in the local culture. It’s the thing to do on Friday night. The cry went out: We are not going to consolidate anything, tax savings notwithstanding.

As this column is being composed, the nation is hours away from a moment when it seems like the whole world is watching that little event down in Tampa.

What do they call it? Oh, yeah. The Super Bowl.

Surprisingly, 47% of the county will not watch the game, but, even so, the event underscores the love affair lots of folks have with sports. Just watch all those TV ads urging them to legally bet on their favorite teams on the internet.

And that spirit was alive and well in this state recently, as there was a huge uproar that reverberated all the way to the governor’s office, where pressure was applied to get Gov. Gretchen Whitmer to reverse field and reopen winter contact sports earlier than she originally planned.

Having first set the date for Feb. 1, the governor pushed it back to Feb. 21, based on her concerns over COVID-19.

And then the howling began.

It culminated in a rally on the Capitol steps in Lansing, with shouts of, “Let them play,” which was the name taken by the group of parents, their athletic children, administrators, and others pushing the governor to back off.

The leaders were talking to the governor’s office about all this, but, apparently, they were getting nowhere, so they hauled the governor’s administration into court to get a judge to do what the Let Them Play coalition wanted.

A few days later, the governor announced that games could commence on Feb. 8, slicing 13 days off the delay.

Asked if she caved in to the pressure, she quickly reassured the public that the pressure had “zero” impact. Then she trotted out her standard line that all coronavirus decisions are based on science in her administration.

Her Republican critics and others noted that the metrics on COVID-19 — vis-a-vis a decline in positive tests, lower hospitalization rates, and a declining case load — had been trending that way for weeks, so why didn’t she bend earlier?

One can debate why she did what she did, but the fact of the matter is, as she likes to say, she was aware of the pain those families were feeling. Moms and dads felt the mental and emotional health of their offspring were at risk, and the best elexiar was to let them play ball — or basketball, to be more precise.

The governor explained that the virus numbers were such that this could now be done, as long as there was masking going on, and, if not, students and coaches would have to be tested weekly.

However, the barrister who represented those frustrated families nailed what was really going on.

“You never come between a mama bear and her cub,” the lawyer said, and the governor’s public health order to stop play did just that.