Goodbye, Again, College Football

Last week, the Indiana University Hoosiers football team won the national college football championship. It provided a heck of a story, as a football program that had historically been not very good rose to become an undefeated champion in just a couple of years. Some folks even invested in some considerable hyperbole, such as suggesting that the Indiana football team had “saved” college football.

Years ago, I quit following college football, as I documented on this blog. In recent years, I had allowed myself to gravitate back into following it again somewhat. I’ve enjoyed sports, including college football, since I was a kid, and I wanted to feel that entertainment again. Yet, even as I followed this year, I repeatedly returned to the concerns that led me to give college football up years ago. For example, when I read about the Texas Tech donor whose money essentially made the university into a football contender and who now has considerable influence at that university (and, to boot, was even characterized in the article to which I have linked as possibly “fixing” college football), I felt rather disgusted. It seems like no one should have that degree of power, and if they do, that they would invest their resources so heavily in football seems inappropriate. My reaction is compounded when I consider that specific example alongside the Texas Tech system this fall prohibiting faculty from being able to teach the idea that there are more than two genders. The entire situation seems emblematic of misplaced priorities in U.S. society, aligning with my thoughts when I gave up college football years ago. In a market-driven economy that uses the logic of that economy to justify expenditures on college football, I feel compelled to spend my time and money elsewhere and to encourage others to do the same. Especially at a time when education, the arts and humanities, scientific research, and so many other things that are vital to universities are under attack and losing funding, I can’t justify contributing to the inequitable financial resources thrown at college football.

To add to this, in the week before that college football national championship game, I read a nationally syndicated column arguing for universities to lose their nonprofit status and the tax advantages that go with that. The argument was predicated on the amount of money flowing into college football. The columnist admitted that, despite his concerns, he would be watching the national championship game. This seemed not only like a case of being unwilling to address one’s own complicity in a problem one has identified, but also a case of mistaking college football financial success with supposed financial success of universities themselves. As I see the significant budgetary drains that occur within the educational, research, and creative parts of universities, the argument in the column becomes particularly obnoxious. On the one hand, if we want to have a philosophical debate about whether universities should be considered nonprofit organizations and receive tax breaks because of it, I’m willing to engage in that discussion. On the other hand, on a pragmatic level, if we did remove those tax breaks and universities now had to account for that in their budgets, do you think for one moment in the current situation that it’s the college football teams that are going to bear the brunt of that? Over the last couple of decades, we have seen expenditures on bigtime university athletics soar at the same time as other aspects of those very same universities, most notably the educational services that are the core of the universities, face even greater budgetary constraints. I see no reason to expect that further economic constraints on the university will go any other way, unless those constraints directly impact the bigtime athletic programs, whether through required reductions in funding to those programs; mandated additional flow of financial resources from those programs to other areas of the universities; or, as in the market-driven response I have advanced, less people consuming the sports. (Of course, maybe other educational services bearing the brunt of the budget cuts is exactly what folks such as that columnist ultimately want and just aren’t explicitly saying.)

In the end, I’m back to where I was in 2012 when I gave up college football. I’d really like to follow it, getting back into my pattern of putting it on television and radio on Saturdays and on weekday evenings in the fall. I can’t in good conscience do so, though. As much as I have let myself drift back into college football, I have to force myself back out. It’s not about saving college football; it’s about saving all the other, frankly more important, things that go on at higher education institutions. 

American Ambiguity

As someone whose positions generally place on what is considered the political left, I did not, as USA Today columnist Ingrid Jacques suggested, “lose my mind” when I found out about American Eagle’s ad campaign featuring Sydney Sweeney. I hadn’t even heard about it until I read Jacques’ column about it, and I didn’t follow up reading the column by burning, mutilating, refusing to wear, or doing anything else to my American Eagle jeans, which I do own and some of which I just purchased earlier this summer. That said, American Eagle’s campaign warrants critique.

On the one hand, the advertisement is clearly built around the play on words between “gene” and “jean,” and it’s quite possibly not intended as a more serious statement about someone’s genetics. Additionally, while the advertisement discusses genes, it does not directly state that Sydney Sweeney has good “genes”; rather, it states that she has good “jeans,” which of course, is meant to offer a value statement about the brand being represented. American Eagle jeans, the advertisement clearly intends us to think, are “good” jeans.” 

On the other hand, it would be disingenuous to argue that the advertisement is not implying that Sydney Sweeney has good “genes” as well. The play on words, framed by discussion of genes, doesn’t work without the implication.

The idea that Sydney Sweeney has “good genes” in that she is objectively physically attractive is a cultural one. This is not to say that she is or that she isn’t physically attractive. It is to say that such a statement either way is culturally bound. There is no universal truth outside of particular time-and-place-bound human perspectives that Sydney Sweeney is physical attractive (or that she is not, for that matter). Meanwhile, as a white woman of particular body dimensions, Sweeney fits historical notions of feminine beauty that have been not only dominant but explicitly built and promoted within practices of racism that have accompanied European and European-based United States cultures. As such, with its implication that Sydney Sweeney has good genes, the American Eagle advertisement hails a history of racist ideas about beauty.

Yet, the advertisement is (I would guess deliberately) ambiguous in doing so. The implication that Sydney Sweeney has good genes is not necessarily an implication that other people do not have good genes. For instance, if I tell someone they did good work or they look nice, that doesn’t necessarily mean that I think other folks didn’t do good work or don’t look nice. American Eagle’s response to criticism of its advertisement relies on this ambiguity, stating how their jeans are for “everyone,” as if to cement the idea that implying Sweeney’s good genes doesn’t mean they are implying other people do not have good genes.

As I consider all of this, I don’t think American Eagle is Nazi propaganda or attempting to evoke eugenic violence. That said, if American Eagle executives uttered the kinds of judgmental statements Abercrombie and Fitch executive Mike Jeffries once did, I would reconsider my assessment of what they are trying to do. Still, even if American Eagle does not intentionally invoke white supremacy, a good deal of racism throughout U.S. history has been perpetuated through ambiguity, and the Sydney Sweeney advertisement occurs within the context of that history.

In the column I referenced at the beginning of this post, Ingrid Jacques connects criticism of the American Eagle to what she claims to be the problems of diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives. As part of her discussion, she writes, “Whether progressives want to admit it, the country is still majority White and these Americans are tired of being made to feel evil or unworthy simply because of their immutable characteristics. No one should be made to feel that way.” The reference to a white “majority” in the United States suggests a judgment of their opinion mattering more than other folks’ opinions, which draws on the same kinds of problematic histories as the American Eagle advertisement. Beyond that, the very sentiment Jacques’ statement offers when she states that no one should be made to feel evil or unworthy simply because of their immutable characteristics is exactly at the heart of diversity, equity, and inclusion work. No one should be made to feel the way Jacques describes, and that’s exactly why the American Eagle advertisement warrants criticism. The advertisement corresponds with U.S. cultural notions that white people have good genes and folks who are not white do not, and thus that based on immutable characteristics, folks who are not white are not as worthy as white people. Ambiguity not only does not change that; it reinforces it.

The Day I Struggle Most to Be a Major League Baseball Fan

Thursday, July 31, at 6:00 p.m. is Major League Baseball's trade deadline. Some baseball fans and pundits consider this as an exciting time as teams make deals, acquistions, etc. It's become a prominent pseudoevent on the Major League Baseball calendar. Yet, as a baseball fan, this is perhaps the one moment every year that most makes me question my interest in following Major League Baseball. Those players who are dealt, acquired, etc. are people. So, all this excitement built around the trade deadline is actually excitment about people being moved about like property. Sure, some players, such as Nolan Arenado, have negotiated rights that allow them to veto this treatment or have a say in the process. Yet, by and large, the activity remains a relic of the system of labor that Curt Flood compared to slavery when he challenged MLB's reserve clause more than fifty years ago.

I continue to follow Major League Baseball, and because of that I have to acknowledge my complicity in this system. I suppose that because the players' union, which has been quite powerful and influential for the past six decades, has agreed to these terms, I am willing to live with them. At the same time, particularly as the trade hype crescendoes at this time each year, I would like to see that hype balanced with more stories that recognize more fully the humanity of the people involved and the real human effects of what happens when baseball players are traded. Even more, I'd love to see the practice of trading players (at least without their consent) abolished.

The Humanity of Donald Trump (Redux)

Eight years ago, when Donald Trump won election to the presidency of the United States, I wrote on here about the humanity of Donald Trump. As he appears poised to return to the presidency, I return to that post.

It's difficult. Trump and some of his supporters have ratcheted up their rhetoric on the very kinds of issues that I and other folks voiced concern about eight years ago. For as much as I strive to see their humanity, I don't see reciprocation of that effort on their part, and that is what frustrates me the most about the movement Trump leads and the kind of future for the country and the world that movement might produce. I think I understand the concerns into which Trump has tapped, and I am willing to work through those concerns. I worry, though, about the paths for advancing those concerns that Trump's movement has been advocating.

I am quite willing to accept disagreements on policy and perspective. Take, for instance, Ohio governor Mike DeWine. I have not voted for him (though I likely would have had I lived in Ohio for his U.S. Senate race in 2000, and I left the ballot blank for his race against Sherrod Brown in 2006 because I had concerns about some of DeWine's positions, but I also still respected him). I don't agree with DeWine on a number of things, but since I saw him on C-SPAN in his early days in the U.S. Senate in the 1990s, I have held the impression that he examines things meticulously and scrupulously, and that he pursues policy objectives with an eye toward working across viewpoints and political sides. As Ohio's governor, I have seen him continue in that vein. I think DeWine cares for his fellow human beings, and I think that is evident in what he says and does, even if I think some of his conclusions warrant reconsideration.

Many things I hear from Trump and from some of his supporters don't reflect that same care, and it worries me. At the same time, I will not stop caring about them. I may get frustrated sometimes, but even amid moments of frustration, I love my fellow people, I care deeply for the society in which I live, and I promise that I will continuously seek to work with my fellow people. To Trump and his supporters, congratulations on your election victory. May we find effective ways of working together going forward, and may we do so in a way that is mindful of our differences and compassionate not only to each other, but to everyone.

In the Wake of Juneteenth

 Yesterday was Juneteenth. I hope that everyone had a safe and reflective holiday. I think holidays are, in general, moments that compel reflection, and this holiday really calls for that as we consider African-American history, including the contributions Black folks have made to the U.S. and the world as well as the obstacles Black folks have faced and continue to face.

Holidays carry a lot of symbolic weight, and as someone who studies culture and rhetoric, I’m continually going to assert that that symbolic weight matters. At the same, I recognize that it’s important that celebrating symbolic significance not drown out efforts to produce practical social, political, and economic change. Additionally, it’s important that we not act as if one form of symbolic significance absolves us from having to address other forms of it.

With that in mind, I’m struck by the juxtaposition I have been experiencing this week as I have seen commemorations of Juneteenth while also feeling bombarded by media stories about “wokeness” in what are egregious misappropriations of the term. Being “woke” is a practice that originates in Black folks becoming aware of the depths of racism and inequity. Historically, it’s not the kinds of associations with anything deemed politically liberal or progressive that now permeate popular discourse. It’s not just about whom Hollywood casts in what parts or what kinds of comments will solicit critique or whatever people mean when they refer to that nebulous thing they label “cancel culture.” Certainly, the politics of representation and discussion of the merits of particular comment people make matter, but contemporary uses of the term “woke” pay a disservice to the word’s important origins. Current popular iterations of the word, which I have seen deployed by folks who define themselves on the political left as well as the political right, erase the deep interest in racial awareness from which the term emanated. In this process, this misappropriation limits discourse in ways that prevent reflection on the systematic and structural conditions that perpetuate racism and inequity. As such, our society would do well to look back on the term’s origins and refrain from using it in ways that diverge so widely from what it was intended to mean.

With that in mind, I hope that as part of the reflectiveness of Juneteenth as we move forward in our calendar, we all might reflect on how we and other folks use the term “woke” and we might take two specific actions: (1) ceasing to use the word in ways that erase its history of calling attention to racism and inequity and (2) calling out other folks and institutions when they use the word in ways that create such erasure.

Wide Right

The phrase "wide right" is affiliated with the Buffalo Bills, not the Kansas City Chiefs, though during the most recent NFL playoffs, "Wide Right Part 2" happened while the Bills were playing Kansas City. Still, the phrase might be considered an approporiate characterization of the commencement speech Chiefs' kicker Harrison Butker gave to the Spring 2024 graduating class at Benedictine College. That speech espoused opinions about, among other things, women, LGBTQ folks, diversity and inclusion initiatives, and President Biden that fall significantly on the right of the current U.S. political spectrum.

Butker claimed his speech to be a reflection of his Catholic values, and he doubled down on that with more recent remarks in Nashville. As Butker stated in Nashville, "If it wasn’t clear that the timeless Catholic values are hated by many, it is now," referring to the criticisms his commencement speech has garnered since he gave it. His phrasing in that statement reflects the broader theme he invoked, suggesting that he has been subjected to, as he put it, "a shocking level of hate." Comparing himself to Daniel from the Christian Bible, he has depicted himself as a courageous martyr who, along with similarly minded folks, is propelled by "our love for Jesus and thus our desire to speak out."

I was raised Catholic, and I went to Catholic school from Kindergarten through twelfth grade. I am no longer a practicing Catholic, as my theological views, which I have discussed to some degree on this blog, do not correspond with what Christianity professes. However, I have read the Catholic Bible from cover to cover twice, and I have read most sections of the Gospels in the New Testament more than that. I still have what in many ways is a Catholic-informed view of the world, and I find value in many of the ideas I attribute to Jesus based on my readings of the Bible. From that perspective, I find Butker's views inconsistent with his proclaimed "love for Jesus." Jesus, as I understand him, encouraged the greater participation of women in public life, embraced diversity, and promoted inclusion (and he may even have been gay). 

I used to get pretty angry when I would come into contact with folks such as Butker and the problematic ideas they espouse. That anger was rooted in my own experiences at the hands of similarly thinking Catholic folks in small-town Ohio, many of whom I sense would agree with a lot of what Butker has recently said. I still feel a little anger, though its more focused on how views like Butker's have been given prominent support and incubation in contemporary U.S. (and global, for that matter) society. More fully, though, I have replaced that anger with sadness. I feel sad for Harrison Butker and folks who identify with what he has said. For as much as they say they love Jesus, I sense that they haven't reflected effectively on what Jesus said and did, and that really is a disservice to their church and to the world.

The Tao of Le Guin

When I was in college in the early 1990s, I took a fantasy fiction course with Dr. Carl Holmberg. For one of the course's writing assignments, we had to choose an author, find three different books the author wrote, and write a paper on a theme that applied across all three books.

To find possibilities for the assignment, I browsed through my dad's fantasy and science fiction collection and considered my options. Tolkien was an option, but that seemed too easy and overused. I already had a bunch of Frank Herbert stuff, and I considered that, but Dune was my favorite book, and I wanted to branch out a little. My dad had a number of Piers Anthony books, and I considered them. In the end, though, I chose Ursula K. Le Guin, and I did the paper on A Wizard of Earthsea, The Left Hand of Darkness, and The Lathe of Heaven. In addition to reading the books, I found some articles on Le Guin, and I picked up on the theme of Taoism. I don't remember the details of my analysis, but I ended up focusing on some aspect of Taoism that spanned the three books.

Writing that paper began my appreciation of Le Guin. I hadn't known much at all about her before that, but afterward, I knew I enjoyed her work. It was so imaginative, so full of beautiful writing, and so full of love. While I didn't read a lot more of her works, I always cherished the time I spent on my paper. To this day The Lathe of Heaven is among my all-time favorite books, and I owe some of the growth in understanding sexuality I experienced in my twenties to The Left Hand of Darkness.

Le Guin passed away earlier this week at the age of 88. I'm not Taoist; I'm much more Buddhist than anything. The rudimentary understanding I have of Taoism would tell me that death is part of life, and so the passing of Le Guin, who was fortunate enough to live a long life, ought to be recognized for its inevitability. Still, I feel another inevitability -- the sadness of knowing Le Guin is no longer with us.