9101070991
DETROIT FREE PRESS
910219
Tuesday, February 19, 1991
METRO FINAL
1C
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1991, Detroit Free Press
WHOLE NEW BALL GAME IN LADIES' LOCKER ROOM
OK now listen, all you real men in the audience -- you know, guys who like
to guzzle beer and watch pro wrestling and burrrrrrp, guys who wrote me
letters when Lisa Olson got the nudie treatment in the Patriots locker room
and said, "Aw, hell, she didn't belong in there anyhow; men aren't allowed in
women's locker rooms, are they?" -- all you guys, and all you women who said
the same thing, listen up: I want you to know I was right there Monday
afternoon, two minutes after the women's professional basketball game ended at
the Palace. I was right there, outside the locker room, acting impatient,
making noise.
"Aren't you going to let us in?" I asked the guard, tapping my foot. "We
want equal access."
Actually, I was the only one in line.
"Come on!" I repeated, looking at my watch. "We've got deadlines to meet,
stories to write!"
Actually, that wasn't true, either. For one thing, the game was played in
early afternoon. Besides, few people really cared who won -- the Detroit
Dazzlers or the Liberty Basketball Association All-Stars. To be honest, not
many people knew the differen--.
Wait a minute.
"Is this the right locker room?" I whispered to a colleague.
He nodded.
"COME ON, WHAT'S THE DELAY HERE?" I yelled at the guard. "OPEN UP!"
An answer for you real men
Hey, look: There was a principle at stake, right? Ever since Women In The
Locker Room became the biggest issue since Who Killed Laura Palmer, one of
the best arguments against equal access was the one that went like this: "If
that's the way it should be, how come men can't go into women's locker
rooms?" And whenever someone said that, there was always this plop in the
conversation, not because people didn't have an answer, but because people
were trying to think of a women's sport that had both locker rooms and
reporters wanting to get in.
Finally, we have one. Women's basketball, professional style. Detroit has
been awarded a franchise next year in the LBA -- a new league which features
9-foot-2 baskets, so the women can dunk. Monday's game was an exhibition to
whet the public appetite. Fans turned out in droves! OK, not droves, more
like, well, big groups! Actually, they turned out in carpools. And most of
them had free tickets.
No matter. We all watched the game. And afterward, there I was, first in
line at the locker room. Not because I was so interested in what goes on in a
women's locker room, mind you. (Actually, if it's anything like what goes on
in a men's locker room I can live without it, especially before dinner.) But
because I wanted to have, once and for all, an answer for the real men, next
time I stopped in a pool hall.
"Well? Can we go in yet?" I asked the guard, crossing my arms. "It's been
four whole minutes . . ."
I tried to think of the best approach once we got inside. Would they be
naked -- or would they have towels and robes? Wait a minute. What if they
attacked? What if the Detroit Dazzlers surrounded me and removed their towels
like the New England Patriots and said, "Is this what you want, baby?"
Somehow I wasn't worried.
"What's the deal?" I said again to the guard, trying to sound like Mike
Wallace. "Can we go in or not? Can we go in or --"
And the door swung open.
And the athletes were ladylike
Now I know some of you would like to hear a juicy story. I know some of
you would like to hear that the male reporters began to drool. And then the
female athletes grabbed their towels and shrieked. And then it turned into a
X-rated movie.
Nothing like that happened at all. Actually, all the players were sitting
by their lockers, eager to be interviewed. They were polite, cheerful, and
fully clothed in their uniforms; they stayed that way for at least 25 minutes.
"Aren't you going to take a shower?" I asked Shyra Holden, a forward from
Wichita, Kan.
"I guess, when everyone's finished," she said.
"How would you feel about men in your locker room after every game next
year?" I asked Cary McGehee, a guard who also works as a lawyer.
"Fine," she said, "as long as we get a robe or something."
"Do we bother you?" I asked Brenda Eiseler, a forward from Ypsilanti.
"No," she said. "You guys have a job to do."
"Would you be comfortable with us in here next year?" I asked Laurie Byrd,
the star of the game.
"Sure. Just knock before you come in."
And so, ladies and gentlemen, I must report that, hard as I tried, I could
not find one female who wanted to dump water on a reporter; not one female who
said, "I don't talk to men unless they're on top of me or I'm on top of
them"; not one female who dropped her towel and made suggestive comments.
I couldn't even find one in a bad mood.
You know what I think? I think most of them were so delighted to get paid
for playing basketball, that talking to reporters seemed like an awfully small
price to pay.
Hmmm.
What a radical idea.
COLUMN; WOMAN; LOCKER ROOM