“What do you mean?” Kyle asks, confused.

“Well,” the coach hesitates, “it’s just that Jews can’t play basketball.”

And the moral of the story? The coach is right.

“I hate being small and Jewish,” Kyle declares. “I feel like a tall black man.”

And so he endures a marvelous, revolutionary medical procedure that turns him into just that—“a tall black man”—and then returns to tryouts.

“Well, you’re tall and black enough,” the coach barks at the remodeled Kyle. “All right, Broflovski, suit up!”

It’s a hilarious scene—and I’d argue the comedy springs from the striking of a certain chord of truth.

Unless, that is, you’re at Harvard, where yarmulkes are often traded in for helmets and caps and Chosen People dot the fields and ice the way raisins dot rugelach.

Take the Harvard men’s hockey team, for example, the squad that earned 21 wins and an NCAA tournament berth. The Crimson is, in fact, a three-Jew team.

From Hobey Baker finalist Dov Grumet-Morris in goal to explosive defenseman Dylan Reese on the blueline to the skilled and crafty Andrew Lederman on the attack, this season’s Crimson was teeming with Jews.

Teeming, you ask? But it’s only three out of 27 skaters—surely a team that is one-ninth Jewish can’t be considered “teeming with Jews.”

You bet it can.

First, it should be noted that Jews constitute a tiny population—roughly 13 million worldwide—of which approximately five million live in the United States, the Unofficial Homeland of the Professional Athlete.

That’s about five million Jews in a country of more than 280 million people.

According to John Halligan, historian of the National Hockey League (NHL), few Chosen Skaters have graced the ice in the 88-year history of the league.