Yeah, Girl's Basketball

Being in Iraq I don't get a chance to watch much TV, so I have missed most of the baseball season (Go Pads!), and have seen only one football game so far. I have, however, been able to catch numerous WNBA games. AFN (Armed Forces Network) is the only TV we have over here and they play a lot of WNBA games. It is not like the is an alternative to AFN. You could watch local TV, which believe me delivers quality coverage of many goat hearding festivals. You could pay for some crazy European Satellite that delivers 587 channels in Hungarian, most of them being sexually confusing music video channels. So AFN is it, and if you are watching sports on AFN you are probably watching the WNBA. Below is an article written by Jay Mohr. He is a stand-up comic, who often writes for Sports Illustrated. He also played Bob Sugar in Jerry MacGuire (one of my all time favorite movies). The guy is hilarious, so read the story below and know that he could not be more on point with this subject. Enjoy.


The WNBA finals begin Wednesday, and if you listen very closely you'll be able to hear that nobody cares. Apparently, the Sacramento Monarchs are playing the Connecticut Sun in a best-of-whatever series. The Monarchs earned their way into the finals by beating the Houston Comets. The Sun got in because they're owned and operated by a casino. Seriously, a casino owns the team. No conflict of interest there, right? I guess the NBA and whoever else desperately backs this debacle of a league finally found themselves an ownership group that can actually afford to hemorrhage cash.
Now, let me admit that all of these women ballers are far better athletes than I will ever be. That doesn't forgive the fact that the product is still unwatchable. Playing with a multi-colored ball that looks as if was stolen from Meadowlark Lemon's trunk, these women are capable of putting up 40, sometimes 50, points a night. I went to a New York Liberty game a couple of years ago and found myself, for the first time, in the minority at a sporting event. As my buddy and I sat courtside with other celebrities like, uh, um, well, I'm sure there was somebody else, we realized what a bizarre collection of souls made up the lower tier of the arena. Little girls and lumberjacks seemed to be the primary ticket holders. The little girls looked at the court in admiration of their heroes, and the lumberjacks looked at the court in a completely different type of admiration. Other than my buddy, I was the only guy in my row, so I was hesitant to stand up and move around. I was afraid of offending the brutes surrounding me. These people were large and in charge, loud and proud, and very capable of beating me to within an inch of my life.
Not feeling that uncomfortable since the "gangbangers versus non-gangbangers" era of the Raiders, I made sure to root for the home team, and root I did. When the giants next to me stood up to cheer, I stood up and cheered. When they booed, I booed. I didn't want them to think I was an outsider.
Sadly, when it comes to the WNBA, almost all of us are outsiders. Do you know anybody who has ever watched a game? Have you ever spoken about the WNBA at work? At home? Anywhere? The NBA and the networks that have aired the sport have tried in vain for far too long to prop up this league as entertainment. If you are entertained by 7-foot, 225-pound women from Poland who have less basketball skills than the worst NBA D-Leaguer then I guess you are one of the few people who cares.
There are only 13 teams in the WNBA, but for some reason league and network executives refuse to admit failure. They want you to believe that this is the ideal number for competitiveness and not the result of entire cities saying, "Why would people go to these games?" The WNBA has been propped up more than JFK during bouts of Addison's disease and all with a great big "You're gonna love it!" smile. Well, we don't love it. The fact that it only costs a hundred bucks to sit on the floor should clue you in that something is wrong. When I was at my one and only WNBA game the two women next to me, in matching flannel shirts and motorcycle boots, told me they got their courtside seats by winning first place in a contest. I immediately wondered if second place was four tickets. If I am ever forced to attend another of these games, I'll insist on sitting in the nose bleed seats. At least from up high I could avoid the icy stares from my fellow "fans", get loaded, squint real hard and imagine the people down on the floor were men.