<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8502030565
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
850823
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Friday, August 23, 1985
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1985, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
CAN'T WE CALL A CEASE-FIRE IN THE BATTLE OF THE SEXES?
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
The first time I faced the life-changing issue of  "How to Play Sports
Against a Woman" was on a football field at age 10. It was a pickup game, and
the other team was short one player, and this  freckle-faced girl named
Chrissy was the only soul around besides Duke, the German shepherd, and Duke
had a bum leg.
So we kicked off, and Chrissy caught the ball, which surprised me, since
most  of us could not do that yet. Then she ran right at me.

  And I froze. I remember thinking, "Oh, god, how do you handle this? I
mean, do you just sort of tackle her, like, you know, a real tackle,  or,
well, where do you tackle her anyhow, and, no, maybe you shouldn't try that,
but maybe you should just sort of, you know, trip her, and then apologize."
  In the end, I guess I did a little of  everything, and she ran right by
me, and I fell into the mud. She also ran by the rest of my team, and scored a
touchdown. But the other guys saw me lying there with this guilty look and so
they naturally yelled, "You stink! You can't even tackle a girl!"
  I bring this up only to prove that men vs. women in sports is nothing but
trouble. And tonight we will get another dose.
  Tonight is the much  ballyhooed Martina Navratilova/Pam Shriver versus
Bobby Riggs/ Vitas Gerulaitis tennis match.
  Another challenge of the sexes.
  Ah, Chrissy. We never learn.
If the men win, they lose 
  Some  people have asked me who I am rooting for tonight. I will tell you.
I am rooting for rain.
  It is partly because I think the whole thing is stupid, and partly because
if I were picking an athlete  to represent the entire male breed, I would not
pick anyone named Vitas. I don't know anyone named Vitas. I doubt I ever will.
Vitas sounds like German cat food.
  Besides, this is all his fault.  He made a remark that he would "bet his
house" that the 100th-ranked male tennis player in the world could beat the
No. 1-ranked woman. 
  People with more than one house like to do this kind of stuff.  But
Navratilova got mad. So did Shriver. And Riggs, who could hustle the fur off a
sewer rat, smelled a buck in there somewhere.
  So now it's a doubles match. Men vs. women for a $300,000 winners  share.
Tonight.
  Trouble.
  You see, this is a no-win proposition for men. It always is. I mean,
suppose Riggs and Gerulaitis are victorious? What might people conclude?
  1. Men are stronger.
  2. Men are luckier.
  3. Never bet a man his house.
  4. Those vitamins Riggs takes really work.
  Not much of a victory here. Besides, if your whole sex is going to win
something, you'd  like to at least admire the guys who do it, right?
  But after Vitas, whom we've already discussed, there is Riggs, a
bowlegged, 67-year-old con man who thinks women tennis stars go home from
Wimbledon  and have a pajama party.
  Riggs is most famous for his  earlier "Battle of the Sexes" match against
Billie Jean King. But that was nothing. He once won a bet by playing tennis
while chained to a  gorilla.
  I'm not sure I would want a guy like that on my picture wall. Maybe the
gorilla, though.
And what if the women win? 
  On the other hand, what if the women win?
  It could be . . .  Tennis Wars.
  Soon every female with a racket will be challenging her male friends. Loser
wears the dress. The words "love you" will take on a whole new meaning,
roughly equivalent to "you are zero."
  Imagine. Men and women across the country swiping at each other with their
Wilson Pro Grips.
  It's scary. It could spread, maybe to books ("Straight Sets -- How to Beat
Your Husband"). or even  old love songs, like the Anniversary Waltz:
    Oh, how we volleyed,
    on the night we were wed . . .
  Or that song Omar Sharif sings to Barbra Streisand in "Funny Girl":
    You are woman,
    I am man,
    Serve it
Even Elvis tunes, like "Heartbreak Hotel"
    Well, since my baby aced me
    I found a new place to dwell . . .
  This is  truly discouraging. But it only proves the point I learned in
the mud two decades ago -- namely, when men play against women, the best men
can hope for is not to lose.
  Gerulaitis admits defeat will  cost him. "I won't be allowed in the men's
locker room," he says. Serves him right. Maybe when the other guys see him
showering at the YMCA, they'll know.
  Enough. We can't win.
  So  let's hope  tonight will be it. The last challenge of the sexes. 
  Though I am a bit curious what Navratilova and Shriver would do if they
won Vitas' house.
  Probably throw a big pajama party.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>

</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
