The other day I was glancing through the pages of a popular tennis magazine when an article about women being unable to defeat men at tennis caught my attention.

The article stated that, at the 1984 U.S. Open tennis championships, Vitas Gerulatis--a former Top 10 player--had said he was tired of comparisons between Martina Navratilova and John McEnroe, and that Navratilova couldn't beat the 100th-ranked male, let alone Mr. McEnroe.

I don't know who is currently ranked 100th in the men's rankings, but I would definitely put my money on Martina. Before 1985 I wouldn't have; but personal experience has forever changed my attitude about women competing with men in sports.

In 1985, I challenged one of my female friends, LaShawn Porter, to a tennis match. She accepted instantly. Feeling confident, I even let her choose the courts.

Before the match, I called her several times to make sure she still wanted to go through with the match. Surprisingly, she was still willing; obviously, she hadn't heard of my undefeated record in singles play.

I bragged to some of my friends about how I was going to destroy her in 45 minutes or less. I even watched the videotape of the 1973 Bobby Riggs-Billy Jean King match for inspiration. That is, inspiration not to suffer the same humiliation as did Mr. Riggs.

However, it wasn't as if I needed more impetus to win. In my mind, I was going to exonerate Mr. Riggs by beating Ms. Porter just 15 miles from the site of his loss--in Missouri City, a suburb of Houston.

On the day of the match, I offered to serve with my left hand (I'm right-handed), but she declined vehemently my invitation. I thought to myself that she had just thrown away all chances of winning.

The first set ended rather quickly, just like I expected--but I was still a little bit surprised. And if I was surprised, she was virtually speechless. What could she say after destroying me, 6-0?

My failure to win a single game in the first set fired me up going into the second. I controlled the beginning of the set with perfectly placed drop volleys. I played quintessential tennis, en route to a 2-0 advantage. There wasn't any chance that I would let her come back and win six straight games.

And I did not--she won only five straight. LaShawn went on to win the second set, 6-3, and clinch the match. Boy, I showed her.

I can take solace in one aspect of my loss: she did sweat during the second set. Well, somewhat.

I still don't know which was worse--losing to LaShawn or going to school the next day. Surprisingly, the girls didn't give me a hard time. But the guys certainly did.

They suggested that LaShawn Probably had a tougher time opening up the can of balls before the match than she did with the match itself.

They were joking. I think.