This is an opinion column.

There was a trash-talk faceoff, and a basketball game broke out. I think.

There was indeed a score: In quest of LSU’s first national women’s basketball championship, the Tigers throttled favored—by seeding, at least—Iowa, 102-85 before a raucous sellout Sunday night at the American Airlines Center in Dallas.

There was indeed a star-filled stage, commanded by transcendent talents Angel Reese of LSU and Iowa’s Caitlin Clark.

Reese is a luminescent spirit with bright purple/yellow single-leg tights, a flowing crown, lashes upon lashes, and game. When I first glanced her during the season, she rekindled thoughts of yet another luminescent spirit—Florence Griffith Joyner, whom I watched set the world on fire 35 years ago on a track in Seoul, South Korea at the 1988 Olympics.

Clark, I must admit, didn’t cross my timeline until last Friday when her Hawkeyes, a No. 2 seed in the tournament, shocked No. 1 and undefeated South Carolina, 77-73, in the Final Four semis. Clark, a guard, was a force. She scored 41 of Iowa’s points, grabbed six rebounds, and dished eight dimes in what was the biggest upset in college hoops this season.

College hoops. Period.

There, too, was a box score. Reese had 15 points, 10 rebounds, 5 assists, and 3 steals in a game essentially decided in the first half when backup senior guard Jasmine Carson (she averaged fewer than 9 points this year) scored 21 of her team-high 22 points to give the Tigers a 17-point lead going into the locker room. Clark led Iowa with 30 points and 8 assists; at least that’s what the box score says.

So, there was a basketball game, but if you didn’t watch live, if you didn’t search the highlights, you’d never know it happened. That’s a shame.

That’s a shame because what should have been a glorious night for women’s basketball was overshadowed—no, obliterated—by the trash-talk face-off between Reese and Clark.

Confession: I’m not enough of a pro wrestling fan to have known what Clark was doing when she waved her hand across her face last month in an Elite Eight win over Louisville to end Iowa’s Final Four drought.

To know it was 2.0 of former pro wrestling star John Cena’s “You Can’t See Me” move was introduced back in the early 2000s. You can’t see me because I’m too fast, is what Cena meant.

I get it now.

I also get Reese’s retort. I get that so much was built up inside of her. So much from what they said. From what they tweeted, shared, posted, or otherwise amplified about her. About her luminescence. About her luminescent Blackness.

About how it didn’t fit the narrative, she said. Their narrative.

I get Clark, too. I get that so much was built up inside of her. So much in that moment when she blithely waves off a South Carolina opponent as if she wasn’t worth defending. So much from what they said about her. From what they tweeted, shared, posted, or otherwise amplified about her. About her luminescence. About her luminescent whiteness.

About how it didn’t fit the narrative, she didn’t need to say.

Race-tinged sports narratives are not new.

They’re as old as Jack Johnson vs. James Jeffries.

As old as Jackie Robinson vs. white baseball.

As old as Arthur Ashe vs. white tennis.

As old as John Carlos & Tommie Smith vs. the white America waiting for them at home.

As old as Isiah Thomas vs. white basketball fans who loved Larry Bird. (Google: “It’s like I came dribbling out of the womb.”)

As old as the ABA (Black basketball) vs. the NBA (white basketball, so they thought).

As old as European ballers vs. the NBA game.

As old as Georgetown vs. well, you know

Old, and yet worse because any racist Neanderthal with a laptop or phone can pierce an athlete’s firewall through not-so-social media. Can become they.

They’re old and necessary, perhaps.

Necessary because maybe we still need to be reminded that while we’ve come far regarding gender equity, while women’s college basketball can fill the largest arenas and draw record television ratings, we’re still not yet there.

Reese is killin’ NIL. Reportedly, she has 17 check-writing sponsors, more than any other college basketball player. Any other, Period.

And a national title.

As I watched her taunt Clark twice with the face- and ring-finger moves —at the free-throw line and as the clock expired victory was sealed—yeah, I cringed. That was my old school kicking in. My if that was my daughter kicked in: Take your rings, your check, and live, I thought.

Embrace victory; don’t overshadow it.

That’s just me.

I hate what should have been a shining moment for women’s college basketball is forever clouded by a luminescent star taunting a combatant when the two young women should’ve hugged, winked, and taken their rivalry to the bank for the next decade and beyond.

I get it, though. I get Reese’s “moment”, as she called it. A moment too much to control. Too much to hold inside. Too much to direct at them instead of Clark.

“In our dreams,” is how the text message began. It was from a long-time friend who is a luminescent leader in college sports. I asked her about Reese and Clark, about the trash-talk faceoff that made so many heads explode. “In our dreams,” she texted, “all of us who love basketball would love to be a part of a win like that vs. a great and worthy opponent like that.”

Generations of young and gifted women now should be able to be all of who they are, let all of their luminescence shine. In Black or white.

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Roy S. Johnson is a Pulitzer Prize finalist for commentary and winner of the Edward R. Murrow prize for podcasts: “Unjustifiable,” co-hosted with John Archibald. His column appears in AL.com, as well as the Lede. Subscribe to his free weekly newsletter, The Barbershop, here. Reach him at [email protected], follow him at twitter.com/roysj, or on Instagram @roysj