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WNBA-Shirt

I consider this post to be my first attempt at suicide. The issues raised here could get me into a lot of trouble with at least 50% of the human population. Still, I think an honest, fair analysis of this issue would be a good thing. As with every area influenced by political correctness, the heart is in the right place, but it very quickly is lead astray by zealotry, ignorance, and stupidity.

WNBA Is a Joke

First things fist: WNBA is pronounced WIN-ba. Get used to it.

In WNBA’s first year, I was in a bar in Greenwich Village with my cousin, Mike. I told him that WNBA isn’t a real sports league, but rather a politically correct effort to jam a piss-poor product down our throats. If the league can’t earn its place on its own merits, it has no business in the sports universe. Mike approached the issue from the perspective of affirmative action. If we just give WNBA a chance, it’ll earn it’s place, and giving women’s sports a chance is a matter of “fairness.”

Ugh.

He went on to add that if WNBA couldn’t pay for itself within 5 years, it would disappear. “There’s no way they’d keep it around if it weren’t making money.” We should be so lucky. After all this time, it still can’t hold it’s own financially, and that’s despite lower salaries (compared to other pro sports), a growing US population (and thus, consumer base), a larger economy, and politically-correct, charitable spending. WNBA survives only because it’s subsidized by a real sports league, the NBA.

Chart

Why is WNBA such a joke? It’s because WNBA is trying to be something it isn’t. WNBA players try to dunk on a men’s size hoop. They try to play on a men’s court. They try to be the same as men, when they’re clearly not.

And stop treating this as an issue of “equality.” Women don’t have a Constitutional or statutory right to their own pro basketball league. They don’t even have a moral right to it. Besides, this is an issue of “sameness,” which is something different. This issue isn’t about civil liberties; it’s about height, upper body strength, and other purely biological characteristics, and on those points, women aren’t the same. In a Playboy article, Craig Kilborn talked about how he often plays his friend, Rebecca Lobo (then playing for the New York Liberty), in one-on-one basketball and beats her every time. Yes, Craig played basketball at Podunk state university, but he’s a talk-show host. A talk show host! She was one of the best players in the league at the peek of her career. Try to imagine how embarrassing this would be for any other sports league.

This means that WNBA actually retards women’s sports. As things stand, it makes women’s sports the subject of ridicule, distracting people from a very important point . . . .

Generally, Women’s Sports Is Not a Joke

As a follower of tennis, I can assure you that women’s tennis is just as good a game as men’s tennis. It’s just as much fun to watch despite the fact that the #1 women’s player would probably get destroyed by the #100 men’s player. The reason is two-fold: First, women don’t play men in tennis one-on-one, making the comparison to their abilities meaningless. Second, technique is more important to tennis, being that it’s not as dependent on the physical differences between the sexes. This is why, for example, plenty of women who are half-decent, casual players of tennis can destroy male counterparts.

The same effect can be seen with hockey. In January 2009, I put on ice skates for the first time (age 40), and by June, I was playing on my first C-league team. There’s still segregation in league play, but I have plenty of opportunity to play against women in hockey classes and scrimmages. As a new player to the sport, I get completely outplayed by women all the time. The technique is often independent of the physical differences. I will add, though, that if it was a full contact game, their ability to check me at will wouldn’t hurt me, but if I got just one shot against one of them, I’d be able to take them out of the game with a single, legal hit. Really, I’d destroy them. However, it’d be tough for me to catch them. Overall, they whoop my ass.

Even in combat sports, the same thing can be said, though not surprisingly to a lesser extent. I’ve trained with women in Tae Kwon Do, American kickboxing, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, judo, and aikido. Many of them deserve a tremendous amount of credit for what they’ve accomplished in their respective sports. As a heavyweight, (I could never quite drop below 100 kgs during my judo days, dammit!), I could probably take out every single woman I ever faced, though I’d have to take them very seriously in order to do it. Assume that they’re “just a girl,” and you’ll find yourself on the toe end of a groin kick.

Of course, all of this depends on the individual, and comparing amateurs to each other does less to prove the point than comparing pros. As I stated above, when comparing pros to pros — people dedicating their lives to the sport — women can almost never compete with men, but that’s okay, because they don’t.

Except in fake sports, like auto racing.

Danica-Patrick

The Point

My point is that WNBA makes a mockery of women’s sports. Rather than rally behind it, you should see it for what it is — a financial drain on our society — and treat it accordingly. Otherwise, the ridicule for all women’s sports will continue, whether deserving or not, and that hurts those sports that otherwise should have an equal place in the sports world. If WNBA wants to become a legitimate sport, they need to change the way the game is structured. At this point, however, they’d lose so much face in doing so, there’s no possibility they will. The only way to truly bring women’s basketball into the mainstream is to fold WNBA and hope a smarter group of investors create a new league with a better structure.

But if it’s this much work, why bother? It’s bleeding horribly. Let it die.

Follow me on Twitter @MMADork
Follow WNBA on Twitter @WNBA
Follow Craig Kilborn on Twitter @thekilbornfile
Follow Rebecca Lobo on Twitter @RebeccaLobo

This is a more personal post than I generally publish here, but it has an important message at the end relevant to what this day represents to me.

Last Wednesday, I played pick up ice hockey for the first time in over a year. It was embarrassing, but at the same time I swelled with pride. On Friday night, due to a change of plans, I was free to go again, and the experience was even more embarrassing, and likewise pride-inducing, because there were about 30 people playing, and only three of us were not kids that play ice hockey for college teams. All the college kids were in town for summer break, and rather than go out drinking on Friday night, they play pickup hockey . . . and drink during the game. Needless the say, I got my ass kicked.

Some History

The first time I was ever on ice skates was January 9, 2009. I hadn’t worked out in 2 years, and so I was the heaviest I’d ever been and had a poor endurance. Moreover, skating works the lower back in a way I’ve never experienced. Consequently, I had a great deal of trouble getting through my 30-minute “learn to skate” classes. I was out of breath within 10 minutes and in terrible pain within 20. By the time I was capable of handling the class, I was now in a 60-minute “learn to play hockey” class wearing full gear. The effect was magnified. What made all of these experiences more amusing was that my classes shared the ice with kids classes, many of whom were experienced skaters. Geez.

Lost Opportunities

Age 11

This was especially annoying to me. Since 1974, when the Washington Capitals came into existence, I had been a hockey fan. In 1979 (age 11, 6th grade), I learned that one of my friends (and his two brothers) played ice hockey. I wanted to play, but there’s was no way that was going to happen. My older brother, Russ, was two years older than I. He would always say he wanted to try this hobby or that hobby (e.g., Cub Scouts, tennis), and by the time I was old enough to participate, he (and my parents) inevitably had lost interest in the work it took to participate. I’d always be told, “I’m not going through that again!”

The only exceptions were middle-school football, which I was forced to play, and martial arts, in which I participated at my own expense of time and money and, despite predictions from the family, stuck with until I was 39. Playing football was miserable for me because I was on my brother’s team, and everyone was two years older (a virtual eternity at that age) than I, so I was always warming the bench (bored out of my mind). Although my brother never asked to play ice hockey — the request would almost certainly have been granted — the culture of my nuclear family always had me receiving a “no” answer. The fact that my one early-age hobby, “football,” was the source of frustration for me and had me complaining, constantly justified in my parent’s minds their unwillingness to allow me any organized hobbies. In fairness, my family wasn’t even close to “rich,” and hockey would have been an expensive hobby for me to start and not stick with. Everything my brother did, when put together, probably wouldn’t have been as expensive, or as much a pain in the ass, as me playing hockey for a week and quitting. Hindsight is usually 20-20.

Age 23

Several years later, when I was a season ticket holder for the Capitals, I was studying ninjitsu with a guy from Detroit. He had been playing hockey since he was a kid. He told me all about adult league hockey and tried to recruit me. I was working my first job as a professional and training in ninjitsu took a significant amount of free time, but ultimately I said no because I felt I was too old to start. I was 23.

Present Day

So, there I was, struggling to skate at age 40, constantly reminded of stupidly rejecting the idea of learning while I was a relatively-young 23. By the summer of 2009, now 41 years old, I was playing on my first C-league team, the Old Puckers. They were a brand new team in the Prince William Ice Center’s (“PWICE”) C-league. I played two seasons with them, and we literally went from worst to first in those two seasons.

Old-Puckers

Then the Snowpocalypse hit, and PWICE’s roof collapsed, and with it so did my new ice hockey career. For a large number of reasons, I didn’t play ice hockey again until last Wednedsay, and during that hiatus I had put on skates only once for a public skate session. The result was that I put on the extra weight, lost my endurance, and was worried that, being such a new player, I had lost my abilities on the ice.

Well, I wasn’t wrong about any of that (except that my lower back is surprisingly as strong as it was when I stopped playing), but one thing that my hockey experience taught me is that it’s never too late. Do I have a chance of being a Washington Capital one day? Of course not, but so what? The only thing that matters is that ice hockey is a ton of fun for me, and right here, right now, even though I turn 43 today, I’m playing ice hockey.

Fry-Seymour

“In your face Grim Reaper!”

Follow me on Twitter @MMADork
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