Athlete's Stage or Bedroom?

August 1999
Originally published by The Master Report (Sacramento, CA)

For an entire generation of kids growing up in the 70's and 80's, myself included, Julius Erving represented basketball grace. His stylish moves in running the court and canning seemingly impossible buckets was his trademark. Before Michael Jordan existed, there was Dr. J.

Well, it seems that no icon in America these days is without dirt. Early last month, it was revealed that Erving is the father of 18-year-old tennis pro Alexandra Stevenson, who was a semifinalist at Wimbledon. After denying the story repeatedly, he finally admitted it. What's wrong with that, you might ask? Well, for starters, Erving is already married. Second, he has four other children with his wife. And to top it all off, Alexandra's mother, Samantha Stevenson, is not only a prominent sportswriter, but also one who is notorious for stirring things up in the sports media department.Erving is Black. Samantha Stevenson is White.

Now, this should be no surprise to hardened, cynical sports enthusiasts who have grown quite accustomed to hearing athletes make the news just as much for various indiscretions as for game-winning, show-stealing headlines. But as for pure tastelessness and reprehensible tactics by a media that will stop at nothing to expose a public figure's feet of clay, this one take the cake.

I think the majority of us would be very offended if an outside source made an intrusion on our personal lives, keeping track of who we have had relations with and when. It's irrelevant, folks. An athlete's performance should supercede whatever he is doing behind the scenes unless he's breaking the law. What he decides to do in his own bedroom is his own business. Back in the old days, a carousing sports star was merely winked at. It was journalistically impossible to shout that the emperor had no clothes--not unless you wanted to keep your job in front of a typewriter. It was assumed that sports stars were your basic comic book, infallible heroes and family men. By now, however, everyone knows different. It's common knowledge that athletes and infidelity go hand in hand, and Erving is certainly not the first prominent athlete to sleep around with other women. Certainly, countless other males in our society have had irresponsible sexual relations with women. Erving was wrong for first having an extramarital affair, and then attempting to hide what the public already knew. Yet the whole way this was handled both amuses and exasperates me.

Does an athlete's stage include the bedroom? I think not. When a fan opens the morning paper at breakfast, does he look for a graph in the box score on how many women a certain player took to bed the night before? I don't think so. Does a fan ultimately keep his eyes peeled for headlines and information relevant to the game itself? I would dare venture to think a good majority of sports fans hold that paramount over a bunch of sickening gossip.

So why did we, at this late date, decide to vigorously pursue the matter of who is Alexandra's father? Where were we 18 years ago? And why are we so surprised and steamed over the news that Erving and Samantha Stevenson came to an agreement that Erving would support Alexandra financially but not be a part of her life? Whose child is this, anyway? While we're getting all worked up over Erving's promiscuity, has anyone any ideas or perspectives on the difficulty of being a single parent, which Samantha agreed to? Have standards slipped so much in the sporting world that we are compelled to have tabs handy not only on what a player's scoring average is, but who he is having relationships with? Is it any of our business? Granted, it is still a relative shock because until quite recently, it was considered both taboo and risky for a Black man to openly court, date and have sexual relations with a White woman. In many ways, that unwritten law still applies.

This is the 21st century, folks. We should not be too overly galled by anything we see and hear in this day and age, especially by a media that will peer down your throat and tell you what you had for dinner last night. Live with it. And while we're at it, get the scoreboards out of the bedrooms and back on the playing fields and courts where they belong.