W(hy) N(ot women's) B(asketball as long as it involves chicks shoving each other onto their) A(sses?)

Can it be a coincidence that less than a week after I mention the WNBA for the first time in my life, the biggest event in the history of the league takes place?

No, it cannot.

Or can it?

Yes, it can. And who should be in the middle of it all but my new favorite player, Cheryl Ford, whose police mug shot (below, again) I featured last Friday. Ford tore her ACL in the game, and is now out for the season. Unfortunately she got injured on an earlier play, not in the fracas itself, which would have made her "I'm afraid of contact" quip that much more ironic. Or less ironic. I'm not sure which.




"There's no doubt that there has been a tremendous amount of attention," WNBA president Donna Orender said, "but it's not the type of attention that we seek."

Perhaps another marketing axiom is now in play: There's no such thing as bad press. Don't get me wrong. Homunculus isn't about to hunker down with a Cosmo and his bitches and turn on a WNBA game. But if a brawl breaks out, he will watch the highlights. Online. The next day.

[Cue chauvinistic catfight meow sound & scratching-claw gesticulation.]

Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!