Liz and Katie are my new heroes. The Women’s Football Alliance has over 60 teams that play full-contact football all over the United States. Let’s show young girls that they have options that involve that don’t involve being half naked on television.

Anyway, I’ve been bugging him to write stuff for me for a long time now and he did and so I am very happy.  Please welcome Phenom.

- Sarah

The International Association of Athletics Foundation (IAAF), the world governing body for track and field, recently decided to change the rules regarding women’s marathon records to require that a woman’s time can only qualify as a world record if she runs in a women-only field.

That means that Paula Radcliffe’s world record 2:15:25 at the 2003 London Marathon — so widely considered to be one of the greatest running performances in history that even I had heard about it — no longer qualifies as a world record because she ran with male pace-setters.

The IAAF’s thought seems to be that a woman couldn’t possibly perform that well on her own, she’d need men to help her — so it shouldn’t count.

What a crock.

Now interestingly, it appears to be true that elite women runners DO run faster when there are men running nearby.  There could be several reasons for this, but one obvious one, in my view, has nothing to do with gender: EVERYONE runs better when there is a pace group around them.  Not a lot of women can run as fast as Paula Radcliffe.  So pretty much by definition, for her to be running in a pack, that pack is going to be populated by men.

Does that really make her accomplishment any less extraordinary?  I mean, come on.  No one suggests that Paula Radcliffe did not run the 2003 London marathon on her own two legs.  Instead, the IAAF seems to think that merely by running alongside men, her performance was somehow not worthy of a world record, and instead must be referred to as “world’s best.”

In addition to being completely annoying and patronizing, this decision has another problem: the vast majority of marathons are mixed-gender fields. This means a woman can no longer set a world record at New York, or Chicago, or Berlin- because men run those marathons, too. Instead, world record status will be limited to those few (and much smaller) marathons that feature only women.

The good news, if there is any, is that everyone except the IAAF seems to recognize this is total BS.  The race directors of World Marathon Majors and the Association of International Marathons have already gone on record as saying that they refuse to accept the IAAF’s decision, and Nike has started a facebook campaign arguing that the 2003 time should stand as the world record despite the rule change.

I mean, what’s next? No world record if the course was too flat? If the weather was too perfect? If you had too many people cheering you on and giving you that extra boost at the end?

Paula Radcliffe did something amazing when she set the World Record in 2003- and it should stand. Period.

So it’s no surprise that the Tennessee Lady Vols basketball coach is as determined and forthright off the court, announcing her diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s disease at the start of the new school year — and only telling her players as soon as she knew the remaining two were off the court in China and back in Knoxville.

Summitt, 59, learned that she had Alzheimer’s disease after many tests at the Mayo Clinic in May. She said that troubling issues with her memory last season that caused her to lose her confidence and concerned her enough that she wouldn’t meet with players individually, motivated her to seek answers. The tests that can clinically diagnose Alzheimer’s disease and its related dementia indicated that Summitt had the “mild, early-onset” variety of the disease.

Denial ruled the summer, Summitt said, but as it wore on, she realized that she needed to talk to her players and her Tennessee administration. More importantly for her, she says that she came to a certain kind of terms with her condition that allowed her to move forward with her life.

The upshot out of Tennessee this week: Summitt will continue to work. She will remain at the helm of the Lady Vols, with the tactical and personal support of a team of assistants who have been at her side for decades. She will remain the coach of the University of Tennessee Lady Vols basketball team, and she will take care of herself as best as she can.

Summitt’s close friend Sally Jenkins wrote a lovely, understated, and quietly sad piece about her in the Washington Post, that left me thinking that as much as I don’t think I’d have the strength to write such a story about my best friend, at the same time I’d like to be the only one to do it, and I can only hope I’d find the strength and the grace at the appointed time. Jenkins said that talking about the situation had been a good, if painful thing, for everyone involved:

Over the last few days, with the clarity of her diagnosis and decision to go public, Summitt has recovered her confidence. More often than not, it is she who comforts others, as usual. Her staff have grief-stretched looks around their eyes, and seem quietly destroyed under their skins. Every so often you find one of them has ducked into her laundry room to weep. It’s Summitt who puts her arms around them and talks quietly into their ear. “I don’t want you worrying about me,” she says. Strong has always been her natural, preferred state.

Alzheimer’s disease is a demon. It’s a brain plaque from hell that erodes valleys in the cerebral cortex, kills neurons, disrupts synapses, and therefore robs individuals of their intellectual capacity. It steals likewise from families and friends, causing the person they love to change before their eyes (sometimes slowly, sometimes not.) I worked with people with dementia and their families for six years, when I was a very young, very green counselor, right out of graduate school. I went into their homes, heard their stories, absorbed their fears and profound need for answers, and in return I gave them the best advice I had about how to navigate this often-terrifying period in their lives. I immersed myself in Alzheimer’s, learned all that I could, knowing even then that I’d never have enough information, no matter how many research studies I memorized (and I memorized a lot.)

I also spent countless hours with people with Alzheimer’s, of all stages.They told me their fears, they told me I was full of shit and that it was really 1946, so shut the hell up. They revolted against the artificial schedule of long-term care, and wondered after their (sometimes dead) parents, siblings, and much-younger spouses. During this time I worked with a relative handful of early-onset patients, as obscure as Summitt as prominent, and their spouses, kids, and even sometimes parents. They were the roughest cases. These were people usually in the prime of their lives, ready to transition to golden years after decades of working and raising families, when their brains revolted and got them lost coming home from work or unable to complete a crossword puzzle. One of my clients was an elementary school teacher who, like Summitt, did brain puzzles and complicated step aerobic routines during the day while her husband was at work, to work her brain and try to stave off the deterioration the doctors said was imminent.

I told her she was working too hard. I told her that it wasn’t her fault, not any of this, and she did it anyway. She was a brilliant badass, and I always, inappropriately, unprofessionally, wanted to hold her in my arms. I can say the same about Pat Summitt.

What I’m taking away from this more than a decade after my own experience, and knowing what I know about the continuing stigma against Alzheimer’s, the fear and confusion that it causes, is Pat Summitt’s utter courage in speaking this aloud, not just with her loved ones or with her employers, but in the public sphere. She, quite frankly, could have worked a deal. Early stage Alzheimer’s (as best as it can be understood in terms of timeframe) can last for years — frequently not as long in early-onset, where it has seemed in my very limited experience to take hold and move more quicky, but still, years. She could have shown up courtside for at least another season and not disclosed this very personal information. She chose to be open, to approach this differently. And this sports writer thinks that’s pretty cool.

The Lady Vols don’t open until November 1. I’m marking it on my calendar now. Best of luck for a great year, Coach Summitt.

* * *

I started playing soccer relatively late: a awkward nine-year old lured to the sport more by the promise of Little Debbies and Hi-C juice boxes after games than any real draw to running and kicking. But in the early 90’s, especially in Iowa, it didn’t take much for a girl playing with boys to eventually get immersed in the game through club soccer. As my skills improved and my exposure to women’s soccer increased, I slowly fell in love with the beautiful game. How could you not, as an adolescent back them, be enthralled by the story of the founding mothers of US Women’s Soccer? How could you not want to be like Mia Hamm, a star so dominating, so prodigious, that she made the US Women’s National Team before she was old enough to drive a car? How could you not look up to Michelle Akers, dominating the midfield in the air, despite looking like she could be my mom? How could you not be inspired by Tiffany Milbrett, who gave hope to 5’2” girls everywhere that they could knock around the best defenders in the world?

By the time I was a gangly teenager, I was hooked. And I was also lucky. I came of age in a time when Title IX made women’s soccer the fastest growing collegiate sport at the time. If you had any amount of game, let alone decent grades to go with it, you could play soccer in college, and it could pay for your time there. So that’s what I did. I ended up playing Division II soccer at Truman State University, which ended up being the perfect place for a player like me to spend their career. I sat the bench for a year, all the while working my ass off to earn the right to start and learning what it mean to play at that level. In fact, it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore seasons, that summer I spent running and lifting and getting as many touches on the ball so that I could be in the starting 11 come fall, that the United States hosted the Women’s World Cup. And it was July 10^th, one day before my 19^th birthday, when Kristine Lilly cleared an almost-sure goal by China off the line with her head. When Briana Scurry saved one, just one, penalty shot during the shootout. When Brandi Chastain scored the winning penalty shot and ripped off her jersey in jubilant celebration, revealing the muscled, finely-honed physique of an athlete. And those same founding mothers celebrated and hoisted the championship trophy, they did so with their children, because the founding mothers were, in fact, actual mothers with small children.

And so, 12 years later, I watched a different US Women’s National Team, one filled mostly with players younger than me, but still filled with the same heart and guts and hustle instilled by the women who created the legacy. They were playing Brazil in the quarterfinals of the 2011 Women’s World Cup. My heart sank as break after break seemed to go to Brazil. But even after a questionable call essentially gave a goal to the Brazilians and took a US player off the field, leaving them a woman short for much of the second half, these new stars, Solo and Wambach and Lloyd and O’Reilly, never, ever, ever gave up. When all hope for victory seemed lost, after over 120 minutes of pure hustle, in one last push, Megan Rapinoe—who came off the bench, the bench!—served a perfect ball across the mouth of the Brazillian goal and there was Wambach, through two defenders, heading the ball in for a truly last-minute goal to send the game into penalty kicks. And there was no way that Hope Solo, the keeper with ice in her veins, or the rest of these women, would not finish this game with victory. 12 years later, to the date, another shootout, another victory for the team that refuses to quit. I found myself, tears streaming down my face, goosebumps on my arms, remembered just why soccer was—is—so important.

I went on to start for the rest of my career at Truman. My experiences with that team were formative to the woman I became—the woman I am. I learned the power of drive, of heart, of hustle, of hard work and delayed gratification, of loyalty and pride and integrity and grit. I learned what can happen when women work together and lift each other up. I made friendships that are still with me today: I held two of my former teammates babies this weekend; I will stand up for another at her wedding in October. I have a forged bond with some of these women. They are my sisters.

What some people don’t understand—can’t ever understand—is how soccer, for women, is more than just a game. They don’t understand that thousands and thousands of girls and young women will remember Sunday’s game for the rest of their lives, and some part of that game—maybe Wambach’s goal, maybe one of Solo’s saves, maybe Ali Krieger’s final penalty kick—will forever remind them of what they can accomplish. What they can accomplish might be on the pitch, but it might not be. It might be becoming a doctor or starting a nonprofit or running for office or being a mother who empowers her own daughters for greatness. It can be really, truly, be anything. All these women,  who worked their asses off and held day jobs while training and even mothering, they did this because of what the game means to them and to the rest of the girls and women who look up to them, without the promise of million-dollar contracts at the end of their journey. They did it because of the journey. This—THIS—is why women’s soccer is the beautiful game.

[photo: Andrew Mills]

Texas A&M champs Sydney Colson and Danielle Adams were two of the 15 players invited to attend today’s WNBA draft, along with UConn star forward Maya Moore, Australia National Team member and Bulleen Boomers (Australia’s WNBL) center Elizabeth Cambage, Ohio State center Jantel Lavender and Gonzaga guard Courtney Vandersloot.

Rounding out the list of invited players are Jessica Breland from North Carolina, Kentucky forward Victoria Dunlap, Xavier forward Amber Harris and center Ta’Shia Phillips, Stanford forward Kayla Pedersen, Oklahoma guard Danielle Robinson, Boston College center Carolyn Swords and Duke guard Jasmine Thomas.

The Minnesota Lynx have first pick in the first round, and a likely shot at adding Moore, whose UConn career point tally was a remarkable 2871, to their roster. The Tulsa Shock and Chicago Sky have the second and third picks.

ESPN will broadcast the draft live at 3 p.m., and WNBA.com will have live chat, live blogging, and live tweeting from WNBA players, coaches, and GMs. You can also follow #WNBADraft on Twitter (and help it trend, if you’re so inclined.) Best of luck to all of these standout players.

The story is really best told by my friend Alana, a daughter of ND alums, partially raised in Indiana:

UConn star Maya Moore could not overcome Notre Dame, led by guard Skylar Diggins, who scored 28 points tonight and had the look of a woman who was not finished winning games in this particular series. March was lucky indeed for the Irish, who had already knocked off a Tennessee team they hadn’t bested in 20 games.

The Huskies pulled back within six a little more than three minutes from the final buzzer, with a series of buckets from Moore pulling them closer than the 10 deficit they faced at the half, but it wasn’t to be. Statistics aside, shots of UConn coach Geno Auriemma courtside after the two-minute warning told the tale. Or at least I thought you could see it on his face:

He just did. He looked like a guy who knew his girls were done, that they were going to lose this game. And I have to say that of all of the displays of basketball coaching I’ve witnessed from many men and women over the past few weeks, I think that Geno Auriemma handled this situation in the best possible way for the situation he was facing for his players and himself.

And I don’t even like UConn, so you can take that to the bank.

“They played great basketball all year,” he said in the post-game presser, which UConn also handled with aplomb across the board, of Notre Dame.

“It’s their turn.”

Moore was a model of poise and mature disappointment in her post-game interview, speaking of her UConn family as the best thing she’d gotten from her competitive experience.

And to anyone who says that women’s basketball isn’t exciting or athletically viable? I say you missed a hell of a game, and a fine example of collegiate athletes working hard to represent themselves and their teams on and off the court. I don’t give a damn where the net is or how exciting anyone thinks  games are or should be. I know basketball, and this was good, competitive basketball, gender aside. All of the women on that court tonight should be proud.

The Irish will meet the Aggies Tuesday in the NCAA women’s championship.

Sheryl Swoopes, a WNBA pioneer, has rejoined the league, signing with the Tulsa Shock for the 2011 season. She turned 40 this week.

Swoopes retired after the 2008 season after two seasons of back problems. She has played in Greece for the last 2 years and says that “I can honestly say physically my body feels better than it’s probably felt in the last two or three years I played in the WNBA.”

The Shock is hoping that her all-career averages of 15.8 points, 5.0 rebounds, 3.3 assists and 2.2 steals will help the team after a dismal 6-28 season last year.

Swoopes has a storied career in basketball including playing on three gold-winning Olympic teams.

[Image courtesy of Lucas Swoopes Basketball]

Source Source

The above statement is not a precursor to a tirade of men being dumb, and women being the superior vaginawarriors of the species. I make the above statement because it is true.

I make the above statement because I used to play softball, when I was younger and I had an experience which, frankly, never would have happened to a boy in a similar position.

I was a suckfest of a softball player, so I was relegated to the right field. I could catch fly balls. That was the totality of my softball prowess. I could snag a fly ball out of mid air, no problem. Once I got it in my glove though, my pitiful, spaghetti arm allowed me to throw it about 12 feet. That is why my coach stuck me behind our rock star infielder, Jessie, who literally could play the shit out of every infield position and hit and throw and do it all while running backwards and putting on mascara.

U.S. Women's Softball Team, Beijing Olympics, 2008. Minus Jessie.

So one game, Jessie was pitching, playing all three bases and shortstop. All of the hits were pitiful little bunts which never had a prayer of making it into fly ball, Christine range. It was hot and I had had a lot of Gatorade.

I was bored and I really, really had to pee. That squatting position you have to get into when a batter gets ready to bat? Not helpful. I started to do the dance of the urinata as Jessie played the entire game herself. But then, then…a fly ball came into the outfield. I uncrouched, popped up and ran to grab it.

Then I pissed myself in the outfield.

So you see, kids? It sucks to be a girl in sports, not because of the lack of funding, advertising or fan interest. It sucks to be a girl in sports because men can whip it out and piss in the outfield. Girls, well, we can’t.

Just one more tally on the ever-growing list of why men have it so much easier.

It seems we’ve been hearing a lot more about concussions in recent years, particularly with regard to football and hockey. There was Merril Hoge’s career-ending head injury after a concussion that ultimately resulted in a $1.55 million judgment against the doctor who cleared him to play, and players like Aikman and Young retiring earlier than expected at least in part because of concussions.  In the NHL, it’s questionable what the most notable outcome of January’s Winter Classic was: the Washington Capitals’ win over the home team or the Pens’ star forward Sidney Crosby’s eventual absence from the ice after a series of what some said were intentional hits to the head.

An almost-fanatical attention to head-hitting rules seemed to pervade this season in the NFL, so it’s clearly being taken seriously there, and players are regularly suspended in the NHL for so-called “dirty hits,” some of which can surely cause obvious or more insidious injury to the head. Not to mention? These can be contact sports. Things happen, intentional or not, and players hit the ground and equipment too.

A couple of new developments suggest the science of detecting concussions is getting better.

Researchers at the University of Pennsylvania School of medicine have developed a test that can be given quickly to players on the sideline who have just suffered a blow to the head. The test, which any coach or parent can be trained to administer, is remarkably accurate at detecting concussions, according to the study, which is published in the current issue of the journal Neurology.

A test like this is potentially big news- something cheap, accurate, and easy to administer immediately following a potential head injury would be a huge step forward, and could prevent a lot of really scary and dangerous reinjuries that occur when athletes insist they’re ready to go back in and trainers/doctors don’t have anything concrete with which to stop them.

In other concussion news, researchers at Ohio State have recently released a study, published in the Journal of Athletic Training, that examined high school athletes who have experienced head trauma.  The study suggests that the symptoms of head injuries and concussions manifest differently in girls than boys. As more and more girls are playing sports, including contact sports (yay!) it’s essential that their coaches, trainers, and parents realize that the symptoms they report of a concussion are different than what one might “expect” given the conventional wisdom, which has almost always analyzed boys and men.

For example, the study says that while the primary symptom of concussion for both boys and girls is headaches, the secondary symptoms differ quite noticeably.  Boys are more likely to report feeling disoriented or confused, or to have memory loss, while girls are more likely to report feeling sensitive to noise and sound, as well as being drowsy.  Couple that with previous studies that suggest that girls suffer concussions at higher rates than boys, and this is key information for anyone involved in girls and women’s sports.

Interesting stuff.  Don’t lead with your head, kids.

Image Credit: wakemedvoices.org

Katie is lucky to have never received a concussion while playing sports. Unless sledding counts as a sport, in which case she totally has.