We've seen some epic sports meltdowns in our time.
Remember when Billy Martin, the man who could interpret the most cheerful "Good morning" as fighting words, went after Reggie Jackson in the Yankees' dugout?
Remember when John Chaney, the combustible Temple basketball coach who always looks like he's just returned from a three-day bender in Vegas with the Rat Pack, tried to choke then-Massachusetts coach John Calipari in a post-game press conference?
Who can forget the time Mike Tyson bit off the ear of Evander Holyfield in the ring?
Now, friends, an owner of our new ABA franchise, the Rhythm, in her own wacky way, has demonstrated to America that women in the sports world need take a backseat to no man.
Sally Anthony made history several months ago when she hired the first woman ever to coach a men's professional basketball team.
Dang if she didn't do it again Saturday when she became the first team owner to stomp over to the bench in mid-game, unleash a profanity-laced tirade that would have made Jack Nicholson's character in The Last Detail wince, fire her trail-blazing coach on the spot, get dragged out by security (whom she also tried to fire), take a whack at a player's brother, and then threaten to shut down the whole team if the players sided with the coach—all apparently without consulting her two equal partners in ownership.
Somewhere in the beyond, at least if they have cable where he is, Billy Martin has to be letting out a respectful whistle.
The least nutty explanation for the hissyfit, dog-cussing fracas at Allen Arena last Saturday night is that Sally Anthony is utterly nuts.
All other ways lies madness.
If I were advising Ms. Anthony, the aspiring singer whose newly released CD is called—I ain't makin' this up—Vent, I'd recommend a plea of temporary insanity. That certainly beats the judgment of permanent insanity in the court of public opinion.
What else but a bout of the crazies would explain why Anthony would hail the signing of former Vanderbilt star Matt Freije to a two-game contract on Thursday (according to Rhythm GM Daniel Bucher, Anthony had ordered Freije to be signed by any means necessary)—then claim on Sunday that she had been kept in the dark about Freije's deal and disapproved?
How else to explain why Anthony—the night after Freije had scored 30 points—would order her coach, Ashley McElhiney, not to use the player to whom she had contracted to pay $10,000 for two evenings' work?
How else to explain why the woman whose Web site describes her as a "role model" (warning labels for explicit lyrics on her CDs notwithstanding) would spout profanity and flip birds in Lipscomb's family-friendly gym?
And we still can't quite explain why Anthony wound up in the ER on Sunday. She told The Tennessean that she fell down some stairs. She explained to The City Paper that a dog had bitten her. (A photo on Anthony's Web site, which would be bizarre even if it weren't eerily prophetic, depicts the artist with a swollen cheek and a black eye.)
And, a full day after her own public Chernobyl, she claimed she still hadn't talked to her fellow owners about why she fired McElhiney—even though one of those owners is her husband.
Some witnesses among the 1,200 or so at Allen Arena believed Anthony was drunk, high or both. But that wouldn't explain the lingering weirdness after any abused substance had time to leave her system.
Some are convinced the whole tawdry episode is Anthony's idea of a publicity stunt—a controlled detonation calculated to bring attention to her spinning-in-sand musical career. Marketing a singer in a straitjacket may be one of the few angles the Music Row moguls have never thought of. But, to many who saw it up close, the tirade appeared very real—and didn't end once Anthony left public view.
If it was a gimmick, she certainly got the pub. The story made national news from CNN to ESPN. The Rhythm suddenly became the lead subject on sports talk shows. The fan forum on Anthony's Web site was so deluged with irate postings about her courtside behavior that the comment pages were shut down sometime Monday.
The Rhythm's scheduled practice session was shut down Monday, too. Instead, officials slated a closed-door team meeting. Phone calls went unreturned (and unanswered). Players left tight-lipped.
Tuesday morning, a short announcement came, apologizing to McElhiney, Lipscomb, the public and everyone else. It then continued, "The organization is reviewing the sequence of events and will have a decision on a course of action as soon as possible." Maybe Anthony would follow through on her threat to 86 the franchise. Maybe the Rhythm would 86 Anthony.
For the team's sake—and for Anthony's—basketball fans can only hope it will be the latter scenario.
