A Lady Without a Lick of Common Sense

Now, it came to pass in the Silver State, sometime after men forgot the plow and women took to suing for sport, that one Senator Melanie Scheible of Las Vegas—a lady with the chin of conviction and the logic of a spilled chamber pot—rose in righteous fury against a local school sports league.

The reason for her ruffled bonnet? The Nevada Interscholastic Athletic Association said girls’ sports should be exclusively girls.

“Scandalous!” cried she on a local broadcast more solemn than a church funeral. “Appalling!” she said as if someone had tried to serve her mint julep with no mint.

She was offended—mortally so!—that the Association had barred boys who said they were girls from galloping onto the volleyball courts and racetracks with the same thunderous musculature that nature, in its infinite indifference, had awarded them at birth. Miss Scheible’s main contention was that these were “literally children,” a phrase that ought to come with a license, by how she slung it. They were children—but with broad shoulders and five o’clock shadows, some of’em—just trying to find “a safe place” on the girls’ basketball team.

Now you must understand–the NIAA didn’t come to this decision by consulting tea leaves or reading goat entrails. They said it plainly–there are “sex-linked differences in physical development and athletic performance.” In other words, boys can generally throw a ball harder, jump higher, and outrun girls—not because of social pressure, but because of thighs the size of ham hocks and the testosterone galloping through their veins like cavalry.

It seemed not to compute in Senator Scheible’s noggin, which is likely crammed too tight with political slogans and not near enough biology. I reckon she thinks “XX” is just a new brand of feminist beer–and “XY” is a hate crime in algebra.

Worse still, the good senator went on to accuse the board members—the very folks tasked with keeping competition fair—of being fixated on children’s genitals. Lord help us!

When the science goes over your head, sling mud at the motives. That’s the modern way.

She likened the concern to a cabal of joyless men obsessing over soccer teams. Well, Miss Scheible, it ain’t the size of concern that matters—it’s the size of the kid dunking on your daughter in a varsity game that ought to raise your eyebrows.

To her mind, the whole state had gone mad with villainizing “a handful of athletes.” That’s just the kind of arithmetic that got us into this pickle in the first place. You see, a handful of termites is still enough to ruin the house, and one big fella in a wig on a girls’ track team can still take home the ribbon before the others finish stretching.

And let us not forget the Trump factor, which Senator Scheible served up like a bad penny. The policy is tainted by the President and, therefore, inappropriate.

It’s supposed if Mr. Trump were to endorse gravity, she’d start floating.

She also had harsh words for the Lieutenant Governor, one Mr. Stavros Anthony, who had the gall—the gall!—to create a “Task Force to Protect Women’s Sports,” which Miss Scheible found “outside of his job description.” I expect she’ll scold the fire chief for using water.

Now, folks, I ain’t got a dog in this fight. But I reckon there’s a difference between sympathy and silliness, which is to think we can be kind to folks figuring themselves out without pretending the sky is mauve and boys make better girls than girls do.

That’s not compassion—it’s a confusion-made policy.

Miss Scheible, I’m sure, is an earnest woman. But if common sense were hay, she couldn’t feed a grasshopper. In her world, nature is bigoted, fairness is cruelty, and anyone who says otherwise is trying to peer into gym shorts.

But here’s the rub, dear reader–the more we let feelings shout down facts, the closer we come to a time when logic is outlawed–and biology an opinion. And when that day comes, heaven help the girls who just wanted to run, jump, and win on a level field.

Let’s hope Miss Scheible never gets put in charge of the state’s science curriculum, or we’ll get told the moon identifies as a sunlamp.