A Tear-Stained NCAA Women’s Championship

Moriah Jefferson, an homage to her fallen coach on her sleeve, shares tears with a teammate.

Moriah Jefferson, an homage to her fallen coach on her sleeve, shares tears with a teammate.

I lost it the moment I spied Moriah Jefferson in the post-game aftermath of the Nike Nationals championship. It was the end of a long summer in 2011 and, sobbing, I told her, “Mo, you are going to have to hold me up.” And she did, so we embraced for a long time, crying together.

What moved me so was that Jefferson and her teammates on the DFW T-Jack team out of the Dallas area had delivered on their vow to capture club basketball’s biggest prize in memory of their fallen coach, Marques Jackson, who’d died of a heart attack in April, 2010.

Jackson had been the first big supporter of a fledgling business I started, HoopGurlz, the first media outlet to cover high school girl’s basketball on a daily and national basis. He’d stood up to the sport’s old guard to do so. We’d shared a vision of empowering girls and women by illuminating their work and accomplishments. His death had been a major blow.

It’s because of Mo Jefferson and her Connecticut teammate, Bria Hartley, that I’ll watch the 2013 NCAA Women’s Basketball championship game with a box of tissues. Both lost their club basketball coaches, and both coaches were friends and supporters of mine.
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Seattle Should Fret About the Lakers

Mike D'Antoni Phil Jackson

The Lakers went with Mike D’Antoni over a third tour with Phil Jackson.

This column originally appeared at SeattleWeekly.com

As blasphemous as this may sound in these formerly NBA parts, I must admit that I’m worried about the Los Angeles Lakers. I know, I know. Beat El-Lay, and all that. But, conceivably the NBA will be back in Seattle, and we all want to be part of a thriving venture, the better the odds that we have the SuperSonics for at least another 40 uninterrupted years. And for that to happen, it’s essential to wish at least a little positive karma upon the City of Angels.

No matter how much it fancies itself a globally relevant enterprise, the NBA long has been a league that has thrived when its bicoastal American anchors also have. On the Left Coast, L.A. by far is the most meaningful pushpin on the basketball map.

I started covering the NBA when it was pulling itself out of the ashes, previously branded a “drug league” or “too black,” and badly trailing the NFL and Major League Baseball in sports relevancy. It may have re-branded itself as more accessible and fan-friendly, but the NBA’s reanimation came mainly on coattails of Magic Johnson and Larry Bird, two polar opposites in style, personality and geography. So the Lakers are my frame of NBA bling reference — Magic to Worthy, Riley in Armani, the Sky Hook, Coop-a-Loops, the Laker Girls, Showtime.
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Mad Men and the End of Linsanity

The signs all are there. The end of a news cycle. The end of a coaching tenure. The end of focused, team basketball in New York.

The end, that is, of Linsanity. And, for many reasons, the end of watchable professional basketball.

Jeremy Lin, Mike Woodson, Carmelo Anthony

Jeremy Lin, Mike Woodson and Carmelo Anthony.

If you’d hoped this NBA fairy tale was going to end with Jeremy Lin turning the corner on a high pick and roll, popping for a jumper in the lane or tossing up a short lob for Amare Stoudamire to win a championship, your dreams were crushed not when Mike D’Antoni resigned as Knicks coach on Wednesday, but when interim coach Mike Woodson confirmed he was going with the status quo. Not the new old status quo (Lin and team-wide distribution) but the brand-new, old status quo (return of Carmelo Anthony and the black-hole offense).

Ugh.
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The Bad Fortune of Linsanity

Bad taste

I don’t even have to sample Ben & Jerry’s limited-edition, Jeremy Lin-inspired flavor to know that it is tasteless.

After the furor the past week over race and ethnic profiling in over-the-top media coverage of the breakout star of the New York Knicks, for something like this to happen not only is inexcusable, it’s arrogant and incredibly stupid.

Ben & Jerry’s has apologized, but it seems they replaced the fortune cookie bits in the new ice cream flavor mainly because customers complained they got soggy.
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Linsanity’s Yellow Peril

This headline on ESPN's mobile website was removed.

During the hours before the “chink” references at ESPN, I was convinced that many Asian Americans were willing to overlook Floyd Mayweather, Jason Whitlock, the New York Post’s “Amasian,” and myriad other public indignities in order to experience something so joyous and so spectacularly surprising as Jeremy Lin that even we, the people who are like him, have been conditioned to never have expected it.

Less than a week ago, in trying to explain what Lin means to Asian Americans, I wrote on ESPN.com that his feel-good run in the NBA would be a test of ”an Asian American’s ability to take the bad with the overwhelming good.”

We couldn’t be allowed to have even a fleeting, rapturous moment without the bad-good equation being utterly turned on its head by such a torrent of racially motivated indignation and political-correctness backlash that feels, in some ways, like open season has been declared on Asian Americans. I feel stupid and ashamed, true to my cultural conditioning, I suppose, that I ignored the reality of living in HaterNation, a place where the meek are allowed to rise because the mighty so enjoys shooting them full of holes during the inevitable fall. The past few days have taken us beyond that.

That “Chink in the Armor” happened is so unbelievable to me, it still feels like a bad dream. But it wasn’t the end of Linsanity; it hasn’t even been the worst part. Americans who are not of Asian descent are hijacking the discussion of how Asian Americans would like to be talked about, and that is the real kick in the groin.
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