BANKING ON PIPE DREAMS.

Byline: KEVIN MODESTI

Cal State Northridge administrators made their choice years ago. They only announced it Wednesday.

They chose pie in the sky. Big pie in the Big Sky.

They threw away a baseball team, a men's volleyball team, a men's soccer team and a men's swimming and diving program that brought top-20 rankings, playoff excitement and even a few championships to an otherwise unknown suburban university. That happened Wednesday.

They pinned their hopes for athletic glory on a football team without a real stadium and a basketball team without a real arena. That happened in 1990, when the school stepped up to Division I sports, and the commitment was affirmed in '96, when the football and basketball programs stepped up to the Big Sky Conference.

This week, they should be regretting their ambition, but that's not the message Northridge athletic director Paul Bubb and vice president for student affairs Ron Kopita delivered in a press conference.

``Being in the Big Sky Conference is important to us as a Division I institution. Football and basketball will, we believe, generate recognition regionally and nationally,'' Bubb said, suggesting that after improvements to North Campus Stadium, the football team could draw 11,000 to 15,000 fans a game. ``Yes, we think there is a niche for that in the San Fernando Valley.''

To be sure, the Matadors football team had an encouraging first year in the Big Sky, becoming the league's Cinderella and earning the first hint of off-campus community support. Much the same, the basketball team made a splash with a playoff winning streak that left the Matadors one victory from the NCAA Tournament.

Those were dream seasons. The only trouble is that Northridge administrators are still dreaming.

Unable to afford to keep all the teams they have and comply with gender-equity requirements, they've chosen the glimmering prospect of football and basketball glory over powerhouse status in what had been their signature sports.

The problem might have its root in the unusual relationship - or lack of it - between Northridge administrators and the Matadors sports community. The people running the show don't seem to know their audience.

Kopita, the university vice president for student affairs, acknowledged the ``painful personal impacts'' of the eliminations of the four teams.

On the other hand, he acknowledged this in an e-mail message ``to the campus community,'' which seems to be the closest the man most responsible for the cancellations has come to a human give-and-take on the subject with actual Matadors fans.

In the weeks in which Northridge administrators juggled possible solutions to the athletic department's budget and gender-equity problems, they didn't do the one thing that might have made the medicine go down easier.

They didn't hold a public forum or otherwise invite public suggestions or - admittedly a long shot - private financial help.

There are two possible reasons for this, and neither makes Northridge look good.

One possibility is that Kopita, Bubb and their cohorts simply screwed up, that they ignored thousands of passionate Matadors fans who deserved to be heard, if only so they could blow off steam.

The other possibility is that the administrators considered holding a forum but calculated, accurately, that community interest in Northridge sports is so thin that nobody would have shown up.

Kopita, who answered questions with Bubb at a news conference in the athletic department offices Wednesday afternoon, stressed that this was ``a collaborative decision.''

In other words, it was not handed down from an ivory tower, or whatever they have at Northridge (a linoleum tower?).

In the decision-making process, Bubb sought the advice of something called the Intercollegiate Athletics Advisory Board. That body includes faculty and alumni representatives, the softball coach, an assistant football coach, a member of the women's tennis team, a past senator in the students association and a past president of the Athletic Association board - but nobody from the public.

``I did not meet with the community,'' Kopita said, ``because I felt the kinds of consultations (Bubb) had reflected . . . not the totality of the community . . . but it did have representation.''

Bubb claimed he didn't want a public forum because he thought emotions would run too high, the debate would turn into a popularity contest among sports, and coaches would be pitted against one another.

But he also said he had monitored telephone and mail response to the threat of cutbacks, and ``it hasn't been overwhelming.''

That sums up the unique Cal State Northridge sports community pretty neatly.

It is not the kind that throws tailgate parties before football games. Before one late-season game in '96, the only people in the parking lot 90 minutes before the game were the Northridge quarterback's family. It is not the kind that flocks to the gym. When I drove into the campus 30 minutes before a Northridge basketball game two seasons ago and asked directions, the man in the guard shack replied, ``What basketball game?''

Despite such evidence, Kopita and Bubb won't concede the hard truth:

This is a school that will not soon become the sports or entertainment choice of the Valley, not with UCLA and USC just down the freeway.

This is a school that should have lowered its sights. Come to think of it, going to the baseball, volleyball, soccer and swimming playoffs every year isn't that low.