John Walters

Notre Dame and Southern Cal will no longer meet on the gridiron. Wile E. Coyote announced yesterday that he will no longer pursue the Roadrunner, that he in fact has "gone vegan." And, Simon and Paula will no longer appear on the same evening of American Idol.

None of the above is true, but this is: Connecticut and Tennessee no longer play one another. The greatest rivalry in women's college basketball, the game that is to women's hoops what the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue is to the casual, or non-sports fan, no longer exists — at least not during the regular season.

The Huskies and Lady Vols can only possibly meet once this year ... in the national championship game. And they most likely will.

When Connecticut and Tennessee do meet in Tampa, it will be the most dramatic and tense battle in the two programs' shared history. All because of what has transpired in the past year.

It has never been just about UConn and Tennessee. In fact, it has never been only about Geno Auriemma, the Huskies head coach, and Pat Summitt, his Lady Vol counterpart. This feud has always had an enabler, a broker, a semi-silent partner: The Entertainment and Sports Programming Network, also known as ESPN.

Let us review. First, a glance at recent history. Last June 8, it was announced that the two schools would discontinue their season series, which began in 1995 at the behest of ESPN. During those dozen years, UConn and Tennessee — the Yankees and Red Sox of women's basketball — played one another 22 times. Overall, UConn leads the series 13-9, but what stings Lady Vol fans most is that the Huskies are undefeated against Tennessee in four national championship games.

But it all came to an end. Summitt, two months removed from winning her record-seventh national championship with the Lady Vols (a title that was buried under the media storm of Don Imus' inane comments about Rutgers, the team Tennessee defeated), chose not to renew the contract with ESPN for this non-conference game. It was part of the winningest coach in women's college hoops history's "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair" summer, as less than two months later, she filed for divorce from her husband of 26 years, R.B. Summitt II.

Auriemma simmered over the decision until late September. Then, at his charity golf tournament, he vented to the Hartford Courant.

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"She (Summitt) should just come out and say she's not playing us because she hates my guts," said Auriemma, who has won five national championships to Summitt's seven -- four of his coming at Summitt's expense in the title game. "And I think people would buy that ... She should just say (that Geno) is a dope, a smart-ass, and then everyone could agree with her."

All of which -- except the dope part -- is true.

Summitt, who has always played rope-a-dope to Auriemma's verbal jabs, returned fire this time.

"I'm perplexed by his comments," she told the Courant. "Clearly, Geno knows exactly why I canceled the series. I articulated that to him in a phone conversation. I was very upfront and straightforward with him. I think that it was something that needed to be discussed with Geno and no one else. That's why I chose not to comment [publicly]."

What. Ever.

Now, for some ancient history. Back in late 1994, Tennessee ruled women's college basketball and had no viable adversary. However, up in the northeastern wilds of Connecticut, roughly 60 miles east of ESPN (a workplace teeming with UConn alums), a cult was growing. A young, handsome and charismatic coach was developing a program that appeared to have legs. And his best player was a similarly attractive and charismatic (and much taller) person who, as one local columnist artfully put it, "had sunlight in her eyes."