John Solomon

The two-month WNBA season wrapped up last Saturday as the Houston Comets defeated the New York Liberty, 65-51, in a championship game in front of an enthusiastic sellout crowd of 16,285. The final was typical of many WNBA games: intensely-played yet somewhat sloppy with only occasional flashes of brilliance. It was ultimately decided by the individual athletic prowess of the league’s Most Valuable Player, 34-year-old Comets guard Cynthia Cooper, who scored 25 points with a combination of acrobatic driving layups and quick-release, long-range jump shots.

What was striking about the WNBA, to those who expected the women’s game to be “different,” were the similarities of the style of play, showmanship and sportsmanship to the men’s game. That the fairer sex’s version would automatically be kinder and gentler was dispelled early on: Before the league had even reached its halfway point, two of the original eight head coaches had already been fired.

The new league had ridden the wave of good will and excitement generated by the 1996 Olympic gold medal-winning Women’s Dream Team, whose appeal stemmed almost as much from what they appeared not to be — part of an increasingly selfish, mercenary and inaccessible male professional sports world. In contrast to the high-flying, individualistic exploits of the men, the women’s game would stress below-the-rim, fundamental excellence. In radio ads, the New York Liberty touted their “100 percent pure … team game”; a handmade sign often seen inside arenas this summer claimed: “Men Invented Basketball, Women Perfected It.”

I was one of those early basketball “difference” believers. Before the Olympics, I challenged Dream Team star Sheryl Swoopes — who joined the Comets after missing half of the season to give birth to a baby boy — to a game of one-on-one for Self magazine. The resulting article’s lead paragraph read: “I love the way women play basketball. Shrewdly. Gracefully. Below the rim. The classic game as it existed before slam-dunkers dumbed it down.” Also, Swoopes trounced me, 21-11.

Leslie’s slam-dunk bid and Cooper’s dazzling offensive moves quickly dispelled the notion that the WNBA would just be a gravity-challenged, slow-motion counterpoint to the men’s game. (Another indication may be that Swoopes named her son Jordan.) In addition, the classiness and collaboration shown by such male players as the Bulls’ Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen and the Jazz’s Karl Malone and John Stockton continue to provide an object lesson in a “team game” to either sex. The WNBA teams have seemed unsure whether to aim for that 100 percent pure team play or for one-on-one NBA athleticism. The result for much of the season was a lot of errant passing, out-of-control dribbling and shaky shooting. The quality of play improved as the summer went on, but there were still a number of WNBA contests that resembled rec center pickup games.

The WNBA is not the only game in town. A competitor, the American Basketball League, completed its five-month season in nine smaller cities this past winter. The ABL’s longer schedule attracted a number of top players, thinning the overall quality for both leagues. However, it does not have the WNBA’s deep pockets or management expertise, and though the ABL drew respectable crowds, its sponsorship and broadcast deals are limited. In the sports world of the ’90s, if a jump shot falls in the basket, but no one sees it on television, it didn’t really fall.

That’s why WNBA organizers have focused more on assuring the league’s financial footing than its basketball footwork. Orchestrated by the unparalleled marketing machine of the NBA, the league’s launch in June was backed by multimillion-dollar blue-chip corporate sponsorship deals and national television contracts with ESPN, Lifetime and NBC. Leslie’s dunk might have failed, but that didn’t stop several WNBA players from dunking Chicken McNuggets in a national McDonald’s commercial.

But if the play has not been entirely the thing, the fans didn’t seem to mind. “The games I’ve seen so far have been pretty sloppy,” said 21-year-old Talaya Centeno from her Madison Square Garden loge seat during a recent Liberty matchup. “But the idea that there even is a women’s pro league is the most important thing. At this point, skills are secondary. They’ll come in time.” And for this Knicks fan at least, accustomed to a sea of middle-aged men in pinstripes, it’s refreshing to see the Garden filled with young girls in braids.

But if the Knicks could use lessons on sportsmanship and self-control, the Liberty are in no position to tutor. Neither Rebecca Lobo, the team’s ex-Olympian, a 6-4 workhorse, nor guard Theresa “Teaspoon” Weatherspoon, a Garden favorite with her slashing drives to the hoop and theatrical “no-look” passes, were shy about expressing open disdain with referees. During one game, forward Vickie Johnson had to be separated from coming to blows with the Phoenix Mercury’s Nancy Lieberman-Cline.

What does it all portend? It turns out that, just like the men’s game, there are a wide range of personalities, backgrounds and styles. And it’s that diversity that makes the WNBA’s future so bright. Leslie, Swoopes, Cooper, Lobo, Weatherspoon, all very different players, are the first high-profile faces of feminism to successfully cut across age, race, gender and ideology: role models to girls and boys; admired by women; palatable to younger men who grew up with athletic girls and to dads who are now as rabid about their daughters’ on-court exploits as their sons’.

It comes after the failure of Denver Mayor Wellington E. Webb’s campaign to transfer the Mile High name to the new facility before the Broncos sold sponsorship rights to Invesco, a Denver-based mutual funds company, for $120 million.

The Post’s own editorial page approvingly noted that the paper’s move has “aided and abetted this public rebellion.”

Striking Invesco Field from the stylebook has been further hailed by many columnists around the country as a brave stand against the overcommercialization of pro sports. It may turn out to be the climax of a growing national media backlash against corporate stadium names.

“The Post is on the side of the common man here. Fans are sick of corporations using stadiums for exposure. Dot-com this, airline that,” opined Mitch Albom on ESPN’s “The Sports Reporters.”

Concurred Sports Illustrated’s marquee columnist Rick Reilly in “Corpo-name Disease: Stop the Madness”:

“Rise up, citizens of Canada and the U.S.! After all, do you really need nine North American sports venues named after airlines? … A hex from the bottom of your hexer the community-crumbling megacompanies that try to steal your sense of who you are and where you are! Vow never to let a single corpo-name poison your lips!”

Yet, as popular as the Post’s decision may be in the press, it is — to mix a sports metaphor — way off base. To paraphrase Albom, the paper may have put itself on the side of the common man’s feelings, but not of his wallet. It’s populism that isn’t in the popular interest.

It has become an easy slam dunk to take a shot at Invesco Field, AmericanAirlines Arena, Network Associates Coliseum and all those other strange-sounding facilities. But Albom, Reilly and others are only giving the public half the story. In these screeds, it is often implied that there will be no financial consequences for the taxpayer. What happens if the “hex” works? Who will replace the shortfall?

The Post believes that since the public picked up three-fourths of the $400 million price tag through an increased sales tax, they should be able to choose the name. But it makes little sense to sock them with even more of the tab by giving up the Invesco money. In fact, selling the naming rights is the kind of private funding that cities need to embrace as an alternative to the traditional use of the local treasury as an ATM.

Mayor Webb has argued that the “Mile High” name not only helps local tourism but also reminds Broncos opponents that they are 5,280 feet above sea level. Yet, is a little intimidation worth tens of millions of tax dollars?

The same ‘aura’ argument will undoubtedly be raised when the idea of renaming a redeveloped Yankee Stadium is considered. Replacing the Yankee name will undoubtedly be viewed as a sacrilege by many. But New Yorkers cannot have it both ways. Yes, it would be ideal to retain the traditional designation, but the financial tradeoff is too high. Nostalgia has a cost.

The only way the Yankee name should be retained is if New Yorkers are given the choice and decide to forgo the cash to keep the cachet. Voters in the Green Bay, Wis., area decided in a referendum that the NFL’s Packers should sell the naming rights rather than raise taxes to pay for improvements to hallowed Lambeau Field.

In an ideal world, sports arenas would be privately funded and would not have corporate names. But cities should not let the best be the enemy of the better. Franchises should actually be encouraged to maximize their commercial potential in order to minimize public funding. A model is the San Francisco Giants, which sold everything in Pac Bell Park to corporate sponsors — right down to the Webvan cup holders on the back of each stadium seat — but did not ask for government subsidies to build it.

Opposition to corporate naming of stadiums is usually portrayed as nobly keeping the barbarians of modern commercialism from getting even further inside the arena gates. Usually overlooked is that this is not a new phenomenon. Once, it was common for team owners to put their names on their stadiums — i.e., Wrigley Field. At least then, the eponymous facilities were privately funded.

It’s therefore not surprising that media coverage of another promising source of private financing came up short. There was little attention given to the NBA’s decision last month to prohibit the new Memphis franchise from selling its team naming rights to FedEx. The company reportedly offered to pay $120 million if the team would call itself the Memphis Express and wear FedEx’s purple and orange colors.

The sports press should have raised a red flag that the NBA foreclosed a private revenue source that could reduce public funding for pro sports in Memphis and around the nation. Heck, the NHL has already allowed Disney to name a hockey team after one of its movies. Why be so prudish about going all the way and getting something valuable in return? If it saves government money, team naming is an option that pro leagues absolutely, positively have to consider.

Oversubsidizing pro sports is much worse than overcommercializing them.