Advertiser








    


It's a Girl Thing
Athletic prowess
draws all kinds of fans
to Mac Court.

Story by Sally Sheklow
Photos by Linda Smogor

It's a girl thing. Not that it's just for girls, not by a long shot. UO women's basketball fans are a mix of men and women, young and old, singles, couples and families, gay and straight. People who love women. Especially big, powerful, fast, sweaty women.

Appreciating women and their athletic prowess accounts for a big part of the UO Women's Basketball fan phenomenon, but there's got to be more to it. What makes thousands of otherwise ordinary people buy season tickets, come to every game, cheer till they're hoarse and, win or lose, love every minute of it? These folks go nuts at the games and are completely gaga for the team.

I have one friend, a total basketball junkie, who yells so loud at women's games she brings ear plugs for anyone who complains. She's on her second case.

It doesn't hurt that the Ducks are on a winning streak and have been Pac 10 champions two years in a row. But is that the only reason attendance for women's basketball at McArthur Court has tripled in the last few years? This team has more fans than any other school in its league. What's the deal? On a cold winter Tuesday night I head over to campus to see if I can find out.

I arrive at MacArthur Court (aka Mac Court, aka The Pit) and wait in line.
"To be a good fan you have to yell and whistle and go crazy," instructs Christina, a middle-schooler who comes to all the games. She's in line an hour and a half before the doors open, with her mom and her mom's girlfriend. "I know all the players, how tall they are, where they're from, and all the players on the other teams, too." Christina plunges her hands into the pockets of her thin sweatshirt. "Being a fan is fun. Women can't dunk, they have to play strategic offense, be more tactical."

I am impressed. At her age, all I knew about basketball strategy was when to cheer
R-E-B-O-U-N-D. An athletic 30-something woman in a rain parka gets in line behind me. I ask her to explain the fan thing to me.

"The fans make a huge difference," she says. "There's a lot of loyalty, it's like a religion. Lesbians are visible and accepted here. Lots of lesbian moms bring their kids. All kinds of
people come to the games, everyone puts their differences aside and everyone's included."
I ask her about the coach. "People support Jody, she built up the team, fought for pay
parity. I admire her for that. Women's basketball fans respect women."

Inside The Pit is bright, loud, immense. Basketball shoes screech and chirp across the court. Harsh white light glares off the polished maple floor. Hot popcorn scents the air. A couple of players lie back on the court and stretch their long muscular legs. I nab a front row seat.
The hollow "plunk" of bouncing basketballs echoes everywhere. A massive PA system blares the thump-thump-crash of rap music. A man with three daughters, a plump eight-year-old and twin tow-headed four-year-olds clamber up to their backless seats behind me. Groups of young girls cluster together in front of the stands, choosing where to sit. Pony tails, sparkles on their faces, baseball caps -- girls everywhere.

I ask a kid totally decked out in green and yellow about her get up. She has painted a green heart on one cheek and a UO logo on the other. Rachel is nine and has been coming to these games since she was a baby. She shows off the UO colors on her tie dyed shirt and even on her hair scrunchie. "I tried putting green marker in my hair but it didn't show up." Green and Gold Mardi Gras beads criss-cross her chest like a bandoleer. More beads form bracelets that slide up her slender wrist when she puts her arm around her pal Allison. The girls help each other think of all the things it takes to be a good fan. "You have to scream when they make a point." The buddies shriek their example.

"And come to all the games."

"Clapping and stomping."

"Gotta have a ton of posters and go to basketball games. Good fans make so much noise it almost pops my eardrums."

Rachel and Allie wander around together before they take their seats. A woman and a girl sit together in the VIP seats near me. Mother and daughter, I assume. They have their arms around each other, snuggle lovingly and chat.

A squad of cheerleaders clusters together near the end of the court where I'm sitting. The men are clean-cut, wear long white pants, white shoes and white letter sweaters. The women are petite, muscular and made up to the hilt. They all have long hair, styled and sprayed into place and wear white, pleated mini-skirts that show green underpants every time they jump, which they do a lot. Their short, tight-fitting tops expose bare midriffs. A gold ring glints from a pierced navel. Their naughty athletic Barbie look seems out of context here, at this women-of-power fest. I find out they're on scholarship and credit them with finding a way to get their education. There's room for all kinds in this local haven of diversity.

I climb up to the back row to talk to die-hard fans Ray and Janet. They've lived in Eugene for 45 years. "The girls are getting bigger and taller. I'm 71 and I don't remember girls being built like this," Ray booms.

"I'm 68," a guy with bushy eyebrows chimes in from his nearby seat, "and I sure don't remember girls this big when we were in school." The men are on a roll.

"I don't know where in the hell they come from," Ray laughs. "What do they eat?"

The man with the bushy eyebrows enjoys the joke and then gets serious, "I've been coming to games since 1992. I can't get excited about men's basketball where they just run and shoot. This is more of a team game."

"There 's a spirit, a chemistry between the fans and the team," Ray explains. "I like the coach, too. I like looking up to her. She's six-foot-five and I'm six-two," Ray is more proud than competitive or threatened. "She's an intelligent coach. This is the only game in town."

When she appears at the Duck's bench, I walk over and introduce myself. Coach Jody Runge is tall, glamorous, commanding. A former collegiate all-star herself, she's credited with elevating the Oregon team to one of the nation's best. I tell Jody I'm writing a story about the fan phenomenon. Jody loves the fans. "We have the top crowds," she brags. "Our fans are knowledgeable, they know the game."

Jody understands the fans come for something more than just basketball.

"These players know they are role modeling for young families. What the players do as a team is entertainment but they know it also helps raise girls' self esteem." No wonder the kids love this team so much. "The players really love the fans," Jody continues as if she's reading my mind. "Their favorite thing is playing at Mac Court in front of their fans."

By now the game is ready to start and my neck is getting stiff from looking up at Jody. We shake hands and I hustle back to my seat. Her hands are huge, strong, elegant.

"What brings you to these games?" I ask a white-haired woman sitting against the rail near my front-row spot. "I like to watch the girls," she says, "We finally have permission. I'm 85. I used to play high school basketball in California. Back then the girls teams played half court three-on-three. Now I'm here for all the games."

Her past is not where her interest lies tonight. "I like #54 Breanne Maharry, and #40 Angelina Wolvert." She points fondly to glossy pictures in the official program like she was showing off her grandkids. "I save all the newspaper clippings for their mothers."

Someone wearing a big fuzzy duck costume with large orange duck feet waddles onto the court. The announcer's upbeat and friendly welcome buzzes over the loudspeaker. The Duck Mascot encourages fans to cheer for the visiting team as they're introduced. The fans applaud mildly, a courtesy to the opponents. A few boos burble up from the far end of the court as the players step into The Pit and line up with their coach.

"Here they come!" the eight-year-old next to me can barely contain herself. People start stomping their feet on the bleachers. The announcer's now enthusiastic voice is barely audible over the swelling rumble: Welcome the women of the Oregon Ducks!"

Fans leap to their feet hooting and squealing. One by one the players run onto the court to the wild cheers of their fans. The announcer yells out the players' names. They each jog onto the court and toss something into the stands. People shriek and scramble. What is it, a rolled up towel? Do they actually bring their sweaty towels up from the locker room and throw them to the fans? The plump eight-year-old next to me explains it through a mouthful of hot dog. They're throwing T-shirts. The team will autograph them after the game.

When the announcer calls out "Jenny Mowe" the already yelling fans let loose a deafening roar. The Oregon Fight Song comes on the PA system (the band isn't back from vacation yet) and everyone starts clapping and stomping even louder than before. "The big tall girl is Jenny Mowe," the eight-year-old yells to her sisters, making sure they lock in on her hero. The Duck Mascot struts past, unnecessarily encouraging cheers from the stands.

Then all goes quite for The National Anthem. The Duck Mascot's big fuzzy tail bulges toward me when s/he turns to face an American flag hanging from the third tier. This will be the last quiet moment of the evening.

Suddenly everyone is clapping, shouting, hooting. "Let's go Jen," calls Christina from the stands. Like it's her big sister, her personal pal. Everyone is yelling. "Hands up, hands up!" I pick out girls voices calling to their favorite players. "Go Ange," "Come on Ndidi," "You got it, Alyssa."

The teams thunder across the court in a flurry of satin uniforms. Their huge feet pummel the floor. The bleachers shake. The ball changes hands and players stampede back down toward the other basket. Their long legs propel them back again. The scores on the board keep going up.

Basketball jerseys fly by in a blur. Whistles, buzzers, more cheering. "Come on Jenny, put it in there." Christina yells. Jenny makes the free throw. The crowd erupts. The eight-year-old pumps the air with her pudgy fist, "Yes!" Someone yells "Go Angelina!" and one of the twins repeats "Angelina."

The other team has the ball now and speeds toward their basket. In a split second 6'3" senior Angelina Wolvert steals the ball and turns the herd around. The fans go nuts. Christina leaps to her feet, thrusts both fists into the air and shoots me a glance, as in "Is this the greatest or what?" I grin back.

You get the sense that these fans are not only proud of the players, but they're interested in the player's lives and rooting for their personal success.

Carl and Mary Anne have been coming to games since the '80s. They both teach at UO and like to see their students play. She's interested in ballet and dance history, bodies in motion. He's a jazz musician, likes the similarity in structure and improvisation. "You never know what's going to happen." They share their thoughts on the fan phenom.

Carl says "Watching the women play gives you that 'you can do anything' feeling."

"It's pure basketball," Mary Anne adds. "Like on the ESPN classics. Men don't play that way anymore." Mary Anne likes the atmosphere, feels safe here. "It's not crazy, not going for blood like the men's games." Carl says, "We know people, know where they sit. Sue here is a real booster."

Sue appears to be in her late 80s. I ask her what brings her to the games. "Oh, I like the girls. You know how big Jenny Mowe is? Her shoes are size 15 men's!" Sue is the fifth fan to mention this important statistic to me tonight. On the way back to my seat I pass an energetic gaggle of fifth graders. One of them is celebrating her 11th birthday. They've gone all out with green and yellow face paint and Duck gear. The game resumes and the girls scream and shout their encouragement to the team.

It's getting late for little kids. The twins are sprawled on dad's lap now. One is running yellow plastic pompon strands absently across her lips. Their eight-year-old sister yawns. "I wish you could be here when it's really wild. It's fun to be a part of it," she tells me. I ask if she'd rather be like the players or the cheerleaders. A loaded question, I know, but I feel compelled to make sure she knows she has a choice. "I'd rather be like the players, I'm better at what the players do." I'm thinking maybe it's not so bad to have a variety of role models. Girls can think for themselves.

During the whole game coach Jody never sits. Even though the ducks are way ahead no one leaves early. When the game ends at 67-29, the fans stand and applaud. The Oregon fight song comes back on the PA system and the players head off to the locker room. Jody puts on a set of headphones for the post game interview. Her voice resonates over the loudspeakers, thanking the fans.

"You have the top attendance in the country. You're there no matter what happens. We miss you when we're gone."

When the team comes back their young fans are there to greet them. Three tall girls, seventh and eight graders, approach 6'3" Alyssa Frederick and politely ask for autographs. They all want to be on a team someday. "We like the women because we know we can be like them," they tell me. These girls come to all the games with the season tickets their parents gave them for Christmas (not a bad gift for kids at $75 a pop.)

Their conversation shows more self-assurance and wisdom than I ever had as a Beatle-crazy 14-year-old.

"It's great to watch the way they play. All the steals and the teamwork. They huddle, they communicate."

"They give each other a lot of support"

"Usually women don't get that kind of attention at home. That's why we're here."

"Yeah, guys say women can't play basketball but they can and we can."

"We like the game, the team, and we like Jody."

Alyssa says, "Fans give us lots of energy. We play better. They make us feel like we can never lose. We appreciate the girls and the older women, this means a lot to them."

She's on to something, how women feel connected to the team's power, their rise toward equality with men in sports.

My middle school friend, Christina, gets Jenny Mowe's autograph. Her cheeks flush red with the thrill of it. A shy kid named Zoë is Jenny's biggest fan. " Zoë's great," Jenny says. She writes me letters and comes to basketball camp. Every once in a while you have a little kid who makes you play harder." Zoë beams up at her 6'5" idol.

Jenny says, "Fans are great. After the game they're sweet. They say it's OK if we lose. They're great."


Table of Contents | News & Views | Arts & Entertainment
Classifieds | Personals | EW Archive