A Victory for Women?

I know I'm a little slow on the uptake on this one, as it's almost two weeks old now, but better late than never, and you all know how life can get busy sometimes ....

Every year I go round and round about watching the Masters. As a fan of golf, I want to watch. The Masters, though, represents privileged elitism in so many ways. While part of it is the lack of female membership at Augusta, there so much more to it than that. (I think Bill Simmons summed a lot of it up nicely last week.) I'm thinking next year I'm going to go back to not watching. I get more and more sickened by the Masters the more I think about it.

This year, I watched a little coverage on ESPN on Friday while working at home, a little on CBS while visiting with my parents on late afternoon Saturday, and a little bit toward the end of the fourth round on Sunday. I probably would have watched the end (I left coverage when the final group had about a hole and a half left), but I had another, more pressing matter to attend to--namely, going to see the musical Wicked.

As I'm sure you know by now, Phil Mickelson won the Masters this year, claiming his third green jacket. And, particularly as a contrast to Tiger Woods' recently uncovered activities, the fact that Phil Mickelson had taken time off the tour last summer to be with his wife and his mother as both battled cancer was played up on the telecast and has been a significant theme in coverage of the event ever since. See, for instance, this column by ESPN's Rick Reilly, as indicative of the kinds of themes and claims that have been occurring. Rightfully, I think, Gregg Doyel at CBSSportsline challenged the extravagant claims of the likes of Reilly. I would agree with what I interpret as Doyel's sentiment. There are some good reasons to applaud and be happy for Mickelson, but let's not exaggerate the claims about his character with blind admiration when we don't really know what goes on his life.

I'm not going to rehash what Doyel says. Please read his article for more. I do, though, want to add something to the conversation, particularly in conjunction with the title--and, thus, the overall tone--of Reilly's piece: "Mickelson's win a victory for women." Seriously, Rick? A victory? I think I understand what Rick is doing, but I think I also understand that this is exactly the stuff that hegemonic power is made of. Where's the victory for women? A privileged man won a tournament full of other privileged men at a golf course that is very heavily built on and steeped in privilege, particularly male privilege in that it continues to lack female membership and took a very public stand against a private call asking it to address that issue by admitting a female member. And this is a victory for women because Mickelson took time off the tour last summer to be with his wife while she was battling breast cancer? Look, I think what Mickelson did was commendable. I also realize that many people (men or women) would not have the financial resources or type of job that would allow them just to take several weeks off like that. My mother is battling cancer right now, and I'm thankful that as a university instructor I have a schedule conducive to making the hour trip to see her fairly often. I also know that (1) I'm lucky to have that opportunity and (2) I'm still not in a position to take off work completely. I think I have it better than a lot of people along those lines. I also recognize I'm privileged to have that opportunity, and I should not take that for granted, particularly when interpreting the actions of others who are less fortunate. Mickelson enjoys even more privilege than I do, and his actions are at least in part the result of his privileges.

And it's on the idea of "privileged actions" that this all goes back to what this means for women. Let's phrase this story this way: A man achieves occupational success in a public arena of activity in which that success is achieved against other men. Indeed, that public arena of activity does not even allow women to be included or to participate. The man also takes care of his wife and his family, as his success in that male-only public arena has allowed him the time and money to provide for and care for them. This is certainly another way to characterize the story of Phil Mickelson. It's also a way of characterizing the story that points out how deeply the entire scenario is built in patriarchy. Saying, then, that Mickelson's win is a victory for women rings rather hollow. Sure, it might bring attention to breast cancer and provides an illustration of a man who did things that suggest care and concern for the most prominent women in his life. Yet, the entire situation patronizes and devalues women as it implies that men should provide for women and that women should accept a system of opportunities that both implicitly and explicitly excludes them and, thus, does not allow them as many opportunities to provide for themselves as it allows for men. Indeed, Augusta National Golf Club and the Masters golf tournament perpetuate a system that positions women to need the care of men. To then celebrate a man for caring for women within such a system does little to advance the cause of opportunities and rights for women. Mickelson's ability to play the role of the caring husband as a contrast to Tiger Woods as the unfaithful husband relies, at least in part, on this system of privilege. Mickelson's actions in winning the Masters exemplify that male privilege. Rather than a victory for women, then, Mickelson's win constitutes a victory for patriarchy, disguised to the likes of Rick Reilly by the attention it places on women in certain ways, though the very ways in which it places that attention on women actually reinforce and perpetuate the system of male privilege. That, in a nutshell, is hegemony--when the things that seem to provide opportunities or "victories" for the oppressed actually reinforce and help perpetuate the system that excludes them.

So, while I like Mickelson, I also see his actions in winning the Masters as privileged, and I recognize them as perpetuating the system of sexism in United States society. In that regard, then, I don't think that he, the many other golfers involved in the tournament, and the many fans of the tournament (myself included) are as "good" to women as accounts like Reilly's might suggest. Now, if Mickelson took another kind of action, like if he used his victory to call for Augusta National Golf Club to admit female members, if he donated a significant portion of his winnings to the National Organization of Women to help their fight against sexism in the United States, or if he did something else along similar lines, then I might be willing to call this a "victory for women."

It's Not Easy Being Green

This post definitely needs to begin with a clip from Kermit the Frog.

This past Sunday, my wife and I saw the musical Wicked, which is currently playing at the Stranahan Theater in Toledo, Ohio. The show was awesome. We considered seeing it on Broadway while visiting New York with my wife's sister last summer, but couldn't quite afford it, so we saw Shrek the Musical (which was also very enjoyable) instead. It would have been fun to see Wicked on Broadway, but this show, which is part of its national tour, certainly was wonderful and highly recommendable.

I don't think it's a particularly ruinous spolier to say that Wicked revolves around the social derision and alienation the Wicked Witch of the West (Elphaba) experiences because she is green. Indeed, Elphaba and Shrek have that trait in common in their respective stories. From the beginning people find Elphaba's green-ness not just strange, but scary.

As the story proceeds, it asks the viewer to consider the ways that people who look different are treated. In doing so, it interrogates not only those differences, but also the rhetorical construction of the term "wicked." We learn that Elphaba is not really wicked, just as we learn in Shrek that Shrek is not really mean. As Wicked interrogates what makes someone become seen as wicked, along the way the play also interrogates what makes someone become seen as wonderful, namely in connection with the "Wonderful" Wizard of Oz. (I haven't read the Gregory Maguire book upon which the play is based, though the description of it on Amazon.com, including the characterization of it as "postmodern," would seem to suggest the same theme runs in it as well.)

This seems like pretty good stuff, particularly if folks, including kids, while watching it allow themselves to reflect on this message. In particular, both Wicked and Shrek the Musical seem to offer the message in a way that suggests that difference is something not just to accept, but to celebrate. It's one thing to offer the idea that even though people look, act or seem different from the norm, these people deserve respect and acceptance. That message, though, can still reinforce the norm as a standard by which people are judged and considered. In fact, it can easily turn into a kind of patronizing view of those who are different that still reinforces the idea that most people should still fit the norm and be the same. I think Wicked and Shrek the Musical take this a step further, though, when they suggest that we celebrate and seek difference and diversity. Rather than seeing difference as okay, this view sees difference as vital, cherishable, and desirable. Of course, the inclusion of this message does not divorce these stories from doing some marginalization. For instance, Shrek (both in film form and in play form) is, among other things, ripe for critique of its representation of blackness in the character Donkey. Additionally, among other things, Wicked would seem to warrant critique of its representation of individuals who use wheelchairs. These critiques deserve attention; however, that should also not negate the potential these musicals have for promoting a message of embracing diversity. Indeed, as one song from Shrek the Musical reminds us, "Let Your Freak Flag Fly"!

This all seems to point to the rewarding potential of popular culture. Popular culture can present in popular form ideas that can make us think, make us reflect, make us rethink, and make us change. Seldom, though, do these things occur without analysis and discussion. Popular culture is entertainment, and to a significant extent enjoying intertextual references to The Wizard of Oz, following a well-constructed story, and hearing emotionally powerful songs is enough unto itself. However, popular culture really, I think, often seeks (or at least allows for) more. That "more" only happens when we analyze and discuss it, looking at the messages and themes it offers, looking at the deeper ideas these messages and themes reflect, and recognizing the limitations of these messages and themes as they are told. So, I'd recommend going to see Wicked (or Shrek the Musical) and taking kids, especially as a way to get them interested in theater, but don't just stop at the end of the show. Talk about it, interrogate it, analyze it, and seek to understand its limitations. Despite what so often seems to be a popular sentiment, we can enjoy and critique at the same time. Indeed, I think democracy more fully thrives when we simultaneously do both. And so does popular culture. And so do we.

BGDB

I'm sure many of us know dodgeball as something we did in high school and junior high school gym class, or we know it as the subject of a certain Ben Stiller/Vince Vaughn film. In recent years, though, a club circuit of college dodgeball teams has developed, along with an organizing association--the National Collegiate Dodgeball Association (NCDA). This year Bowling Green State University was honored to host the NCDA tournament on April 10-11. The tournament drew 13 teams, and Grand Valley State University defeated Central Michigan University in the finals to claim their third straight championship.


I had the opportunity to attend action on Saturday, along with my 10-year-old nephew, whom the BGSU dodgeballers were quite gracious in entertaining at times. If you have a club dodgeball squad around, it really is worth checking out. There's a lot more serious competition to it than the comedic representation offered by Vaughn and Stiller. And it's really exciting as well.

Despicable K

In 2003, Dave Bliss, the head coach of the men's basketball team at Baylor University, engaged in some heinous acts, implementing a plan to cover up the murder of one of his players, Patrick Dennehy, by concocting a story that Dennehy was a drug dealer and that those dealings led to Dennehy's death. As this plan was developing, one of Bliss's assistant coaches, Abar Rouse, recorded a conversation with Bliss that would later expose Bliss's plan, lead to Bliss's ouster as coach and major sanctioning by the NCAA that may keep him from ever coaching again in college basketball, NCAA sanctions against the Baylor men's basketball program that included only playing a conference schedule one season, and a criminal investigation (though no formal criminal charges were initiated) against Bliss. For more on this story and Rouse's plight since the incident, check out this column by ESPN.com's Dana O'Neil.

One of the most striking elements contained in O'Neil's column (and plenty of other reports that have covered this story) is a quotation from Duke University men's head basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski. As Krzyzewski was quoted, "If one of my assistants would tape every one of my conversations with me not knowing it, there's no way he would be on my staff."

Now, I'm happy to reconsider my view of this statement should Krzyzewski demonstrate contrition for it or that it occurred within another context that would mitigate my concerns. As it looks, though, this statement is not only inaccurate, it's downright despicable. First of all, as I understand it, Rouse recorded one conversation with Bliss. He was not making a habit of repeatedly recording conversations, nor did he record "every one of" his conversations with Bliss. These points make Krzyzewski's comment inaccurate.

Secondly, and even more significantly, that Krzyzewski cannot tell the difference between what Rouse did and the kind of thing to which Krzyzewski seems to be alluding would appear to show that Krzyzewski has a very poor sense of judgment. I think I understand why Krzyzewski would be opposed to an assistant always or repeatedly recording him without his awareness. I would agree that that would violate trust that the head coach must be able to have in his assistants. Additionally, it would seem to reflect a suspicious degree of self-interest on the part of the assistant, who, assumedly, would be using this for some gain at the expense of the head coach. So, Krzyzewski's lack of tolerance for that does not bother me.

However, the case with Rouse and Bliss seems to be so clearly removed from that situation that lack of recognition of that difference suggests a similar degree of suspicious self-interest on the part of Krzyzewski. Namely, Bliss was doing things that were morally reprehensible, and without Rouse taping the conversation in order to have evidence to show Bliss's behavior, perhaps Bliss never gets caught and the story never comes to light. Indeed, given that Bliss was quite willing to concoct this story about one of his players (who had instilled his own trust in Bliss), it's not hard at all to see Bliss firing and publicly depicting Rouse as a problem (perhaps even concocting another story, this one about Rouse) had Rouse reported what happened to the NCAA without this kind of evidence. This seems so clearly to have been an appropriate thing to do in this specific instance that it's mind-boggling for Krzyzewski, at least based on the quotation above, not to distinguish between this and the situation I described in the above paragraph. In fact, it's not only mind-boggling; it's disgusting. In this context, Krzyzewski's comments make him sound so invested in imposing his own power on individuals whom he appears to consider subordinate and inferior that I have to wonder if he deserves to maintain that power--i.e., if he can be trusted to be using it in a fair and considerate manner. Correspondingly, I have to wonder seriously about whether or not Krzyzewski is fit to be in a position that makes him a guiding influence in the lives of his players and other individuals at his university. If Krzyzewski's judgment is a model to look up, what kind of world are we creating? Certainly, it would appear, not one that emphasizes practicing the kinds of good moral judgment about which we so often hear. Quite to the contrary, Krzyzewski wants to punish turning in someone who has done something that lacks regard for human life and decency. I also don't think he should be the the head coach of the USA Olympic men's basketball team. That's not in line with the kinds of ethic I want to represent my country.

I bring this up now because, after winning their respective games tonight, the men's basketball programs from Duke University and Baylor University will play each other in the NCAA basketball tournament on Sunday. Surely, much will be made of the amazing turnaround that the Baylor team has made under head coach Scott Drew, given where they were with their NCAA sanctions just a few years ago. However, I think this is the perfect juncture for a major line of discourse surrounding the game to focus on Krzyzewski's comments about Rouse from 2003 and what his lack of recognition of the good reasons for Rouse's actions potentially show about Krzyzewski.

Unfortunately, particularly given the deference that Krzyzewski (and many other sports figures) get from the media who cover them, I seriously doubt that Krzyzewski will be asked to confront this. At best, the issue might get a mention here or there in certain forums on ESPN coverage or in some columnists' work (hey, Gregg Doyel ... buddy ... this would be a great column for you ...). But CBS's coverage will likely steer away from it, most of the talking heads fronting ESPN coverage will likely steer away from it and/or deflect it if confronted with it, and Krzyzewski will be able to go on without really having to account for his despicable comments. From my very limited position, however, I will talk about this repeatedly and consistently all weekend. Perhaps that can count for something.

United States

There is currently a move afoot at my university to start a faculty union. It's become a significant topic of discussion this year among faculty and administrators, of course, as well as among students. The other day, before class, a few of my students were talking about it and asking me a question or two about it, when one of them said something to the effect of "I think unions were important at one time, but they've outlived their usefulness." (That may not be verbatim, but it's pretty close.) That's not an uncommon sentiment to hear. I've certainly heard plenty of people say almost that exact same kind of thing before. And I think I understand the thinking behind it (though, that's not to say I agree with that thinking). People taking this view recognize that unions in the late 19th and early 20th centuries combatted horrible working conditions to make work a less oppressive place for workers. Yet, this view thinks that today most American workers are coddled and paid well enough that labor strikes are egregious and self-centered exercises led by labor unions, which they often see as bogged down in bureaucracy and institutional politics. Indeed, as a post I placed here in October noted, the very presentation of news stories involving labor negotiations often devalue unions and the interests of labor by their very wording.

The thing that I wonder after hearing the comment that labor unions were useful but have outlived that usefulness is why we only tend to hear it on the side of labor. When's the last time you heard "Corporations were once useful, but they're not really useful anymore" or "Businesses once served a useful purpose, but they have outlived that purpose"? And, ultimately, when as a society we are quick to question the existence of labor organizations and slow to question the existence of management organizations, what does that suggest about liberty and democracy?

Richard Marx and the Symphony

I saw Richard Marx perform with the Toledo Symphony Orchestra last night (January 23) at the Stranahan Theater in Toledo. It was pretty rewarding. For fuller thoughts, check out my review on Tunesmate.

2010 MLB Hall of Fame

The results are in for this year's 2010 Major League Baseball Hall of Fame, and Andre Dawson will be the lone inductee from this ballot, much to the surprise of many who believed that at least Roberto Alomar would and should be there.

As I did last year, I'm posting whom I would vote for if I had a vote for the Hall of Fame. As I mentioned last year, I tend to be pretty inclusive in my voting. Here goes, by category:

Unequivocally, I'd vote for them (6 players): Roberto Alomar, Andre Dawson, Barry Larkin, Fred McGriff, Mark McGwire, and Tim Raines. I offered explanation on Dawson, McGwire, and Raines last year. Alomar is, in all likelihood, one of the best second basemen ever and, thus, belongs here as the biggest no-brainer of this year's ballot. Larkin's performance impressed me throughout the 1990s and, while perhaps in some areas his final career statistics are not as gaudy as some other players', Larkin seemed to me to be among the best players in the game throughout much of his career. I think the same can be said for Fred McGriff, who maintained a high level of consistency from the late 1980s through early 2000s.

Not quite completely unequivocal, but pretty close (2 players): Bert Blyleven and Jack Morris. In both cases, I don't automatically think of them as in the way I do the 6 players above. I do at least think about it once again before putting them on the list. However, it doesn't take me much consideration to put them down. For more explanation, see last year's post.

Vying for slots 9-10 (8 players): Harold Baines, Andres Galarraga, Edgar Martinez, Don Mattingly, Dale Murphy, Dave Parker, Lee Smith, and Alan Trammell. First of all, let me say that anyone who wonders how someone can leave a player off a ballot one year and then vote for the player the next needs a refresher course in how fundamental mathematics works. For instance, check out the third factor guiding his ballot offered by Stan McNeal of The Sporting News in this column from January 4: "If I didn't vote for a player the first time he was eligible, I would not vote for him at all. Talking with Eric Davis reinforced this thinking. He told me that Pete Rose told him, "You're either a Hall of Famer or you're not." As Davis pointed out, "There's nothing you can do after you stop playing to move the elevator up." The problem with this kind of logic (well, besides taking tips on logical explanation from the likes of Pete Rose and Eric Davis ...) is that when the ballot limits someone to only 10 players, you could have situations in which someone you feel is worthy gets left off your ballot. Mathematically, it's impossible to vote for 11 or 12 players when you're only allowed to vote for up to 10. Of course, McNeal's saving grace is that few sportswriters have as inclusive of standards as I do, so when they only vote for 4, 5, 6, 7, or so players, they have not maximized their ballot slots and, thus, might be subject to this critique (though, I think there's a misguided error of perceived omniscience embedded in McNeal's supposition, as if humans should make decisions and stick to them without being willing to be self-reflexive and reconsider how they went about making those decisions and judgments, when, indeed, none of us can really claim to know everything and, thus, be able to make decisions and judgments without possibility for further reconsideration down the road).

With that in mind, because of the ways the ballot goes, I had 3 slots at the bottom of my ballot last year after the sure or nearly-sure things, but this year I only have 2? The reasons? Last year, Rickey Henderson and Jim Rice made the Hall of Fame, which means two slots are open from my ballot from last year; however, with the additions of Roberto Alomar, Barry Larkin, and Fred McGriff, three slots are now taken that weren't last year, leaving me with a net loss of one spot on my ballot. Thus, one person I would have voted for last year would not be able to make it this year. And, indeed, it's one of my bottom three from last year who wouldn't make it this year. Last year, the final three slots went to Harold Baines, Dale Murphy, and Lee Smith, in roughly that order, though, as I said last year, who makes my final slots can vary from day to day. This year, as I'm writing this post, I know slots 9 and 10 on my ballot would come from this group of three players, but which two of the three get in is changing literally as I write each sentence. I think, in the final analysis, I'd go with Harold Baines at slot 9 and Lee Smith at slot 10 (though, by the end of this blog, maybe Smith would be replaced by Murphy ...). If I could vote for an unlimited number of players, then I'd vote for 16, with the other 5 players listed here added to those I've already discussed. Galarraga would be the last one in and would be the only one among this group who might not make it. Still, when I look at his numbers, he's comparable in a number of ways to Murphy and seems to belong in a tighly-packed bunch that also includes Martinez, Mattingly, and Parker. I'd put Trammell in, but with the thought that he doesn't belong there without Lou Whitaker, who I think got screwed years ago on his first time on the ballot (and, hopefully, I'll write more on that in a blog entry in the next week or so, if time permits ...)

Would not make my ballot (10 players): Kevin Appier, Ellis Burks, Pat Hentgen, Mike Jackson, Eric Karros, Ray Lankford, Shane Reynolds, David Segui, Robin Ventura, Todd Zeile. I actually looked at the career statistics for each of these players and was able to count all but one out of my ballot rather easily. The only one even close is Ellis Burks. I wouldn't have thought that initially (I would have figured Ventura as the closest to consideration among this group), but a look at his numbers shows that Burks actually might even belong in that group with Murphy, Galarraga, and company. In fact, even as I write this, I'm thinking he might go there. Still, though, I think, like Jay Bell last year, Ellis Burks this year is my cutoff point, but he's really close.