Breeder's Digest

As a trusted gay expert, I sometimes like to claim that lesbianism was invented alongside the game of tennis, that these two consuming pastimes developed organically from the same voluminous flower. How else can one explain the perfect hybridization of sport and sexuality in the valiant figures of Martina Navratilova and Billie Jean King? As lesbians, we need an origin myth to explain the obvious, yet enigmatic, correlation between lesbianism and tennis. And guess what, Dear Breeder—so do you. Lesbian Tennisism is hard work on and off the court, but be assured you have a lot to learn about tight grips, short skirts, and carefully placed backhands, if you’ll only look to the fine example set by…the Lesbian Olympians!

Navratilova on display at the BODIES exhibit.

When I play tennis, I don’t even call it tennis anymore. I call it “exploring my heritage” because this game of precision, etiquette, and quiet intensity rewards lesbians for their natural tendencies toward precision, etiquette, and quiet intensity. Although the game itself is centuries old, tennis came to its aesthetic culmination within courtly French society, where the self-conscious mental control of the body was highly celebrated. And, if you’ve been following along with this blog, Dear Breeder, the phrase “self-conscious mental control of the body” should remind you instantly of one thing and one thing only: Lesbianism. Ever since the French made tennis—along with everything else—gay, lesbians have gravitated toward the sport like moons to a gaseous planet. And each time these celestial bodies align, a new Lesbian Olympian is born.

Fifteenth-century handballing was known simply as “jeu de paume.”

Every casual historian-folklorist-Native-American-theologian-storyteller knows that the game of tennis was originally played by ancient lesbian Gods and Goddesses in their luscious, mythological wonderland high atop Mt. Saint Vagina on the Isle of Lesbos. While most of their tournaments were harmless backyard frivolity, on occasion, a deep-seated rivalry between highly-seeded players would erupt into a terrible display of sound and fury. When Aphrodyke scored the final match point at the Harvest MoonCup, her opponent “Athena: Warrior Princess” furiously cast infection across the precious yeast crops, much to the dismay of sexually-active lesbians everywhere. Each time Dymytyr’s tennis elbow acted up during a match, so did the great North winds, destroying carefully-constructed houses and mullets across the land. As is the way with the fickle moods of the gods, mortals would occasionally benefit from a colossal victory, as when ArteMs. secured her first title and so granted each earthly household a golden retriever and three gallons of organic wheatgrass. With these divine Lesbian Olympians alternately bestowing great turmoil and great abundance, lesbians of the ancient world resorted to annual sacrifices meant to placate the mighty goddesses during tennis season. Although this chapter in classical herstory has for the most part been lost, each year at Wimbledon we see the remnants of these ancient practices. Just as Aphrodyke, Dymytyr, and ArteMs. celebrated victory by feasting from that cherished silver trophy plate, today’s Lesbian Olympians do the same. And let’s face it. The only time lesbians will ever be handed anything on a silver platter, Dear Breeder, is if they win big at Wimbledon.

Lesbian world champions Martina Navratilova and BJ King are merely the descendents of these deities who date back to our sexual and leisurely origins as a people. However, like all innovations made by marginalized subcultures, now and again, even straight tennis pros harness (by which I mean, strap on) the power of the ancient Lesbian Olympians. Serena Williams’s 2008 white trench tennis coat? Girl, please. Yes, you changed my life with this ostentatious display of high-concept, gumshoe fashion, but the Lesbian Dolphin Sea Nymphs—and Dionne Warwick—were all wearing tennis trenches way before Pangaea disbanded.

This trench coat mini-skirt makes tennis and disco a cinch!

Over the centuries, the Lesbian Olympians have fallen far from their lofty laurels atop Mt. Saint Vagina. Today, lesbian athletes (and their achievements) are frequently glossed over in favor of more marketable players. Even off the court, sporty lesbians get a bad rap, and I’d like to correct those who would chuckle at women wearing athletic sandals, perky ponytails, and gender neutral sweatgear. Khaki windbreakers and assertive gay hairstyles are no laughing matter. They are the designations of a higher order, a noble lineage, a time-tested approach to the outdoors. Indeed, the sporty lesbian was born to eschew the passing trends of fashion in the interest of something far superior: Glory.

Have you ever wondered, Dear Breeder, about those lesbians who stand out so obviously at the gym, those girls you see at the supermarket in matching WNBA caps, and the young ones who so consistently and single-handedly lead your daughter’s sports teams to victory? The confusing symbology of casual sportswear and aerodynamic hairstyles may have been difficult for you to parse. But now you know that these female athletes are actually the new Lesbian Olympians—women who have sipped from the trembling cup of godly elixir and been granted their rightful inheritance: dominance, perseverance, and the steady command of a bland fashion palette.