If I could dunk on anyone it would be ESPN sideline reporter Stacey Dales.  Every time I see this woman on TV I get angry.  I don’t hate women sports reporters because I have no problems with Erin Andrews, Tracy Wolfson, or Jennifer Hedger but something about Stacey Dales just irks me.

Part of this anger may stem from the fact that Stacey was an All-American basketball player at the University of Oklahoma and an ex WNBA star.  With the exception of Volleyball, Tennis, Figure Skaters, and Cheerleaders, women athletes are so annoying. They try so hard and are so into their “gear”.

Another irritating thing is that she use to go by the name Stacey Dales-Schuman. It’s bad enough that she hyphenated her last name, but putting the bride’s name ahead of the groom’s is just wrong.  Sadly the marriage resulted in a divorce and now she just goes by Stacey Dales.

In my dreams the dunk who take place at a battle of the sexes charity basketball game in Stacey’s hometown of  Brockville, Ontario.  Members of local girls basketball, soccer, rugby, hockey, and softball teams would be invited to see their hero Stacey Dales.  Also in attendance would be the U.S. Women’s soccer team. Hopefully Nike or Adidas would be there trying to fill some commercial about how girls are just as good as boys.

Her  starting five would consists of three other women  basketball stars and Cheryl Miller.  My starting five would have me, three unathletic Scottish guys who have never played basketball in their lives, and my friend Toby who once said that him and three other people who have never played basketball could easily win the WNBA title.

Right before the game, I would hold a press conference and spew out my misogynist manifesto, stating that a group of losers like us would have no problem beating  Stacey’s all star team.

During the game our team would just let Toby do all the work while Stacey would cover me and we all know that she would be trying so hard.  However I would let her light me up, bringing cheers and smiles to the predominantly female crowd.

But then with 10 seconds left on the clock and her team up by two, I would call an iso, taunt the crowd and then start talking shit to Stacey. I would compliment her on her ass and say she had nice eyes (because women athletes hate compliments about their looks).  Then I would blow a kiss and attempt an Iverson killer crossover.

Of course with the dreams of aspiring girl athletes  everywhere on this game, she would be playing such tough D, so I would pass the ball to Toby (who is actually good at basketball).  Stacey would then rush to double team, but then he would toss it back to me for an alley oop dunk. Stacey once again put in so much effort and would try to block me but I would Vince Carter her 2000 Olympic style and a foul would be called.

I would hit the free throw making Toby’s proclamation come to life and destroying the hopes and dreams of girl athletes everywhere.

With an ‘and 1’ dunk from a scrub like me to win the game  the women’s sports movement would be set back by several years. Little girls everywhere would quit organized sports and go back to taking home economics course like they use too. With no more distractions on sports, pregnancy would increase and wars all over the world and the hunger problem would all come to an end

Myles Valentin lives in Vancouver B.C. and has a love / hate relationship with female athletes. He once found Candace Parker attractive until he realized that she looked like her brother Anthony, a guard for the Toronto Raptors.


If I could dunk on anyone it would be my dad.

To set the scene, I would want it to be somewhere important like the halftime of a Bobcats vs. Raptors game at the Air Canada Center.  The announcer would say “don’t go anywhere fans, we have an awesome dunk coming up.”  And everyone would stay in their seats because they wouldn’t want to miss it.

I would be wearing a sweet vintage Bob Sura jersey with matching shorts and Air Jordan’s from 1991.  My dad would have to wear a Vancouver Grizzlies Bryant Reeves jersey, khakis and some penny loafers.  The style mismatch would eventually be overshadowed by the talent mismatch.

Flashbulbs would be going off everywhere.Dad would be standing at mid-court listening to boos from all of his former students and people in my neighborhood. “You are going to get dunked on so hard!” they would say.

Then, I would take the ball and raise it over my head, telling everyone to be quiet, some awesome stuff is about to happen.  Before I started dribbling my dad would look at me and say “Why am I here?  I don’t even like sports, I really don’t care if you dunk on me. How does this matter?”

But I wouldn’t be listening, I’d already be dribbling doing sweet spin moves getting the crowd all riled up.

As I get closer and the crowd gets louder, I could hear him say say “This proves nothing, I’ll get out of the way if you want.  I’m not even really sure what I’m supposed to do. Am I suppose to jump?”

But there would be no point in me giving instructions, because he could never hear them over the deafening sound of the crowd.  Everyone would be going nuts, even black guys.  It would be the most awesome thing anyone has ever seen.

After executing a perfect crossover, I would plant my foot just inside the foul line and make my sick jump.  As I’m airborn flying towards the hoop, my dad would pretend he didn’t care, but then at the last minute his competitive drive would over take him and he’d jump to try to block the shot.

But it would be too late.

I would already be so high that my foot would land right on his face and he would fall back, I would slam the ball through the hoop with both hands and then hang on to the rim for a second.

By now the POLICE have had to be called because the crowd is going so crazy.  A white thug would even shoot off a bb gun that looks like a glock into the air because he was so excited by sweet dunk.

I’d look into the crowd and there would be other guys my dad’s age crying.  I could hear them saying “oh no! our generation! we’re finished.”  And on screen it would have a picture of Woodstock but then it would catch on fire in the middle and burn out and be replaced with a picture of me holding a basketball.

Then, my dad would be crying on the ground, and I’d offer him a hand and say “Sorry Richard, this had to be done.”  He would understand and everything would be cool.

I’d try to return to my seat for the second half of the game but the crowd was still so amped up that they needed to bring in the US ARMY to keep back the smoking hot girls who were trying to get at me.

Once things had calmed down I would autograph the ball I used for the dunk and write an inspirational message that reads: “Follow your dreams.”  Then I would give it to the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

Christian Lander lives in Culver City, California and is the author of the New York Times Best Seller “Stuff White People Like”. His dad Richard, was a popular teacher in high school.