August 30, 2008 12:47 AM

Starving for attention? A Detroit curse? C’mon. The brawl that broke out between the L.A. Sparks darlings and some Detroit Shock-ers is nothing new and frankly, not particularly newsworthy. So why does it have every stuffy, 40-something, sports newsMAN in the country patting their brow and crossing their legs? News flash: women fighting women.

When the same thing happened four years ago between the Pacers and Pistons in the same locale, sure it was mentioned in the news, but there was nothing catty, feisty, wiry, kinky, sexy or even new about it. No innuendos at the tip of the commentators tongue, no implications ready to surface. Then, it was just two burly men (insert Tim “The Tool Man” Taylor’s grunt here) throwing blows to defend their manhood.

Now, the second fight to break out between female athletes in a week (i.e. Danica Patrick v. Milka Duno) and suddenly that oh-so-flattering term “catfight” has resurrected its poignancy.

Catfight. Think about it. According to Merriam-Webster, a catfight is an intense fight or argument especially between two women. First recorded as the title and subject of a 1824 mock heroic poem by Ebenezer Mack describing a fight between women, the word “cat” had been long established slang for a spiteful person, particularly a woman.

Ok, got it Webster. For centuries now, women have been lucky enough to actually subscribe to a Webster-defined noun that emphasizes our animalistic behaviors, antagonizes our intent and literally mocks our aggression when it comes to our flaring tempers and physical retaliation. It’s actually a crowd-appealing gesture to put two women together and let ‘em go at it (See the oh-so-tasteful Miller Lite ad).

Guys, don’t even pretend that you haven’t stood around a keg with your buddies while two girls started jawing at one another and your immediate reaction wasn’t a smile, giggle or pumped-fist to indicate how turned on you were about to be at the mere idea of them throwin’ down. You could probably recall the time, place and the color of their bras.

What does Webster give men who are airing out their hostility? Brawl. Clash. Scrap. Struggle. The list goes on, and none of the words on that list are even remotely as demeaning or innately derogatory as “catfight.” Where was Webster when it came time to coin a compound term for men and their animalistic tendencies? Probably standing in his own feces drinking the first vat of beer ever brewed mesmerized by two women ripping one another’s corsets and using their hair pins as weapons. 

Bottom line, the mere use of the word “catfight” curtails the legitimacy behind what Candace Parker, DeLisha Milton-Jones and Pienette Pierson were brawling about. In fact, it was more legitimate than what the Pistons and Pacers started fighting about—a drunk fan chucking their beer cup onto the court, allowing mayhem to ensue. At least this time around at The Palace, players were fighting about, oh yea, the game.

So to the Reid Cherner’s and Tom Weir’s of the sports world, pick up your jaws from off the court floor and quit looking for a loophole to justify why two woman might get physical during a game, just like the boys of the NBA do. It’s not a cry for WNBA ratings or an appeal for Mr. Hefner to come calling.

No. If you’re going to report on the Parker-Pierson showdown or the Patrick-Duno mouth-off, then call it what it is: athletes going toe-to-toe for their cause, no matter how insignificant or justifiable that cause may be.