You Let Some Girl Beat You? (16 page)

“Do you guys sit around naked in the locker room and talk about the game?” Only Ueckie could ask such a question.

I was taken aback and embarrassed until I realized it was a legitimate question. After all, that's what the guys did after a game, at least in Donnie and Ueckie's day. “No. I'm the only player from the West Coast and I guess I sorta keep to myself.”

I heard the words come out of my mouth and immediately bit my tongue. I wanted to feel a sense of camaraderie with my teammates, so why was I keeping myself isolated? It was important to be able to talk about what happened after a game, to learn from it, to bond. If I was lonely in Jersey, it was my own fault. I'm sure there were teammates there who could have been possible allies in that impossible league, women who shared my frustrations, but I couldn't see that then. That's the problem with carrying a chip on your shoulder—it blocks your peripheral vision, making it tough to see the bigger picture.

But Ueckie went on as if he hadn't heard me. “When Don asked me if I wanted to see a game tonight, I thought maybe we were going to watch the Knicks.” His smile widened. “Then when we got in the limo and headed out to Jersey, I thought maybe it was Seton Hall, Princeton, or Rutgers.”

Don had told Ueckie he wanted to watch a player, but he hadn't told him
which
player. Not until the limo pulled into the Dunn High School parking lot and they walked into the Dunn High gym, did Ueckie figure out that it was some
girl
they'd come to watch. And not just
some
girl, but me.

The waitress came with our food, and I noticed the same thing I'd noticed in the Bahamas, that people instantly recognized Don and treated him with a near-reverent respect. But he didn't seem to care. He was equally nice to everyone, whether it was a young waiter who didn't recognize him or a die-hard Bums fan who knew him from back in the days when he was playing in Brooklyn for the Dodgers.

The conversation that night went in and out of sports, in and out of baseball and basketball, in and out of Ueckie's jokes. At night when Don and I talked on the phone, it was about so much more than the Gems. But when the topic did turn to sports, he always respected my opinion. He was different from other men that way. He understood we were both athletes, and he treated my view as being just as valid as his. Talking to him in person was wonderful. He looked good, and was obviously getting plenty of that California sunshine that I was missing.

Don was very kind, very confident, very handsome, very exciting and very smart. Unfortunately he was also still
very
married. Separated from his wife or not, I kept our relationship platonic because my Catholic guilt wouldn't have it any other way. And to his credit, he was a perfect gentleman. But as the weeks went on and our conversations continued, they became more personal and more frequent. Though I told myself we were just friends, deep down I knew I was falling in love.

“I never realized until later in life that women were supposed to be the inferior sex.”
~ Katherine Hepburn

At the end of the '79/'80 season, I was named MVP alongside Molly Bolin. However, there was no fanfare, no publicity, and no celebration within the organization, whatsoever. I should have taken that to be another bad omen, but I still wanted to believe everything would turn out for the best. I returned to the West Coast for the offseason and got the shock of my life when a Gems' check to me for $10,000 bounced. I waited for them to make it good, but it wasn't going to happen, so I decided to sit out the following season's games until they paid me in full for the first season.

I also decided to take the
Superstars
up on their offer to compete in the upcoming event, and this time I would be ready.

I trained throughout the summer, well in advance of the December event, and let Papa's words ring continuously in my head: “Failing to prepare is preparing to fail.” I didn't have time to prepare for the first go around because I was busy broadcasting for the Pacers and playing pro-ball with the Gems. But now I had a strategy. Not only did I know
which
sports to participate in, but just as importantly, the
order
.

Since I was sitting out all of the Gems' games, I was able to devote myself entirely to training for the
Superstars
event. As with everything that happened in the WBL, it seemed this, too, would be spun to my disadvantage. There was talk within the league and speculation among the press that I wanted to renegotiate my contract for more pay. “No one is quite sure where Ann Meyers is,” wrote the
Post Dispatch
. “We'd like to know where she is, too,” a spokesperson from the Gems told the paper. It was frustrating because management knew exactly where I was. I was waiting to be paid in full for the previous season.

My relationship with the WBL had been fraught from the beginning, yet I tried to make an earnest go of it. I'd made umpteen appearances for them and shown up for dozens of dinners and receptions with sponsors, all unpaid. I had no obligation under my contract to make these promotional appearances, but I did it because I knew how important it was to promote the league and the N.J. Gems, and in return they wrote me a bad check for $10,000. It was literally a federal offense.

I spoke to David endlessly about whether or not I should bite the bullet and return to play for the Gems and hope for the best. Part of me wanted him to say that I should return to New Jersey because I wanted to play basketball so badly. But there was a principle involved which neither David nor I could ignore. It wasn't about the money, but about how a professional player deserved to be treated, and the Gems treated their players like they were doing us a favor by allowing us to play a sport we loved.

Blaze tried to change my mind. “You gotta come back, Annie. With you and me, the Gems would smoke every other team in the league.”

I sympathized with her because she had experienced her fair share of frustration. Blaze had made the '80 Olympics. however, with the boycott, there was no '80 team. Now that she had signed on with the Gems, she wanted me there with her.

“I want to, Blaze, I really do.” And I meant it. She and I had played with and against each other on several teams over the years, and not only did I respect her as a player, but we'd become good friends. But that wasn't a big enough reason to go back. I talked over the situation with Don, whom I'd been seeing a lot more of since I'd returned to the West Coast. He agreed with me that I should wait for the Gems to pay me.

By now Don had told me he loved me, and I knew that I loved him, but I didn't know how things would turn out. Just like the untenable situation with the Gems, I had to have faith that things would fall into place between Donnie and me. I didn't worry about it. Instead, I directed my energy toward training for the upcoming
Superstars
. And there, I didn't need hope or faith. Now that I had developed my strategy, I knew I could rely on that and my ability coupled with hard work.

Since the Gems still hadn't made good on the money they owed me, I had the time to train for six to eight hours a day, preparing physically and mentally. It was a grueling schedule. I worked out with a swimming coach a couple of times a week, learning how to properly turn on the wall and stroke correctly. After that, I would drive up to L.A. and work with my old Olympic trainer, Gail Weldon, who owned a health club. She would set me up lifting weights and working with her for about an hour before I would go down to the local high school to run the stairs and the track.

One of the events I chose was rowing, so I ended my day by driving to Long Beach where my friend, Monica Havelka, was a rower. We'd get in a boat and row for a few miles. I also played a good deal of tennis with Dan Campbell, the tennis coach at Long Beach State, where he helped me work on my serve, backhand, and conditioning. I also hit hundreds of golf balls, working on my chipping and drive. By the time my second
Superstars
came, I was completely confident it was mine to win.

Among the other contestants that year were Martina Navratilova, Rosie Casals, the long-time rebel of women's tennis, who, along with Billie Jean King, was one of the driving forces behind equalizing award payments to female and male tennis players, and Lynette Woodard, an All-American basketball player from the University of Kansas who later made headlines in 1985 as the first female Harlem Globetrotter.

I couldn't help but smile when I learned Lynette began shooting baskets as a little girl using a stuffed sock. She wasn't the only one who developed fierce determination at a young age. Ironically, Trotter player, Fred ‘Curly' Neal, first approached me with his idea of having a woman on the Globetrotters in the summer of 1984, but
TV Guide
ran with the story prematurely. Ultimately, Curly and I decided that the team should remain all African-American. Lynette's cousin, Hubert “Geese” Ausbie, was a Globetrotter, and Lynette seemed the perfect candidate. During Lynette's tryout, she graciously told the press that it was my signing with the Pacers that gave her the courage to do it.

This year's
Superstars
took place in Florida, which was a perfect excuse for a Meyers family get-together. Of course Don and Ueckie were there broadcasting for ABC.

I hoped it would be an opportunity for Mom to get to know Donnie a little better. It was hard for me to tell whether she liked him as much as she did when she'd first met him. It was now obvious to her that we were becoming very close and I'm sure she worried about our age difference and his strong personality. She probably wondered if he was too fixed in his ways. It was true Don knew exactly what he wanted, and he usually got it, but I considered that to be an admirable trait. Mom saw things differently. She understood better than anyone how basically timid I was when it came to most things outside of sports and she had always been my protector because of that. I think she worried I might get in over my head with Don. She had no reason to worry, though, not about Donnie, or anything else.

Florida's heat and humidity weren't going to take their toll on me as had happened the previous year in the Bahamas. This time, I carefully considered the hour of the day that I'd have to compete in the most strenuous events. I chose the 100 yd. dash, the obstacle course, chipping, swimming, the quarter mile, and rowing. I ran a quarter-mile in under a minute, set an obstacle course record, won the tennis event, landed six inches from the cup on an 80-yard chip, and ultimately came in first overall to win that year's Women's
Superstars,
and the $50,000 purse. My win must have sent some executives' minds into overdrive because I was thrilled at what came next.

“How would you like to be the only woman ever invited to participate in the Men's
Superstars
?”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. “Wow! Really?”

TWI and ABC, the event organizers, were asking me to do what I had loved, what I had missed, and what I had always used as a benchmark to judge my performance: compete with the guys. Well, they didn't have to ask me twice. Luckily they didn't bother looking for feedback from any of the other contenders—probably because they knew what their answers would be.

“Why the hell are they letting her compete with the men?” Rick Barry asked his wife and some friends at a table nearby. Sadly, he wasn't the only one cursing about my participation. ABC knew that asking me to compete in the Men's event would create a commotion, which would get them excellent press—and that was a good thing as far as any TV network was concerned. They also knew I was the only woman who would give the guys a run for their money. Unlike the Pacers tryout, there was no trial by media this time, just a good natured “let's see what she can do” attitude. That sure wasn't how some of the other competitors felt, however. Especially Rick.

Rick Barry was, and still is, considered one of the great small forwards of all time. He and I were good friends from our Vegas days playing tennis. But friends were one thing. He was a lethal perimeter threat, and he wasn't thrilled about my being one of his competitors—on national television, no less. Part of me understood. Then, as now, it's a no-win situation for a man to be seen as challenging a woman. To his credit, Rick wanted the same quality competition I was looking for, but why was he making the presumption that I would be his inferior just because I was a woman? First give me a chance.

The Men's
Superstars
followed directly on the heels of the Women's
Superstars,
which meant I would have no time to calculate the weaknesses of my opponents or train for some of the events, like the soccer kick, or be able to devise an overall strategy.

Mom had overheard Rick's remark and was hotter than a wet hen. “He's got some nerve. I heard other comments, but Rick is supposed to be your friend.”

“Oh Mom, don't worry about it. It's no big deal.”

He hadn't hurt my feelings. It was simply par for the course, something I'd run up against time and time again, and nothing to get riled about. But she was still fuming. We hadn't been inside the room but maybe a minute when the phone rang. It was Rick asking me if I wanted to play tennis.

“See?” I told her, “He didn't mean anything by it.”

The male ego can be an unpredictable apparatus. Like a light bulb improperly screwed into a socket, it can go on and off without warning, and I'd learned early on to tread lightly around it. The funny thing was that Rick was one of the most confident guys I'd ever met. He had this highly unorthodox, but incredibly accurate, underhanded free-throw shot. Had we both been allowed to compete in the Hoop event, the press might have had a field-day with the two of us, including Rick's style “shooting like a girl,” and Rick wouldn't have cared one whit. He'd grown up being ridiculed for that shot. But when you were as good as he was, it didn't matter because it was natural for him. And, in fact, it's a more natural way to shoot the ball. Wilt was known to do it as well on occasion. But when someone tried to teach Shaq to throw underhanded, his ego wouldn't allow him to try. Rick didn't care. He knew the ball was going in, and that's all that mattered.

Some of the other men competing against me and Rick that year were Edwin Moses, the Olympic sprinter who had run hundreds of races in a row without losing once, New England Patriot's football player, Russ Francis, and Renaldo Nehemiah, the 110 meter hurdler world-record holder and the first man to run the high hurdles in under thirteen seconds.

Before the event, I received a card from Yvette Duran, a former roommate at UCLA. She had hand-written the letters ‘WO' and ‘S,' in strategic places, turning the gender specific sentiment upside down on its chauvinist head.

Life's battles don't always go to the strongest WOman; but sooner or later, the WOman who wins is the WOman who thinks She can

I taped it to the mirror in the bathroom and fixated on it every morning and night while I brushed my teeth. I knew if I didn't believe in myself, I didn't stand a chance. I was like Demosthenes, only I had toothpaste foam dribbling down either corner of my mouth instead of marbles tumbling out. Even if I didn't come in first, I knew I wouldn't lose.

From the events I chose, I did well in the swimming and the soccer kick, and equally as well in tennis and running. The men's obstacle course was much tougher than the one for the women, and I was up against a couple of the world's greatest track athletes. Still, I gave it everything I had. I didn't come in first at the Men's
Superstars,
but I didn't come in last. I was in the money. Should I need one, my war chest was growing.

I flew back to California, where I proceeded to dig in my heels and wait out the full amount due me for the first season with the Gems, who were in the process of repossessing the car they'd given me, and which I'd driven out over the summer. It was clear we were at an impasse.

I flew to Omaha to talk to the owners of a new WBL franchise. I wanted to play and I didn't care how much they paid me. As I went through the practices, I couldn't help but notice that the other players seemed skeptical. I guess I couldn't blame them. After seeing two year's worth of headlines calling me everything from a savior to a demon, no doubt my name left a bad taste in their mouth. Ultimately, I'd never suit up because the owners felt signing me presented too big a risk because the New Jersey Gems were still claiming me as theirs and telling everybody they were just waiting for me to return before they'd pay me.

The owners shrugged in frustration. “They could yank our franchise, Annie.”

Meanwhile, I was waiting to get paid before I'd return. Good thing I didn't hold my breath. More and more signs were popping up that the WBL was not long for this world, and this time the rumblings appeared on the West Coast.
The Orange County Register
had done an expose on the California Dreams team, which had enrolled its players in the John Robert Powers Charm School the previous season. The players weren't at all pleased about being made to learn how to walk, talk, eat, dress, and apply make-up. No doubt it was another lame attempt to doll-up team members in order to debunk sponsors' fears that the players were simply too unfeminine and/or too unattractive.