My daughter is now blissfully unaware that sports impose any limitations whatsoever. In nine months of life she's playfully sparred with Joe Frazier, stretched with Kristine Lilly, shared a basketball with Diana Taurasi and been coochie-coochie-cooed by a four-time Super Bowl champion, who told us that his mother really wanted a girl, which is why she named her boy Lynn and sent him to ballet class.
That didn't quite work out for Mrs. Swann. But then it's folly to tell kids what they can and can't be. And so Michelle Wie belongs to a generation blithely proceeding on the premise that anything really is possible.
The most important major of her life is not the one Wie will choose at Stanford. By the time she's a freshman there, in '07, she'll be in the same tax bracket as Leland Stanford, who founded the school. No, the most important major of her life may well be the U.S. Open or the PGA Championship or even the Masters, where women might some day turn Magnolia Lane ( Augusta's famous front drive) into something resembling Wisteria Lane (address of Desperate Housewives).
So here's to the dawn of the Wie Decade, in which young girls will have another worthy girl to look up to. And tall girls will have one they can literally look up to, because that's another thing about stars, be they celestial or terrestrial.
Like it or not, people steer their ships by them.
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