Of all the frauds perpetrated on the sporting public, few surpass the scriptural significance attached to the admittance of two women to Augusta National.
Seriously. The former Secretary of State and a financier with more money than the Yankees. And now we're all supposed to start chanting Helen Reddy lyrics and designate those charming, rich white men at Augusta as progressive thinkers?
You know what this is?
This is two people of privilege walking through the front door of the ultimate place of privilege. They just have different plumbing.
At least now it's truly a home for Muffy and Buffy.
Not that you could expect differently with dramatis personae that includes an egomaniac (Martha Burk), the existing green-jacket-wearing crowd in search of applause and the media, which is too scared to offend, lest they get their credentials revoked for next year's Masters.
I can't stand it. Some piece of history. What group or organization this side of the KKK wouldn't want the Stanford-educated former Secretary of State or a woman who gives $10 million donations out like Christmas cookies as part of the family?
Except that Augusta gets to admit two more rich people and accept bouquets for chivalry, too. Who knew that Condoleezza Rice and Darla Moore sipping Chateau Lafite on the veranda is right up there with Lady Godiva's ride?
I'd like to think we here in Connecticut should be more offended than most. That's because we've become Broadway for women's sports, especially basketball. We've seen more inspiring stories: women emerging from the shadows to the front pages, from the bleachers to midcourt. If the country really wants to celebrate women's achievement, it should start here.
We just watched two weeks of Olympics where women were the stars. Is there a more iconic image of London 2012 than Gabby Douglas? We watched Allyson Felix and Sanya Richards-Ross run faster than everyone else. We watched women's basketball and women's soccer win gold.
Maybe someone could tweet that to Martha Burk.
Because that's far more significant than two rich people joining more rich people in some country club that's largely irrelevant except for one week of the year.
You know what impresses me more than Condi walking past Rae's Creek? Tina playing all week. That's Tina Charles, the center for the Connecticut Sun. With her head spinning after London, she played in two WNBA games last week, including all but two minutes last Saturday night. Her first rest came after 29 straight minutes running up and down the floor.
Augusta would impress me more if it admitted Tina as a member, let me just say.
Or how about the WNBA? There aren't many bigger punching bags in sports. Yet it's here for summer No. 16, every year getting closer to league-wide profitability. Amid all the dire predictions, informed and otherwise, the league remains the best sports beacon for young women.
But by all means, let's use inclusion into the world of exclusion as a reason to belt out some Sister Sledge.
Augusta National is a private club. It can admit whomever it pleases. It just doesn't. Turns out that you don't need to be male. You just need to have a bank account. Or be the former Secretary of State. You know. Just your average folk.
So all the sophisticates and their color-of-money jackets can immerse themselves in self-congratulatory romance of the day. Martha Burk can claim victory. There are only millions of better examples of womanly triumph in every day society than admittance to a snooty, out-of-touch private club.
Darla and Condi, meet Roscoe and Atticus.
Just don't expect me to care.
This is the opinion of Day sports columnist Mike DiMauro.