Don't Let the Lipstick Fool You

by Lisa Leslie

  Once Team USA had completed that all-important practice session, we had to figure out a way to get past the demonstrators and back into our hotel. Several streets had been closed because of the protests, but there was a river that ran right behind the hotel, so we loaded the team into boats and started down the waterway. It was a great idea, but we were not able to avoid all of the demonstrators. Some of them were lined up along the banks, and when they saw our boats coming, they started yelling at us, mooning us, and flipping us the finger. I guess you do not earn points if you are a classy demonstrator. The whole thing was nerve-wracking, but I guess it could have been worse. When you think about it, we were sitting ducks out there on those boats. If someone had wanted to harm us, they could have done it very easily.

  The aggravation did not end when we arrived at the hotel, either. Our entire team had to sneak back into the building in order to get to our rooms. The demonstrators had gotten more aggressive, and we did not want to take any chances. From that day on, both the U.S. women’s and men’s basketball teams had to try to outsmart the demonstrators if we wanted to get to practice. We started leaving the hotel around 5:00 AM to avoid the demonstrators, and then we would board our bus and get out of Melbourne as fast as we could. One day, the activists sent a representative from their group, a man with a big Mohawk hairdo, onto our bus to make sure that we were not sneaking Microsoft’s Bill Gates, or some other WEF big shot, out of the hotel. Little did I know that this bizarre experience would mark the start of two of the most exciting years of my basketball career.

  Team USA went into the Olympic competition shorthanded because Chamique Holdsclaw had a stress fracture in her right foot and could not play. That left only eleven players on our roster, but we still managed to blitz through our first seven opponents. That earned us a spot in the gold medal game against the host team, Australia. The Aussies were also undefeated, and they dearly wanted to grab the gold in front of their countrymen. The Australian team had improved greatly, and in 2000 they were planning to make a name for themselves at our expense. We knew that beating the Aussies on their home court in Sydney would be our toughest challenge in the Olympics.

  The Australian roster was jam-packed with WNBA players Sandy Brondello, Michelle Griffiths, Kristi Harrower, and Michelle Timms, plus they had two nineteen-year-olds, Lauren Jackson and Penny Taylor, who would become future WNBA stars. Going into those Olympic Games, there was already a ton of hype about Lauren and me. There was already a rivalry brewing in the media, and basketball fans were arguing about which of us was the better player.

  Team USA wore our white uniforms with the red and blue trim for the deciding game. The Aussies wore their green and yellow one-piece unis, which they call unitards. Kevin Garnett, Vince Carter, and several other U.S. men’s team players were on hand at the Sydney SuperDome to watch the game and cheer us on. Vince wore an American flag, and K.G. was a great cheerleader. It made our team feel great to know that the guys were there to support us. We had emotional inspiration as well. The gold medal game would be the final Olympic appearance for Teresa Edwards, who was retiring from international competition after representing the United States so well, and with so much class, through twenty years of worldwide basketball.

  The Aussie fans were really loud when the gold medal game began. They had their flags and signs, but there were also a lot of Americans in the crowd, and they got something to cheer about when Team USA jumped out to a quick lead. We were too strong and too deep on the inside for Australia, and that helped us to a thirteen-point advantage at halftime.

  Our squad took care of business in the second half, too, but there was controversy coming for Lauren Jackson and me before this game would end. We did not guard each other very much during the game. Our coaches knew that things always seemed to escalate when we matched up, and they were concerned that we might get into foul trouble or worse. We did have some battles, however, and Lauren would curse at me a lot. She was always talking trash and calling me the “B” word. She kept saying, “Get off me, B.” Dawn kept telling me, “Don’t get involved, Lisa. Just play.” I never said one word to Lauren, but she would constantly talk and curse. I did not know what her deal was. I kept wondering, What is wrong with this girl?

  Late in the game, it was pretty obvious that Team USA was going to win the gold medal. I was not completely certain, but when we lined up for a free throw attempt, I thought I saw one of the Australian players tell Lauren to pull my hair. I had been wearing French braids throughout the Olympics. It took about four to six hours to get my hair done in French braids and about two hours to take them down. Since our team was going to fly home after the gold medal game, Nikki McCray and I decided that we would take our braids down prior to Team USA’s showdown with Australia. Once the braids were down, we got some hairpins and attached fake ponytails to our hair. It was simple, and we were ready for the game. Postgame would be more convenient for us as well, because we would not have any hair issues to deal with while we were preparing to leave Sydney.

  Everything was good in the hair department until Lauren Jackson and I started mixing it up late in the game. A long rebound bounced out that neither of us could get to, and as I turned to run up court, Lauren grabbed my ponytail from behind and yanked it right off of my head. How was I supposed to deal with that? The girl had deliberately ripped my hair off. Did I have another Tina Thompson incident on my hands? Would I snap once again and go after Lauren? The answer to all those questions had to be no.

  It was more than a little embarrassing, but I leaned over, picked up my ponytail, tossed it toward the baseline where the photographers sat, and ran down the court. I had learned from the incident with Tina in Houston that I had to be more in control of myself when people were baiting me or talking about me. That was why when Lauren Jackson pulled my ponytail, I was finally at a point where I could say, “It’s okay. I can deal with this!”

  Lauren said afterwards that her fingers got caught in my hair, and when she tried to free them, my ponytail came off. The Australian press made the incident sound as if it was a funny accident. I knew in my heart, however, that Lauren had purposely ripped the hair off my head. I am positive. Lauren Jackson knows that. Her teammates know that, and my teammates know that. There is no doubt in my mind.

  I went back to playing and ran up and down the court a few times before Nell called a time-out. A cameraman brought the ponytail over to the sideline, and the Australian players got a good laugh out of it. When I came back in the game after the time-out, I told myself, Lisa, don’t do anything, but my alter ego was saying, I am going to get you back, Lauren.

  I was on the court, but my head was not in the game, and I could not focus on playing basketball. I don’t think I contributed much down the stretch, because I was thinking a lot more about controlling myself than I was about scoring points. If I had not had that experience with Tina during the summer, I probably would have tried to beat up Lauren while the world watched on TV. It would have been worse than my fight with Tina, because of the global spotlight. It would have been horrible for me, my career, USA Basketball, and the Olympics. I was still seething inside, but I was able to smile at my adversity. I was able to talk my way through it. If I had gone after Lauren Jackson, it would have been really ugly for everyone.

  I was pleased with the way I handled things, and I was really happy just a few minutes later, when Dawn Staley dribbled out the clock, and we had a 76–54 victory and another Olympic gold medal for the United States. Dawn grabbed an American flag, and so did I. DeLisha was doing a celebration dance, and Team USA was feeling pretty good. We had a lot to be proud of. We beat the home team in the gold medal game, plus we helped Teresa Edwards close out her Olympic career with her fourth gold medal.

  We had an opportunity to go back to our locker room before the medal ceremony, so I used that time to put my ponytail back on. I just wrapped it around my bun to make a bigger bun on my head. I put on my lipstick, earrings, and my cute little blue sweat sui
t, and then I headed back to the court, where Team USA received its gold medals. It was just as sweet as the gold we’d won in Atlanta.

  I went over to my mom, but people kept trying to pull me away to do media interviews. Mom was crying and hugging me and telling me I looked beautiful and played well. She also wanted to make sure I was okay after the hair incident.

  I started crying, put my gold medal around Mom’s neck, and told her, “I won this gold medal for you. I’m fine. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”

  As my mom headed for the exit, our Team USA publicity people almost went into cardiac arrest about me not having my gold medal. They said, “No, Lisa, you have to have your gold medal for the pictures and the media interviews.” They had to track down my mom and get my gold medal back so I could wear it to the press conference.

  When I got to the media area, they sat me at a table, next to Robin Roberts, and Lauren Jackson was seated on the other side. I told the reporters how excited I was to win my second Olympic gold medal and how rewarding it was to win the gold by beating Australia on their own home court. When I was asked about the hair-pulling incident, I told the media members, “I know in my heart that Lauren pulled my hair on purpose. She can have the hair. I congratulate her on winning the silver medal, but I got the gold.” I was very satisfied with the outcome, hair or no hair.

  Team USA had gone undefeated in Olympic competition once again, and shortly after we got back to the States, the L.A. Sparks were pulling the trigger on some major moves during the WNBA’s off-season. The team needed strength and depth on the front line, so Penny Toler, our General Manager, traded Allison Feaster and Clarisse Machanguana to Charlotte for Rhonda Mapp, a six-foot-two center who was big, burly, and tough in the paint. The very next day, Penny traded La’Keshia Frett to the Sacramento Monarchs for Latasha Byears, a five-foot-eleven forward who played a physical inside game and had always been a thorn in the side of the L.A. Sparks.

  I had mixed it up with both of those players in the WNBA’s early years. Rhonda Mapp used to try to muscle me when she was with the Sting, and she talked a lot of trash, too. She would always say, “Get some,” after she tried to score, but I used to block her shots and say, “Get this!”

  Latasha was nicknamed Tot by her grandmother and had the name tattooed on her arm. She quickly became known as Toto (pronounced Tott-oh, and not like Dorothy’s dog in The Wizard of Oz). Toto was a real piece of work. When she played for Sacramento, she liked to talk a lot of trash. Many players talked trash, but Toto took it further than everybody else. She would call me the most vulgar names, many of which involved body parts. The “B” word was one of her favorites, but nothing was out of bounds. Crude, over the top, it did not matter. Toto was relentless.

  In one of my more memorable moments playing against her, she was still with the Monarchs. We were lined up next to each other for a jump ball, and Toto kept trying to place her foot over mine to get better position. I knew she was trying to intimidate me, but I was not going to back down. Until this moment, I had ignored all the comments she had made to me on the court. But not this time. I took a good look at her and said, “Don’t let this lipstick fool you! I will knock you out!”

  Early in my career, the knock on me was that I was soft, not physical enough, and could be muscled out of my game. I never really believed that, but my coaches told me, “Lisa, they are going to try to be physical with you. Just keep playing strong.” I was labeled as a finesse player who did not like contact from the day I started playing basketball. I did not consider it an insult. I was used to it. I knew my opponents were going to be physical, so I had to focus on emphasizing my assets. I was faster, so I could outrun them and get layups. I had better footwork, and I could step outside and shoot, or drive around them, to score.

  To me, physical play is just one aspect of the game. If I have to be down low in the post, I know it is going to get rough, but I can handle it. I like doing what people say I cannot do on the court. Moving past their narrow expectations is great motivation for me. It makes me work harder. It is weird how that happens, but it is true. When I am on the court, I do not notice the physical play. I guess my body has become accustomed to the bumping and pushing and vying for better position under the basket; it feels natural. And throughout my career, I have never felt as though I have been pushed around or beat up, though that is what a lot of people think.

  Another thing that I hear all the time is, “Lisa, I love how feminine you are on the court, but you be ballin’! You work hard, but you are so feminine!” I have no idea what they see. What is feminine? I am just being me, on the court and off. I do not put any extra swish in my walk. I am not prissy. I do not run around looking in a mirror all the time, saying, “Don’t mess up my hair,” but I am perceived as feminine, and that is not a bad thing. It has been used against me in my athletic career, but in general, I feel like a woman, and I like that I can bring that quality to my athleticism without either one having to suffer. I like wearing feminine clothes, but I am not consciously trying to be girly. Even as a kid, I did not go to the gym in big, baggy shorts and a long T-shirt, though that was what the boys around me wore. I am no less feminine now than I was then. I am just more visible.

  Back when I first started playing, I wore two pairs of socks, which I pulled up and kept very neat. I would put on my shoes and tie my laces so that they would not drag on the ground and get dirty. Short shorts were in style, and that was fine with me. Longer shorts got in the way and made me hot.

  In high school, I used to make sure that my shoestrings matched my clothes. It was a girl thing. Normally, I wore stud earrings. Those were things that my mom always checked before we left the house. She would say, “Go put your earrings on, and make sure you brush your teeth. Let me check your mouth before you go. And do not even think about walking out that door with that scarf on your head.”

  I also started wearing a little red lipstick before every game. It became part of my pregame routine, no matter who we played or where we played. To me, it seemed natural. My mom wore lipstick when she drove her truck. And if my aunts were in a room and someone wanted to snap a picture, they would all yell, “Wait, wait, wait,” so that they could reach into their bras and pull out a tube of lipstick. And they all had lipstick!

  On the basketball court, my uniform is always neat. When I tuck it into my jersey, it rarely comes out unless one of my opponents yanks it out. I still wear lipstick for each game, and now I wear mascara and sometimes blush. But really, my appearance has more to do with presenting myself well and having pride in who I am, how I look, what I do, and what I represent than with being feminine. I know that every time I step on the court, I am going to be watched and judged by thousands of people, so I work hard to showcase myself and the game in the best way that I know how. I know that I cannot please everybody, but I maintain my standard of how I want to represent myself. Hopefully, that is pleasing to about 90 percent of the people. I cannot waste time on the other 10 percent. Life is just too short.

  I have heard people say that success happens when preparation meets opportunity. That is where I am today, sitting at that intersection, so to speak. But to stay there, I have to focus on the things that have worked for me: training hard, playing hard, and being myself. It is the only way I know how to be. And I would hate to miss my next opportunity because I am preoccupied with other people’s ideas of how I should or should not be. It is not worth it.

  So I guess you could say that I am different.

  I know that my teammates talk about me. They always have, but it does not bother me. I respect them for who they are. All I ask is that they respect me for who I am. I tell them, “You don’t have to like me, but you are gonna respect me.” As long as we can meet each other halfway, I am fine.

  With this in mind, I knew that my issues with trusting other people were keeping me from some potentially rewarding relationships with my teammates, and I wanted to be more open. That was my outlook when Latasha “Toto” Byears
and Rhonda Mapp joined the Sparks for the 2001 season. We had been bitter opponents, but now we were teammates, and everybody needed to start over with a clean slate. All I cared about was what Toto and Rhonda did at work. And I knew they would bring much-needed attitude and strength to our team.

  Once Toto got to L.A., I was not judgmental. I did not try to impress her. I just showed her respect. I would go hard at her and Rhonda. They did not see the lipstick chick or the girly girl who was on the posters. They saw somebody who brought her best game every day and worked very hard. They had to respect my game. And with the level of respect there and everybody working hard, we were fine.

  Every day Toto and Rhonda proved how important they could be to the Sparks and to me. Rhonda was a very physical player. Coach Cooper made her believe that the paint was her territory, so in practices, she was supposed to keep me out of her area. My job was to get past her and do my thing. My mind-set was, That is my house. Rhonda is not going to keep me out of my house! We had some amazing battles.

  Toto had fast hands, and she knew that her defensive strength was getting the ball out of my hands before I could bring it up to take a shot. She forced me to protect the ball, because if I did not grab it with authority, she was going to take the basketball away from me. Toto was strong, too. She was not tall, but she would body up on me and would not give an inch. I knew that I was in for a physical practice every day, so I had to become a more physical player.

  We still had DeLisha “D” Milton up front as well. She was physical and extremely quick. D brought a different dimension to the game for me. I had to slow down, be patient, and play smart basketball against her. She forced me to outthink her, because I knew that D was quick and could steal the ball.