All my women who independent Pt. I

Editor's Note: This is the beginning of a brief series on my thoughts of women in athletics, beginning with the hype, the buzz, and the controversy about Auto Racing's first lady, Danica Patrick.

There was a quote by Diane Darcy (Julie Sommars) in the 1977 Disney movie, "Herbie Goes To Monte Carlo" where Jim Douglas (played by the never aging Dean Jones) tries to explain the insanity that lovable Volkswagen Bug Herbie put Diane through because he was crushing on her Lancia Sports Coupe. "You've got a real problem with women in racing, Mr. Douglas. Why is that? Do we drive too slow...or too fast?" That is certainly what came to mind when NASCAR legend "The King" Richard Petty made remarks this past week suggesting that women like Danica Patrick can't support themselves or even win in auto racing on any level.

This certainly re-hashes the age old chauvnistic principles held by men from all walks of life that a woman's place is in the kitchen and raising children. Lord knows, I've had my share of ignorant-ass moments describing my current feelings about women, but I have to disagree with The King on this one. Women can do anything they want these days, and it's definitely an insult to assume Danica isn't capable of winning the Indianapolis 500, which takes place later on today.

As a person who has been wild about wheels since I was a baby, I follow auto racing sparingly, so I can recite the names of Janet Guthrie and Shirley Muldowney as women who have tried to break the gender barrier in racing, along with Wendell Scott and Bill Lester as black men trying to break into the field. While NASCAR certainly has that "we don't like your kind around here" kind of feel, srange as it may seem, NASCAR would embrace a black champion long before they would a woman champion. Which is why Danica Patrick has a better shot in Indy car racing. If you notice, male Indy car drivers are waif-ish, frail cats who definitely do not cut imposing figures like Petty, the late Dale Earnhardt, Sr., or A.J. Foyt.

For those not familiar with Danica Patrick's resume`, she was the 2005 Indy Racing League's Rookie of the year, she actually led the Indy 500 in the final laps before coming up short last year, and she's brought attention to a section of racing that definitely needed a lifeline.

It doesn't hurt that she is attractive, count her as one of the maybe three or four non-black women I wouldn't kick out of my bed. Then again, it could hurt her because she herself is aware that all sizzle and no steak can lead to a short career. Danica has said herself that she's determined not to be "racing's Anna Kournikova," who we all know didn't win a single tennis tournament, but she's posted up along with empty bottles of lotion in many a pervert's private quarters.

As far has earnings, as Washington Post columnist Michael Wilbon so eloquently stated on ESPN's Pardon The Interruption earlier this week, "Bill collectors are not knocking at her door." Between her endorsements, and oh yeah, the fact that she does well on the track, she is not a broke woman.

Truthfully, I hope she wins the Indy 500. It would be pretty cool to the see the look on the faces of the right wing, old guard, conservative good ol' boy network that a mere little lady kicked their butts and won arguably auto racing's most legendary event. That way, Richard Petty would have to make way for someone who's poised to wear the pants in the Auto Racing family.

Random Thoughs Before Vacation Ends

So, I will be in Summer Session I starting tomorrow. Hooray. I figure if I can knock out math and my senior project in a shorter session, my last semester in Dover will be much easier, so wish me luck. Six credits in six weeks. Can I do it? We will find out.

I've been exercising in overdrive the last week or so, and it's been an eye-opening experience. For one, after working out, my joints are sore non-stop, even when I wake up in the morning. Two, not picking up a basketball for at least two years will make you sucky.

I've been playing one-on-one with my good friend Darius Brown some days, shooting around alone on others, and oh boy, my shooting is off. Sure I was never a gunslinger like J.J. Redick, but I was butter from 15, 17 feet out. Now, not so much. But I will keep at it. It's exercise that I enjoy doing. And I still hit the track afterwards for the cool down.

I also invested in apples and oranges, my two favorite fruits, and I'm trying my damnedest to wean myself off of fast food, but they callin' me...they callin' me. I don't go to McDonalds like I used to, but I'd like to cut it out altogether. However, I can't kick a cheesesteak from Glasgow Deli just up route 13. That cheesesteak makes me feel Leticia Musgrove-ish when I'm eating it.

That's all for now, but I will leave you with one of my favorite Stone Cold Steve Austin Moments: His big comeback from No Way Out 2003 when it was Five Minutes of funk, him beating Eric Bischoff like he stole something.





Oh Hell Yeah!

Judge Not, Lest Ye Be Judged First...

Interesting week that was in the life of your favorite sports writer. The last paper dropped Monday evening, and yours truly wrote an editorial about the Duke Rape Case being about white privlege and what I called "the unapologetic devaluation of the black woman and her body" (yes, your boy is a wordsmith, a metaphorical gangster). Upon reading my diatribe against all things pro-white and anti-sista, DSU sports information director Dennis Jones made the understatement of the century; "Chris, they are gonna run you out of here." I laughed my head off because I could imagine the growing caucasian populus at Delaware State being offended and uncomfortable with my piece. Eh, they'll survive.

Then Dennis brought up a valid point. Point being that brothers haven't exactly treated Black women like queens of the Earth either. And I got to thinking about my own transgressions, and it was one of those "damn, I've been had" moments. I instantly thought back to my evil ways which I'm still guilty of projecting onto black women. My angry cries of "y'all ain't s**t" and my assumption that "all females want this, that, and the third in a guy" all went against the stuff I wrote. Damn, I feel like a big ol' hypocrite.

I do believe that I have to stand up for myself as to not be taken advantage of by random females, but sometimes I go overboard and project my bitterness, insecurities, assumptions and general hatred onto other women, 85 percent of which don't deserve it. I know I'm wrong, but it's like someone with an addiction, a vice, a thing if you will. It's hard to kick a habit that you know so well, and almost find comfort in. It's almost a perverse feeling, like I get off on telling women off. That's not good at all.

And it's not like I don't love black women, I mean my mother is one of the greatest I know for crying out loud. Yet, now that I've realized that not every woman is going to care about me the way she does, it's almost like "to hell with all y'all." I do love sistas who are real, independent, successful, sweet, kind, caring, intelligent, funny, good looking, average looking, all of the above. But the few bad apples I seem to consistently run into spoil the bunch.

It's a tough situation that I hope I can break out of in the near future. Then maybe I won't be such a hypocrite.

Change...

You know those life changing epiphanies that most folks have? The ones where it finally dawns on them about what they should be doing instead of what they've been doing? I never have one. Maybe because I actively seek it out. My latest trip in search of self was to the New and Improved Alumni Stadium here at DSU this afternoon. I actually went out there earlier this week to take a walk around the track, but I ended up copping a discarded square of the new A-turf that was laid down earlier this spring (Turf-tory is mine, bitches. Kiss the fake grass ring).

This time I stood at the 50 yard line from seating level, looking around at the gradual changes that old Alumni had undergone since I first came to Delaware State in 2001. Gone were the rickety old visiting bleachers where an opposing fan could rightfully sue the school for all it's worth after falling. In place is a fairly new, expanded, and more comfortable brand of seating that DSU fans and visiting folks alike can enjoy.

Added to the mix were light towers, and the first night games in Hornet football history will be played this coming season. Football under the lights at DSU...who knew? So no longer will late-October, early-November games be forced to start at 12 noon to avoid the quickened setting of the fall Sun.

And finally, the A-turf. Its soft, Sealy Posturepedic Mattress-like feel starkly contrasting nature's grind, old divots in the grass now a distant memory. Fake grass as far as the eye can see, and no reason for opponents to complain about "Mud Bowls" and adverse conditions if the Hornets should beat them in the rain in the-always unpredictable Delaware fall season.

And these changes have come after 45-plus years of the Stadium being the same way. Now Alumni seems to be refreshed, renewed, glistening even. A proud structure indeed.

Change. Yeah, it happens. Sometimes initiated, other times forced. The key is are you prepared for it? Can you deal with making changes or taking them on as they are thrusted upon you? Are you willing to make changes if they are for the betterment of yourself and those around you, even if the process is slow, tormented, and even painful? Will you be able to take things in stride that once bothered you to emotional breakdowns and complete lack of common sense and a bold show of irrationality in your decision making? Can you see yourself changing for the better? Do you want to change for the better?

Those were the questions Old Alumni Stadium seemed to be throwing at me in all its new fangled glory today. And I wasn't able to give answers.

Wake Up, Wake Up, Wake Up, It's The 1st of the Month....

Can you guys believe May is here already? Dizamn. Anyway a real update is coming as soon as a brother can get his words and thoughts together. In the meantime, I will be exercising my right to jack a blog exercise, this time the victim is Jameil (see, I didn't call you Pittsburgh this time :) And I invite all those who read The Post Game Show to ask me anything. Whatever is on your mind about me or whatever, I will gladly answer so ask away. And I shall leave you with one of the greatest dunk pictures ever.



Julius Erving a.k.a Dr. J making Knicks forward Lonnie Shelton kiss his feet in 1978. Yeah I'm Old School, what's it to you?