grew up in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania. My first love was field hockey. So when I was accepted to Yale in 1969, I walked through the university gates with my hockey stick tucked under my arm. After signing up for college classes I wanted to try out for the team. I asked around and was surprised to hear that Yale didn't have a women's hockey team.
When I told the athletic department that I wanted to start one, they looked at me like I was from Mars. So a classmate and I began holding informal practices, knocking the ball around one of the quads. Our sophomore year, the school finally gave us a "practice field" — a grassy area that was used as a parking lot on football weekends. Monday practices started with picking up charcoal briquettes and beer cans left over from tailgating parties.
I'll never forget our first road game at Princeton. Unlike us, the Princeton players had official hockey uniforms. We were in cut-off jeans and tee-shirts — not exactly top of the line. We ended up borrowing uniforms from Southern Connecticut State's team. The night before the game we were housed in two of Princeton's famed eating clubs. Both were hosting wild parties. Half of our team slept in an attic room with no locks on the doors. Princeton guys showed up in the middle of the night, laughing hysterically at us. The next day we were totally exhausted. Princeton won by a goal.
After playing for nearly three years under these conditions, it was time someone started paying attention to us. I asked the Yale Daily News to cover our games. I was told that staff members didn't know anything about "girls' sports," and it was clear they were in no rush to find out. So after field hockey season ended, I started covering all the women's games myself. I loved it and realized I wanted to become a reporter.
fter journalism school I landed a job at the New York Daily News — an exciting, freewheeling place in the mid-1970s. I spent two years as a city reporter covering a broad range of topics from City Hall to New York's fiscal crisis to life on the Bowery. Since I still kept track of what was happening in women's sports, I knew that the Queens College women's basketball team was ranked as one of the best in the country in 1976. I ventured into the sports department's dingy office and said to one of the editors: "You know Queens College is playing in the national championships? Are you covering it?" At first, the answer was "No." Then the editor thought a moment and asked me if I'd like to cover the tournament. I jumped at the opportunity. The stories were edited down to a couple of short paragraphs, but I had a great time writing them.
When the 1976 Olympics opened its doors to women basketball players for the first time, none of the male sports reporters were interested in covering it. So I got my first big break. I went to Montreal and covered women's basketball at the 1976 Olympics. While I was there, I also covered women's gymnastics, track and field, and men's and women's swimming and diving.
My experience playing sports was an asset to my reporting. It gave me insight into the rigor, discipline and struggles of any athletic endeavor. I covered women's events the same way I would report any event — no cutesy phrases, no bad puns, no descriptions of their hairstyles or makeup, no questions about how someone's marriage was holding up under the spotlight or whether she hope