Caitlin, Billie Jean and me
It’s the start of WNBA season, and Indiana Fever star Caitlin Clark is again front and center, her actions widely advertised, all but three of the Fever’s games scheduled for national broadcast.
As a historian focused on placing basketball within a broader social context, I find it hard not to center my analysis on Clark and the remarkable amount of attention she has drawn from people who don’t usually follow women’s sports. In casual conversation, whenever I mention Shattering the Glass, both friends and strangers light up and mention Clark.
It’s clear, though, that Clark’s popularity rests not only on her extraordinary talent but also on the way she fits so neatly into a durable, all-American mold created in a not-so-bygone era: plain-spoken, no frills, straight, white. I’m far from immune to this appeal. This piece, most of which I wrote last year, recounts part of my effort to come to terms with my own entanglement in this perspective.
In the top rows of American Airlines Center, perched among the cheapest seats, I await the start of the Women’s Final Four. It is 2023 and one of my favorite teams, the South Carolina Gamecocks, has not lost a game all season. They’re taking on the Iowa Hawkeyes, and I’m ready for a great match.
But as soon as play begins, I see something I did not expect. An Iowa player is raining threes, each shot falling straight through the middle of the net. The Hawkeyes race up and down the court, paced by powerful, accurate passes and more of those extraordinary shots.
I’m more historian than fan, and I have never heard of Caitlin Clark. She ends the game with 41 points and eight assists. The Hawkeyes pull off the upset, 77-73.
Two days later, against the canny defense of the LSU Tigers, Clark falters. Shots bounce off the rim. Passes go awry. LSU wins handily, 102-85. Still, I am hooked.
I follow Clark’s progress through her senior season, dazzled by her passes and logo threes, rooting for her as she breaks record after scoring record. I subscribe to Peacock to watch Iowa games. I make plans for the 2024 Final Four and pay for a more expensive seat.
It’s a strange sensation. The only other time I recall feeling this level of connection to an athlete was back in the 1970s, when I played high school tennis and idolized Billie Jean King. Like me, she had freckles, wore glasses, and didn’t always conform to her sport’s norms. I wanted to be snappy, smart and rebellious, like she was. I rushed the net because she did, albeit with considerably less success.
My interest in Caitlin differs. I don’t aspire to be like her. But she sure does look familiar: tall, skinny, tomboyish, playing hard. She reminds me of my younger self.
I don’t think she’s the savior of the WNBA. But I watch all the Indiana Fever games I have time for. I find myself cheering not just for Clark but also for her teammates – Aliyah Boston, who I followed as a Gamecock, Kelsey Mitchell, NaLyssa Smith and more. I delight in the way they sharpen their passes and their plays, growing together. I buy a Fever T-shirt, although not one with a 22.
This dynamic, multiplied across the country, raises old dilemmas. Back in the 1970s, as I dreamed of playing like Billie Jean King, civil rights activists sought to counteract the power of such identification through what was called “affirmative action.”
In key realms such as hiring, promotion and college admissions, most of the gatekeepers were white and male. Many were drawn, as I have been, to people who looked and acted like them – or like they did when they were younger. Affirmative action programs were designed not to boost the chances of unqualified candidates, but to challenge often-unexamined notions of ability and promise, to ensure life-altering decisions were made with heads rather than hearts.
Fans can’t be told which teams and players to identify with. But as a historian of the game, I am something of a gatekeeper myself. When I sit down to write I work to acknowledge and examine my own predilections. I do my best to depict the diverse pantheon of great coaches and players with the attention and respect that all of them deserve. I don’t always succeed, and I welcome critique.
I’m thankful that the corps of coaches, executives, reporters and others has itself diversified, bringing new perspectives and experiences to those gatekeeping positions. But at a time when racism, sexism and homophobia run rampant at the top levels of governmental power, it behooves us to double down on efforts to turn the spotlight on the talents of a wide range of players, and to confront the issues of race, gender and sexuality our society has yet to resolve.
Only then will our work uphold the values of fairness and equality so often embodied in the games we love so much.
