America forces women to play sports by a different set of rules.
Points are awarded for beauty. The trophy does not really shine unless she looks sexy holding it.
Acting like a lady is more important than winning.
Isn’t it about time we declare our independence from the dumbing-down of female sports?
The telecast of the longest-fought ladies Wimbledon final in history and the most compelling tennis match of recent memory was constantly interrupted Saturday morning by nubile Maria Sharapova sashaying into my family room with another flirty commercial.
Danica Patrick, who won the pole position for an Indy Car race in Kansas City, Kan., credits her popularity to being “a chick in a race car.” But she is an object of desire more than a novelty item. If Patrick were not a babe, would she turn the heads of so many guys around the track?
While New York Liberty guard Becky Hammon can stick an 18-foot jumper as well as any dude in the NBA, what gets her the most face time in the women’s league is her smile.
Any time a woman picks up a ball, gets behind the wheel or takes the court, you can’t keep track of all the sexual pandering without a scorecard.
Don’t get me wrong. Sex is a good thing. In fact, I like it almost as much as football.
But heaven forbid that Lindsay Davenport had beaten Venus Williams in that three-set classic at Wimbledon. Americans would much rather see a woman with a certain bounce to her victory leap than a tennis champ who resembles a schoolmarm.
Williams and Davenport have got serious game, as they proved with every vicious forehand during a championship match that lasted nearly three hours.
Nobody will take women’s sports seriously, however, so long as Sharapova’s opening news conference at the world’s most prestigious tournament inevitably turns to fashion questions about frilly white dresses and the retail price of sneakers encrusted with 18-karat gold.
Guys are not willing to surrender the remote-control clicker to women more than one day of each sports calendar year. As soon as an exhausted Davenport smacked her last shot into the net on Centre Court, it was fade to black until skaters take the ice at the Winter Olympics in February.
Whenever the front page of the sports section shoves aside a last-place Rockies baseball team for coverage of women’s golf, it’s guaranteed some caveman with Internet access will club me with an e-mail, chastising my newspaper’s weakness for political correctness while questioning the sexual preferences of the players.
After 15-year-old Michelle Wie proved herself human by hacking out an 82 during the final round of the U.S. Women’s Open in Colorado, the same scribes who argue for giving teenage boys a million-dollar ticket to the NBA as if it’s a constitutional right waved an admonishing finger at Wie for keeping her commitment to a PGA Tour event later this month.
There are chauvinists among us who apparently believe the desire to test yourself against the game’s best is unique to the Y chromosome.
Title IX made it legal for women to sweat. But the condescending view of the games girls play so often remains stuck in the 1950s it could cause June Cleaver to throw down her apron and scream with disapproval.
Any guy who thinks the thrill of victory and agony of defeat is reason enough to watch an athletic event might resent being yanked by his libido to watch Patrick crank up her engine.
I know, I know. Sex sells, sister.
But, against our thick skulls, the truth hits with the force of a 105-mph serve by Williams.
Women’s sports have gotten too good to be a guilty pleasure.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-820-5438 or mkiszla@denverpost.com.
