Is It a Sport?

At a recent performance by the phenomenal Brazilian dance troupe, Grupo Corpo, I couldn't help but consider the age-old debate about what constitutes a sport. Twenty people with professional levels of fitness, agility, discipline, and teamwork sweated it out for 100 minutes. (Incidentally, that's longer than, and at least as intense as, a game in hockey, basketball, either kind of football, or pretty much any competition that runs on a clock.) You could pick far fewer taxing disciplines as your specialty and make it in the pro sports world.

I've often made myself very unpopular when discussing this subject with golf lovers, and I'm afraid I can't do without a jab or two at their "activity." Mark Twain was with me—he was quoted as saying, "Golf is a nice walk spoiled." I won't deny that skill and talent are in order, and no, I don't think just anyone can play golf well (certainly not I), and yes I think some pro golfers also happen to be incredible athletes. But what other game lends itself to conducting business while playing? You can't even chit chat during chess (which devotees consider a sport since it requires a surprising degree of physical stamina), or poker (now in the top three most watched "sports" on television).

But back to dancing. The International Olympic Committee recognized "Dancesport" as a sport in 1997, though it has yet to include it in competition due to a host of bureaucratic requirements (the International Dancesport Federation is still holding out hope for 2012). But we've got ice-skating, essentially dancing with blades. And rhythmic gymnastics, dancing with props. And synchronized swimming, dancing while wet.

So why not good old-fashioned, blade-less, prop-less, dry dancing?

I'll go a step further and say that even without the official competitions that do exist around the world, dancing professionally is still a sport. Even with no score, no time limit, no visible opponent, no actual judges. Why? Because dancers are consummate athletes (one look at their bodies is all it takes to believe that). Their careers can end with a single injury. It's a cut-throat business, so they are perpetually jostling to earn or keep prized spots with pro "teams." Each performance is a competition in a sense, as dancers must conquer the scariest of opponents—failure. And of course there are judges, it's just that they're called "critics"—unless you're on "Dancing with the Stars, which could be a topic in and of itself.

In fact, we've even seen big name athletes, including Jerry Rice, go on that very show and lose. I'm not saying we could get their pro dance partners out on the gridiron and expect them to live, let alone excel. But how 'bout a little respect from the sports world for artist-athletes? If you need more convincing, do check out Grupo Corpo (check them out anyway if you can), and then tell me that's less of a sport than golf.

Of Chests and Chadors, Part 2

Brett Favre's retirement delayed this follow-up a bit (and I'm not through with that subject either), so do look back at Part 1 if you need a reminder of how one's love of sports can be debased by shameless self-promotion. That covers the "chests" element.

Now onto chadors. For a loftier take on devotion, let's turn our attention to Iran. Not for the nuclear program and everything else disturbing that dominates news about that country, but for its female athletes and fans.

Since the Islamic Revolution in 1979, women have been banned from soccer—aka football—stadiums in Iran for various absurd reasons provided by the clerics, e.g. rowdy male fans make for an unsafe environment for women. (As a woman who's had her nose broken by a rowdy male fan at a football game right here in the U.S. of A. and keeps going to stadiums anyway, I find that rationale particularly laughable. Oh it was an accident, not a brawl as we were both rooting for the Jets over the Patriots—else it may well have been intentional.) No wives, no sisters, no children, no nothing. After all, we wouldn't want them to see men's exposed legs, or worse still, start thinking that somehow they should share equal rights with men on matters beyond innocuous recreation as well.

But, as my lyrical idol Leonard Cohen says, there is a crack in everything. In June 2005, an interesting exception came to pass, though it garnered little international attention, and no American attention as far as I can tell (please correct me if I'm wrong). After intensely lobbying the Iranian Football Federation, a group of Iranian women were able to attend a World Cup qualifier played against North Korea in Tehran's Azadi Stadium. (By the way, Azadi means "freedom," which reminds me to look up "irony" in my Persian dictionary). This particular crack, however was quickly filled in: President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, in a surprise move considering his general political stance, attempted to lift the ban on women's attendance at games in April 2006, but was immediately overruled by the clerics.

Forgive the broad sweeping generalization, but I suspect we all agree that women don't relent easily. Right around the time of the reinforced ban, the national women's football team managed to pull off a match against a club team from Berlin, BSV Al-Dersimspor. Men were not permitted, and regardless the players had to wear what appears to be a rather restricting get-up for athletes (see photo). But the match took place in an outdoor venue, instead of the usual confinement to indoor arenas, and was the first ever against a foreign opponent. Another crack, and one that the women perceived as a solid step away from second class citizenship.

This time it was even the subject of a documentary, "Football Under Cover," co-directed by Iranian Ayat Najafi and David Assmann of Germany. (The film premiered at the Berlin Film Festival last month, and will open in Germany in April, but unfortunately it's not currently scheduled for release elsewhere.) The male filmmakers had to "direct" from outside the stadium, and only received permission to make the film if they agreed never to show it in Iran. In one scene, the crowd chants, "We women have only half our rights." Alas, another setback followed, when a friendly set to take place between the two teams in Berlin a year later was canceled by Iran, for "technical reasons." And like that, the hoped-for cultural exchange was quashed.

One does hear reports from visitors and even members of the press that there's a small yet surprising amount of laxity surrounding certain cultural liberties—bringing Western magazines or videos into the country, bending the rules of women's dress codes with long but fitted smocks etc. And given the popularity of football in Iran, it seems like an appropriate means by which to gradually break down restrictions and build some momentum for the female cause. As filmmaker Najafi declared in no uncertain terms at the premiere in Berlin, "Women's football in Iran represents a battle for freedom." Some people may say it's a stretch to suggest that sports can make an impact on such a grandiose scale, but history has proven them wrong on so many occasions (Muhammad Ali's conscientious objection, Jesse Owens' four gold medals in 1936, Steven Spielberg's recent withdrawal from involvement in the Beijing Olympics, to name a few). And frankly, I'm just not interested in their cynicism.

Farewell to #4

The news is just in. The west coast might not even know yet. They're still sleeping soundly in a world where Brett Favre just might come back for another season in his legendary career.
The rest of us are contemplating an NFL season without #4. There's much for Green Bay fans to feel positive about--he's leaving a solid, well-rounded team with big potential, Aaron Rodgers certainly showed promise in his appearance against Dallas, and Coach of the Year Mike McCarthy isn't going anywhere for awhile.
But it's the unquantifiable aspects of Favre's play that will be missed more than anything. The spirit, the boyish energy, the love of the game that commentators could never resist mentioning (even at the risk of sounding decidedly...well, let's say "unmanly," to keep it vaguely P.C.). Young opponents who grew up watching him play couldn't hide their awe, and many would get autographs. Even Randy Moss was star-struck: When he was a Viking, he was caught on tape in a game against the Packers, pacing up and down the sidelines stammering, "This is Brett Favre right here, I gotta see this, this is Brett Favre."
I hope another QB takes the torch and inspires adulation and devotion on that level. Someone who's not part of a cheating franchise and who does more than just fit effectively into a system designed by a dishonest puppet-master. I know, I know. We have Mannings, we have Big Ben, and a superstar can appear from the most unlikely places (as Favre himself did).
But I can't help thinking that this season and many more to come will be just a bit less fun. And that sucks.

Of Chests and Chadors, Part 1

I recently came across a rather depressing story about an actress of sorts who last year put herself up for sale on eBay as a date to the Super Bowl (she's apparently a lifelong Bears fan who couldn't afford a ticket). Sarah Spain received a frenzy of publicity over this stunt, and even though the fine folks at the auction site took down her listing (guess they don't fancy themselves an escort service), she ended up attending the game courtesy of Axe Body Spray who gave her four tickets for her...troubles? Anyway, it probably had nothing to do with her, ahem, let's just say, natural (or perhaps not so natural) gifts.

Spain's shameless self-promotion has also yielded invitations to celebrity parties and bylines on a couple sports fan sites. And of course it's encouraged a few copycats. But primarily it has served to give credence to a loathsome stereotype of female sports fans (and the male sports fans who love 'em). Her supposed fervor seems to have nothing to do with football or any other sport, but everything to do with parties, entertainment gossip, and pictures of her posing with celebrities and wearing tops that are too small for her.

Wouldn't it be nice if free tickets were instead given to four under-privileged teenage girls who won an essay-writing contest about the value of sports, or demonstrated outstanding leadership as athletes? I know, not a great marketing scheme for Axe, but even a cynic could see such a give-away as good P.R. for a company looking to appeal to the softer side of NFL viewers. After all, there are fathers among the die-hard fans, fathers who wouldn't mind accompanying their athlete daughters to the biggest game of the year. So it wouldn't even be just a chick thing. And who knows, maybe those girls could grow up to become the type of people with the confidence and the ability to make their own way to attending the Super Bowl, without selling their natural gifts or their dignity. Crazy, I know, but a girl can dream.

Top Ten Thoughts on Super Bowl XLII

I'm just barely recovering from the physiological turmoil that Sunday night's game caused in me. I have not even approached my saturation point from the post-game media blitz. The emails from friends are still pouring in (my favorite: "Is it too extreme to say it makes everything better? Cuz I think it *does.*"). And then I up and went to the Giants victory parade.

With all the commotion, there've been too many disparate thoughts prompted by Super Bowl XLII for me to pick just one. So in an effort to streamline the rants and raves swirling around my head, I've decided to go with a list. Everybody seems to love a good top ten.

In no particular order, here's what I can't stop thinking about:

1. Even Hollywood couldn't have scripted a more dramatic and satisfying conclusion to an NFL season: I laughed, I cried, I wanted to watch it again and again.

2. Never has there been a more petulant loser in professional sports than Bill Belichick. Michael Wilbon on PTI suggested he be penalized for leaving the field before the final play of the game, and I couldn't agree more. Proving he's got the sportsmanship thing down too, Eli joked on Letterman that Belichick must have been trying to beat traffic.

3. While we're at it, the challenge of the no-call for 12 men on the field was lame at best. I'm not going to get into the tuck rule incident, but as far as bad sportsmanship being engraved into the rule book, we're looking at it. A no-call challenge? What's next, no-call challenges for pass interference, or name-calling?

3. Brotherhood: Eli's won one for youngest brothers everywhere. Peyton hasn't got a lick of middle child complex, insisting his little brother gets family bragging rights now. And Cooper has got to be the most self-secure man with a boring job EVER.

4. New York has enough going for it to not need major sports championships to boast as well, but it just felt so good for our city. A parade and celebratory speeches downtown instead of stump speeches and disputes over redevelopment. Groups of fans navigating the labyrinth of security barriers near Broadway, chanting, "Poor-ly Or-gan-ized" to cops. Drunks on the subway at 10am. Beautiful.

5. "The Play." Not just "The Catch." "The Play." And yes, it's got to be the greatest ever in Super Bowl history.

6. Do. Not. Let. Spagnuolo. Leave. The Giants are throwing money around, but no promises for eventual promotion. That makes me very nervous, especially since the other team in question is a division rival.

7. Strahan must stay.

8. Let's hope the New York media doesn't lay off Eli next season when he's less than perfect, since it seems scrutiny and criticism do the trick for him.

9. It still hurts a little that the Packers were part of the sacrifice required for the Giants' storybook ending, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not already hankering for a Green Bay Super Bowl victory next year (with Favre back, of course).

10. No real football until August. Oh god....

The Hollywood-ization of the Super Bowl

It's only pre-game and already it's turned out to be worse than I feared. The expectation of 40% female viewership for the Super Bowl has prompted the introduction of something more ridiculous than douche commercials: the Oscars-style red carpet. Hosted by Ryan Seacrest, no less.

In an obvious bid to engage the ladies and promote their shows, Fox has got the American Idol host prancing around interviewing non-athlete celebrities and making no bones about the fact that he knows absolutely nothing about football. He said some nonsense about how we can't just talk about Xs and Os all day. We can't? Did I miss something? Is this not the SUPER BOWL? Isn't it all about Xs and Os, and analysis, and predictions, and player interviews, and highlight reels and more Xs and Os for two straight weeks and twice as intensely on Sunday?

And yes, the ads. Fine, but Fox could have done real fans a favor and left out Seacrest, Paula Abdul and all the other "Idol" tie-ins (except the Rothlisberger spot, that was actually funny). And if women want to watch, they should watch for the football. Otherwise they should go in the other room with a DVD of "In Her Shoes" and just hold out til the Academy Awards for their celebrity red carpet fix.

MLK Jr. Day (Post Mortem, Part 2)

(Continued from Post Mortem, Part 1)

Sports fans react to their teams' failures in ways that often disturb their loved ones and even passers-by. Excessive drinking. Despondency. Rending of garments. Or for followers of certain European football clubs, rioting in the streets. Extreme behavior aside, it doesn't take much imagination even for a non-fan to understand why following professional sports matters to so many of us. Like all forms of entertainment, it's a distraction from the everyday. It forms communities and gives a common cause to strangers. It brings together friends and mandates the drinking of beer. It can teach discipline and drive to the young, and gratify the competitive urges of recreational athletes and couch lovers alike. And so on.

But on a day when we commemorate one of the most important and inspirational figures in our nation's history, why should the outcome of a sporting event dominate our brainwaves and airwaves? Radio and television reporters rattled off the score of Sunday's games in practically the same breath as they announced details of ceremonies honoring Martin Luther King Jr. Local papers put the New York Giants' improbable victory on their front pages. And if statistics existed, it might be troubling to learn how many people used their day off from school and work to watch SportsCenter (and shop), and how many used it to honor, study or even just contemplate the legacy of Dr. King.

This discouraging balance of coverage, and a certain sense of shame for my own extreme reaction to last night's game on a day like today, made me think about wasted opportunities. Consider the relevance of the sports world at a moment when we're collectively reflecting on the leader of the Civil Rights Movement. The Portland Trailblazers did so on Monday, by visiting the YMCA in Atlanta where Dr. King used to play basketball (link to story below), but with minimal national attention. The NFL did so in 1990 by refusing to make Tempe the site of a Super Bowl until Arizona reinstated the observance of the King holiday, which had been overturned by Gov. Evan Mechan in 1987. Even Missouri middle schooler Brigette Wells did so, by mentioning Tiger Woods alongside Barack Obama in her essay that won the local MLK essay contest (link below). Yet this year, no professional athletic organization's acknowledgement of the holiday made major headlines.

The intersection of race and sports is undeniable, and of great value to a nation that continues to struggle with a history of segregation. Eight years before the Montgomery Bus Boycott and 17 years before the Civil Rights Act, Jackie Robinson and the Brooklyn Dodgers broke the color barrier in baseball with his 1947 debut in the all-white Major Leagues (and a simple gesture by Pee Wee Reese, draping his arm on Robinson's shoulder, soon became legend as well). Five decades later, the national debate over race in sports rages on. We've had scandals over an Imus comment, a lynching reference on the Golf Channel and a noose on the cover of a sports magazine (golf again) in the past year alone. We've got the National Football League, wherein 70% of players are African-American but there's only one black owner in 32 teams. Tiger is still the only golfer of African-American descent to win the Masters, and you can count on one hand the number of black tennis players who've won Grand Slams (surely it's not a coincidence that those are "rich" sports). And we haven't even gotten to the more nuanced issues of finances, the "role model" factor and media treatment of player behavior on and off the field.

It seems irresponsible, on Martin Luther King Jr. Day of all days, to ignore racial matters in a multi-billion-dollar industry that captures the attention of so many Americans. It seems unimaginative at best to see a white man from Mississippi embrace his black teammates on national television and not pause to reflect on how far we've come over the years. And it seems downright ignorant to watch, read about and obsess over sports without acknowledging how far we still have to go.


TRAILBLAZERS IN ATLANTA: http://sports.espn.go.com/nba/columns/story?columnist=adande_ja&page=Blazers-080121
MIDDLE SCHOOL ESSAY: http://www.news-leader.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080121/OPINIONS02/801210337/1091