So I jump ship in Hong Kong and make my way over to Tibet, and I get on as a looper at a course over in the Himalayas. A looper, you know, a caddy, a looper, a jock. So, I tell them I’m a pro jock, and who do you think they give me? The Dalai Lama himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. The flowing robes, the grace, bald... striking. So, I’m on the first tee with him. I give him the driver. He hauls off and whacks one—big hitter, the Lama—long, into a ten-thousand foot crevasse, right at the base of this glacier. Do you know what the Lama says? “Gunga galunga... gunga, gunga-galunga.” So we finish the 18th, and he’s gonna stiff me. And I say, “Hey, Lama, hey, how about a little something, you know, for the effort, you know?” And he says, “Oh, uh, there won’t be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness.” So I got that goin’ for me, which is nice.
“the labor,” she writes, “of African-American athletes on the football and basketball teams who make it possible for other sports to exist at universities.”
And the labor of men’s athletics make it possible for women’s athletics to exist.