Brownie takes in North Texas vs. Cameron

Longtime readers of TY Sports will recall that from time to time, we call upon a member of the Professional Sportswriter Fraternity to help our sad little basement dwelling blogger minds process the world of sports. When faced with truly significant matters that no mere blogger dares to tackle, we turn to a real live sportswriter to tell the tales for us.

In this edition, Dallas/Fort Worth sportswriting legend and occasional TY Sports contributor Brownie Sherridan was dispatched to Denton to cover the North Texas Basketball home opener from a Serious Sports Perspective.

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Back in 1891, Mr. James Naismith invented the immaculate sport of "Basket-Ball". Two teams of men. Two peach baskets. One ball. Perfection on hard wood.

Ever since, folks have been doing their darnedest to screw the game up. First, they made up some cockamamie super shot worth more than two points. Then they decided to let the ethnics start playing**. Next thing you know, nobody takes set shots anymore. The warm up suits are made out of satin and the shorts all have piping on them, so you can't tell whether you're watching men at sport or a bunch of two-bit street floozies trying to turn their next trick.


The day they decided to let players touch the rim was the day I quit watching altogether. And when the boys asked me to go cover whatever passes for Basket-Ball these days, I was none too keen on the notion.

But I'd make myself a liar if I said I didn't miss the game at least a little bit. And the boys promised me I'd get to see at least a few layups. So I gritted my dentures and hopped a streetcar to the Super Pit in Denton.


The good Mr. Naismith must be spinning like a top. My misty eyes couldn't even recognize the faintest glimmer of what Basket-Ball used to be. As if replacing the peach basket bottoms with netting wasn't already bad enough, some joker went ahead and took down the hoops altogether. And from the looks of things, they don't use a ball anymore, either!


If there aren't any baskets and there aren't any balls, how can they still get away with calling it Basket-Ball?

But the worst, dear reader, the worst revelation was still to come. I punched a hole through my fedora the first time I saw a Basket-Ball player with hair down over his ears. But I'd trade all the crew cuts in the world to erase the memory of what I witnessed in Denton this evening...

They've gotten rid of men entirely, and replaced them with clattering metal monstrosities! Flesh and blood pushed aside in favor of steam powered contraptions!

Your loyal scribe can't tell you which team won, because these wingtips turned back around and walked right on through the exit doors. I won't call a woman in pants a lady, and I won't dignify the abomination I witnessed tonight by calling it Basket-Ball.

No sir. I leave this foolishness to the fools who don't know any better.



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** - ED: While we don't condone Brownie's unsavory views on segregated sports, we are contractually obligated to print his columns without any modifications save the insertion of supporting photographs. While we shake our heads at his narrow-mindedness and intolerance of immigrants, we hope readers will understand that for a man who grew up in the 1880's, racial and ethnic tolerance comes slowly.