Goodbye, College Football

Tonight, the 2012 college football season gets underway, and in past years I would have been very excited, ready to start another fall of having the sport in the background each Saturday, each Thursday night, and sometimes on other evenings as I worked.  I feel that excitement again this year; however, I won't be watching.

After some deliberation this summer, I've reached the decision that I just can't justify watching, going to, or otherwise following college football, especially at the NCAA Bowl Subdivision level.  There are, of course, concerns about football injuries that have been voiced prominently in recently years that have me similarly questioning consumption of football at any level.  Indeed, I may choose not to follow the NFL either, though I haven't followed that as much as college football in the past three or four years, so that might not be as difficult to give up.  Yet, for as important as that is, the determining factor in my decision not to consume college football is that I've come to the conclusion that it's being given too high of a place of importance at institutions of higher education, especially at the NCAA Bowl Subdivision level.

In July, I wrote that I thought Penn State University's football program should be shut down because if the head football coach is in a position to influence the president of a university to do something illegal (and in this particular case rather inhumane) that the president was otherwise prepared not to do, then the football program occupies too powerful a position in the organizational structure of the university.  Shutting down the program and reorganizing its place in the institutional structure seems, to me, to be the most appropriate decision.

Yet, I think we'd be naive to think that Penn State is alone in offering such prominence to its football program.  Universities around the country invest significant time and energy in their football programs, while their academic programs and student services programs -- you know, the things that are much more fully tied to the institutions' missions -- continue to suffer and suffer and suffer, from lack of funding, from lack of acknowledgement, from lack of exposure, and from other lacks as well.  Meanwhile, football programs continue to grow -- in funding, in expenses, in exposure, and so on.

These concerns are not particularly new.  Consider, for instance, what Jan Kemp went through 30 years ago after voicing concerns when administrators at the University of Georgia enabled nine football players to pass a remedial English course that they had otherwise failed so that the players could retain their eligibility.  And, of course, questions about the prominence of college football programs predate Kemp's ordeal by plenty of decades as well.

So maybe I've just been fooling myself for a couple decades as I followed college football, finding ways to justify being a fan or excusing its excesses for some selfish consumption.  And maybe I'm now being hypocritical or jumping on a bandwagon by making this decision this year.  I'm willing to self-reflect to interrogate those possibilities; indeed, that has been part of the self-reflection process that has gone into this decision.

I suppose, though, I do think things have changed.  The academic programs and services to help students succeed academically -- remember, though things that are more fundamental to universities' mission statements -- have very recently taken an unprecedented backseat at institutions of higher education.  State funding has dwindled substantially in recent decades and even just in the past few years, and folks such as me are told at my institution to expect this as "the new normal."  Programs at universities are being asked more than ever to rely on the market for their sustainability.  Get donations, raise funds, convince people to send their money your way, all of us are told repeatedly and with increasing force.

And that is what I think ends up making such a crucial difference to me.  If academic programs and student services are going to be forced by university administrators (and the political forces that are heavily influencing those administrators) to "market up" and join the competition for consumption against other entities at the institution, then I cannot in good conscience support an entity that I think is getting entirely too excessive of a share.  As I argued on the Agon about the gift of $88 million by Terrence and Kim Pegula that created self-sustaining Division I men's and women's hockey teams at Penn State, this is a matter of priorities.  Football should not be the priority that it now is, in terms of its financial power, in terms of its institutional power, and in terms of its cultural power.

It doesn't have to be like this.  Sports can have a place at universities as community activities.  Cooperative models in place of our contemporary hypercompetitive models of community structure and development are available.  Unfortunately, we seem unable and/or unwilling to explore those models in ways that would allow for greater diversity, democracy, and humanity.  In seeking to work with efforts to push toward exploring those alternative models, particularly as those models might be applied to educational institutions, a useful step appears to be refusal to take part in an institution that seems to stunt diversity, hinder democracy, and ultimately -- particularly in the Penn State case -- devalue humanity. 

So, goodbye college football.  Perhaps one day we can be friends again, but I fear it might get worse before it gets better.  And to men's college basketball:  You're officially on notice.

This Used To Be My Playground

Exactly twenty years ago, Madonna hit number one on Billboard's Hot 100 chart with her single "This Used To Be My Playground" from the film A League of Their Own. The song's title seems to be a fitting way to begin a blog updating the situation regarding the Popular Culture Building at Bowling Green State University.

As I noted in my previous blog entry, efforts have been afoot to try to save the building.  Those efforts have produced a wealth of new information about the house.  Most significantly, thanks to the work of kit homes expert Rosemary Thornton, we have learned that the house is not just a standard Montgomery Ward kit home, as had been believed.  Rather, the home appears to be a kit home produced by Montgomery Ward but in a special request to look like a Sears pattern.  For more on the home and its history, please check out Thornton's Sears Homes blog, which features several posts about the Popular Culture House and other Sears homes in Bowling Green, Ohio.  Also, check out other folks (such as here and here) who know about kit homes and have weighed in on the matter.  In all, the apparent history of this house has made it so much more rarer than initially believed that it's becoming increasingly more difficult to argue against its historic value.

At the beginning of efforts to save this house, I said that as a piece of popular culture, the house was a symbol of the kind of work that popular culture studies does and, thus, as the kind of work that occurred in the home for nearly four decades.  Now, the attempts to save the house have made it more than a symbol.  It is now a physical embodiment of that kind of work, as the attempts to save it have shown just how worthwhile having physical examples of cultural artifacts can be.  In this case, the ability to go into the house and identify characteristics of the house and markings within the house helped provide the basis for reinterpreting the story of the house and its significance.  This a key aspect of popular culture studies, and it's a key component of the importance of material culture to the study of history, culture, and society.  We can learn from interpreting material artifacts, and we can learn even more by having them available for reinterpretation.

Unfortunately, decision makers at the university feel differently, and as you can see in the picture above, the process of removing the house has begun.

Twenty years ago, while Madonna was hitting number one, this building was my playground, while I was a student at Bowling Green State University working on my Bachelor's Degree in Popular Culture.  Several years ago, it would be so again, as I was a faculty member in the department for two years.  It has been one of the places in which my intellectual play has met my intellectual work, where my imagination was able to grasp new connections in the study of culture and come to thicker understandings of the many phenomena that I witness.  And I am not alone, as many other individuals studying popular culture have passed through it on their journeys of intellectual play as well.

It still could be a playground.  Indeed, some of the proposals that have been offered for saving the house have suggested setting up a museum and/or center of popular culture studies in the building.  Yet, again, these proposals have been met with little, if any, consideration, and so this, in all likelihood, will soon cease to be the kind of wonderfully productive playground it has been for folks like me for several decades.

The 1989 song "Open Letter (To A Landlord)" by the band Living Colour begins with the lines "Now, you can tear a building down, but you can't erase a memory.  These houses may look all run down, but they have a value you can't see."  The Popular Culture House has many kinds of value, for the reasons I have indicated here as well as other reasons.  In a fashion that is so severely disappointing that saying so doesn't seem to do it justice, some folks apparently don't even want to see that value.

Save the Popular Culture Building!

I am an alumnus of the Department of Popular Culture at Bowling Green State University, having received my Bachelor’s degree in Popular Culture in 1994.  I then taught for two years as an instructor within the Department of Popular Culture from 2005-2007, during which time I had an office on the first floor of the Popular Culture Building, which sits on the southwest corner of the intersection of College and Wooster in Bowling Green, Ohio.  From my time as an undergraduate and my time as a faculty member, I have wonderful memories of the Popular Culture Building. 

Over the last number of years, the building has shown some of its age, and it could use significant repairs.  As a university spokesperson stated in a recent article about the plans that appeared in the Bowling Green Sentinel-Tribune, “It is in poor condition and would require a substantial investment to bring it up to being minimally acceptable."  However, administrators at Bowling Green State University have determined that, rather than make those substantial investments to repair the building, the university would be better served by demolishing the building and using that space for other options, such as a parking lot or as part of a site for a new student health center.  That decision appears to be driven by the view of administrators who, as characterized by the university spokesperson, “do not feel the house is particularly significant.”

Unfortunately, that sentiment appears to be one that university administrators gained without surveying members of the community who might feel very differently about the significance of the Popular Culture Building.  Indeed, many of us who are alumni, students, staff, and faculty feel quite strongly about the building, given that it has served as the home of the Popular Culture Department for decades, that it served as a home for a number of past university presidents, that it has unique charm that adds to the character of Bowling Green State University, and that it is a piece of popular culture itself!  It was a catalog home ordered from Montgomery Ward & Company and erected in 1932, then purchased by the university in 1937.  For a little more on the house and its history, see this brief account.

Plans are developing in an attempt to save the Popular Culture house, though work must be done fast, as university administrators – again, apparently without consultation with constituencies who might have a stake in this discussion – have made plans to have the building demolished by the beginning of the Fall 2012 semester, which starts in less than a month on August 20.

If you’d like to be involved in the effort to save the building, here are some things you can do:

Sign this petition to save the Popular Culture Building.

Write to BGSU President Mary Ellen Mazey at mmazey@bgsu.edu to indicate your opposition to this decision.

Call the Office of the BGSU President at 419-372-2211 to voice your opposition to this decision.

This blog is devoted to “piecing together personal experience, popular culture, and politics.”  My involvement in efforts to save the Popular Culture Building reflects exactly that confluence.  If not for my interests in the study of popular culture, this blog would not be the kind of avenue of expression that it is today.  Those interests were shaped, in significant part, by my experiences in the Popular Culture Building, and as I have noted, the building’s status as a piece of popular culture has played a significant role in that shaping process.  The politics of BGSU, as they currently work, left me and many other interested folks out of discussions about the future of this building until we noticed third-party reporting about plans that came out of those discussions and that had already been finalized.  Maybe in the end there are really, really good reasons for this decision.  I’d like to think that me and others like me who are attempting to save the building would be willing to accept those reasons had we, or at least folks to represent us, been involved in those decisions.  We weren’t, and that’s why it’s so crucial that we express ourselves now.

What's In The Cards

I posted this over on The Agon moments ago but also wanted to post it here:

Last night, I stayed up late watching the Tournament Updates on the World Series of Poker website and ESPN’s Andrew Feldman’s Twitter feeds for the latest happenings at the 2012 World Series of Poker’s “main event.”  When I finally nodded off, twelve players remained as the tournament whittled its way down to the nine players who will square off at the final table in late October.

Upon waking just after 7:00 a.m. this morning, I immediately checked to see what I had missed.  Indeed, the field had been cut to nine, but unfortunately, my main rooting interests went out in positions eleven and ten, as Elisabeth Hille of Norway and Gaelle Baumann of France just missed making the final table.

This was big news, as it’s the furthest that a pair of women together in one year has ever made it in the World Series of Poker’s 43 “main event” tournaments.  Only once – in 1995 – did a woman make the final table.  That year Barbara Enright finished fifth.  A few other times, a woman has just missed the final table, as Barbara Samuelson in 1994, Susie Isaacs in 1998, and Annie Duke in 2000 each placed tenth.  The year that Duke finished 10th, Kathy Liebert finished 17th in what, before Baumann and Hille this year, had been the highest placing pair of women in the tournament’s history.  (For a bit more on Baumann and Hille’s place in history, see this story.)

Meanwhile, in many years, no woman has even placed in the money.  For the first 16 years of the tournament (1970 to 1985), no woman placed.  (In fact, until 1978, no woman even entered the tournament.)  After Wendeen Eolis finished 25th in 1986, no woman cashed between 1987 and 1992.  In 1999, 2001, and 2002, no women cashed as well.

These numbers aren’t particularly surprising given the level of female participation in the event.  While I don’t have a figure for the number of women in the main event this year, through 58 tournaments at this year’s World Series of Poker (there are 61 tournaments total, with the Texas Hold ‘Em “Main Event” as the final tournament), it’s been reported that women made up 4.9 percent of the participants.  A general sense of the history and coverage of the main event would lead me to believe that the number of female participants in the main event wasn’t too far away from that mark. 

In other words, in what is not a surprise to anyone who follows it – and probably not a surprise to a lot of other folks as well – professional poker is a very male-dominated sport.

Now, I recognize that there are questions about whether or not poker really is a “sport,” but, regardless of one’s position on that issue, the game does draw on many conventions of sport in its coverage, its marketing, and its culture.  In doing so, it also provides us, I think, with a useful window into discussions of gendered participation in sport.  Time and again, we hear arguments that would deny women opportunities in sport based on the premise that it’s just physically impossible for women to compete with men.  Biologically, arguments like this one go, men are stronger, faster, and bigger than women, so men will always be better at games like basketball, baseball, hockey, tennis, and so on than women.  These arguments are then deployed to trump questions about culture or socialization as significant contributing factors to women’s participation and success in these and other sports.

Yet, in poker, those arguments about stronger, faster, and bigger don’t hold up.  Indeed, since research has suggested that women are better at interpreting interpersonal communication than men, if we’re going to go with biology, it would seem that there’s an argument to be made that women should dominate poker.  Still, men dominate the game, and I think the culture of poker, socialization processes into poker, and many other cultural and social processes from outside of sports that discourage women from participating in poker have to be considered here in order to explain adequately why the game is so dominated by men.  That these practices and processes involving poker mirror practices and processes involving other sports—and the ability of ESPN to market its coverage of poker relies mightily on how heavily they do—compels us, I think, to recognize more fully the roles of culture and socialization in perpetuating inequitable opportunities for women throughout the world of sports.  If, as the saying goes, the cards don’t lie, then they appear to tell us that arguments for gendered inequality based in biology do.

Hunger Pains

Since we met, my wife and I have enjoyed going to the theater to see films together.  We’ve probably seen somewhere around a couple hundred films in the theater over the past 14 years.  Living in Bowling Green, Ohio, for the past several years has contributed mightily to that, since the Cinemark here in town at the Woodland Mall – both affectionately and mockingly known by BG locals as “The Small” – has to be one of the best deals for seeing new films in the theater in the country.

One Friday this past April (April 6, to be exact), my wife and I decided to go to the theater, and we settled on The Hunger Games as our choice.  We both sat squarely on the fence about whether to see the film or not.  Neither of us was against seeing it, but neither of us expressed a particular interest in hurrying out to it either.  Neither of us had read the books, but we both had heard of The Hunger Games as a popular culture phenomenon.  Nothing else of greater interest was showing, though, so we went to see The Hunger Games.

And I was blown away.  I loved it.  I left the theater saying that, even though blockbusters and Academy Award nominations don’t typically go hand in hand, this deserved merit for the Oscars, and a number of its actors, especially Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss Everdeen for Best Actress, deserved nominations as well.  I also talked about how much I enjoyed seeing a strong female lead character in this film—something I made sure to bring up in the Communication and Gender class I was teaching the following Monday.

Within days, I had purchased the novel on my Kindle and was devouring it, followed quickly by its sequels, Catching Fire and Mockingjay.  I continued to be enthralled, and the more I read the books, the more I was convinced of their value, not only because of the strong female lead character, but also because they seemed like an outstanding set of narratives for illustrating standpoint theory—a theory that suggests that one’s positions in power structures within a society affect one’s viewpoints, attitudes, expectations, interests, and so on.  Standpoint theory plays a large role when I teach Communication and Gender as well as when I teach a course on Communication, Race, and Power, which I was also teaching in the spring, and so the articulation of this theory in these books came along for me at a time when they resonated profoundly with the content in the courses I was teaching.  I took time in each course to talk about this connection. 

The first book in the series clearly seems to be the best, and the third book – Mockingjay – did contain a few parts that felt a bit contrived, but I found great value in the entire series.  The series demonstrates the aforementioned connection to standpoint theory as we see Katniss learn to understand how different people who have experienced different forms and levels of privilege come to very different ways of making sense out of life.  The hope is, of course, that as we read about Katniss’ experiences, we learn to apply this to our own lives and interactions with others as well.  At least, that’s the connection I saw to the Communication and Gender and Communication, Race, and Power classes. 

In the process, though, the books also demonstrate how hegemony works, and with the “Hunger Games” competition, the narrative seems to serve as an excellent metaphor for discussing and understanding how forms of oppression and dehumanization occur within competitive systems like capitalism.

The third book adds another important element to that, as it demonstrates how resistance movements can often end up investing in their own forms of oppression and dehumanization.  In particular, the resistance movement in this book seems to provide an excellent depiction of how socialist movements such as those that have developed in the Soviet Union, China, and Cuba can be little or no better at avoiding oppression and dehumanization than the competitive capitalist systems that they oppose.  The series, as a whole, thus invites both reflection on how to recognize the oppressive and inhumane aspects of both systems and discussion of how we might chart a course that provides a more humane alternative to these two options that have so pervasively dominated the modern world.

Meanwhile, the third book also includes the very important narrative element that provides the basis for the overall story’s literary irony.

Given all of this, I have been greatly looking forward to the theatrical versions of Catching Fire and Mockingjay.  However, some very recent news has dampened that enthusiasm considerably.

This week, Lionsgate Entertainment announced that the third book, Mockingjay, will be split into two films, continuing a trend that started with the seventh book in the Harry Potter series, which was cut into two films that were released in November 2010 and July 2011, respectively.  That cut made some sense.  Many Harry Potter fans with whom I’ve talked have tended to feel that the film versions of books four, five, and six left too much out.  The seventh book is no less densely packed, and so significant of an amount of narrative elements needed resolution in the seventh Harry Potter book that, while still debatable, I think a case can be made for justifying splitting the final book into two films.

Not justifiable, though, is the trend that this has begun.  Soon after film studios realized the increased profitability of having two films for one Harry Potter book, other franchises began to follow suit.  The fourth book in the Twilight series was split into two books, and as someone who has read all of the books and seen all of the films, I can state quite firmly that I do not believe that Breaking Dawn contains the kinds of narrative complexity that warrant two films.  Additionally, while each of the books from the The Lord of the Rings trilogy warranted its own book, largely because they are their own books to begin with, I do not think that The Hobbit needs to be broken into two films.  Indeed, it’s already been done as one (albeit animated) film before.  And, similarly, for all of its merits within the The Hunger Games series, Mockingjay does not seem worthy of two films.  Quite the opposite, I fear that two films, by both drawing out the narrative to a point of lost efficacy and, particularly, by splitting the narrative in two separate experiences, have the capacity to diminish the strength of the book’s narrative themes and resonances.

This is, though, as so many folks have already realized, a rather bald play for profit by film production studios.  They can make much more money by asking filmgoers to attend two films, asking consumers to purchase two films, and so on than they can by just having one film.  And, of course, they’re relying on the premise that fans like me who really enjoyed the book series and the first film, along with the regular blockbuster-attending public, will pay for a second set of tickets, a second DVD or digital download, and so on.

When, though, is enough enough?  Supposed “news” sources often report on ways in which Hollywood loses money.  Every time we witness a few weeks in which the films in theaters didn’t rake in as much money as the films in theaters on corresponding weeks one year before, we’re inevitably treated to stories about Hollywood being in “a slump.”  Forget any other complicating factors, like how the summer blockbuster planned for exactly one year after a film like The Dark Knight, Avatar, Spider-Man, or any of the other top 20 pictures of all time would be hard-pressed to repeat the success of their predecessors from one year earlier.  Forget that 14 of the top 20 highest-grossing films of all time in the United States have come out in the last 10 years and that three of the top five have come out in the last five years.  Forget that even in a down week, especially during the summer and between Thanksgiving and Christmas, movie theaters bring in tons of money every week.  And forget all of the other ways in which Hollywood has figured out how to make money beyond theater ticket sales.  Hollywood production studios, and their parent companies, would continually like you to believe that they are facing pending economic collapse.  The news agencies that report this, which are owned by those same parent companies as the film production studios, are complicit in this ploy as they report this.  And, in the end, they’re banking on the consuming public paying for all of this, like the folks in Capital City, needing diversions to make our lives meaningful while the economic system that produces those diversions continues its various forms of oppression and dehumanization, often without our awareness or our concern. 

In the end, it’s tough to say what is enough, and that’s a question that folks like me who study popular culture usually have to negotiate as we both find pleasure in popular culture and critique it at the same.  It’s a question that many courses I teach, many conversations I have, many written works that I publish, and this blog seek to ask more folks to realize and explore.  It may be that I have already bought too much into the ploy by seeing films in theaters, by buying the The Hunger Games books, by purchasing soundtracks for some films I see, and so on.  Having a local film theater that only charges a few bucks to see a newly released film makes it a little easier for me to justify going to the movies, but it still exists within that negotiation process, and that my available choice involves simply how much money I will spend to see a film in a theater demonstrates some of the privileges I already enjoy that many do not.  And, in the end, as much as it pains me to say it, the splitting of Mockingjay into two films may have to be the line I cannot cross.  I’m anxious to see the cinematic representation of the novel, but I think in the end I’m more anxious not to contribute to what seems to be an embodiment by Lionsgate of the very antithesis of the useful critical theme that drew me to the books in the first place.

Not Any Lions: Some Thoughts on the State of Penn State Football

I would not say that I am a fan of Penn State football, but growing up I did develop a bit of an affinity toward them because one of my brothers somehow became a fan, and they seemed like a good “outside” rooting interest when you’re smack dab in the middle of Ohio State-Michigan country and you don’t want to root for either of those teams.  This, of course, comes with a few caveats.  First, Penn State only really became a good rooting interest along those lines when they joined in Big Ten conference in the early 1990s.  Second, I really most pulled for Northwestern among Big Ten teams as I grew up, because they were so horrible in the 1980s and that made them worthy of my rooting interest.  And third, once I went to Michigan State for my Master’s degree in the mid-1990s, the Spartans became my rooting interest within the Big Ten.  Still, in football, behind Michigan State and sometimes Northwestern, I have tended to root for Penn State for the past decade and a half within Big Ten football.

Given the well-documented events that came to light last fall in regard to Penn State football, my rooting interest has largely evaporated.  And, given additional evidence that has come to light within a recent CNN report on email exchanges among principal administrators in the case, I’m thinking that more is needed than simply not rooting for Penn State football.  Namely, I’m leaning heavily toward thinking that the football program at Penn State University should be shut down.  That shutdown should occur for at least a couple of seasons, and it perhaps could go on longer.  I’m thinking it should be set from the beginning as indefinite, and it should occur until such time as the university has thoroughly and sufficiently created a structure for the program that would prevent similar kinds of abuses from occurring.  To be thorough and sufficient enough, the new structure would need to include significant measures to ensure that the football program does not attain the kinds of cultural and organizational power that would appear to have been a significant contributing factor to the situation that allowed Jerry Sandusky to remain involved with the football program and the university.

Now, I know that there are concerns about penalizing current players, coaches, and other individuals (including, I suppose, fans) who were not individually involved in this situation.  Indeed, such concerns have held me from reaching my current opinion for some time.  However, I see those as problematic concerns that, like too many other phenomena in the contemporary United States, place too much emphasis on individual action and individual pathology and not enough emphasis on deeper cultural and organizational structures that induce individual actions.  Indeed, the very emphasis on the individual and not the cultural and organizational appears to have been a significant part of the problem created by PSU administrators Graham Spanier, Tim Curley, and Gary Schultz in their reaction to concerns about Sandusky’s behavior in 2001.  As the CNN report notes, they saw the “humane” path as one in which they confronted only Sandusky about the situation and sought to allow him to work individually on correcting his behavior.  This would appear to place too much emphasis on individual action without addressing the organizational and cultural elements of Penn State football that might have helped encourage and sustain Sandusky’s individual action.  Those elements include authority given to head coach Joe Paterno toward determining the course of action taken, as it appears by the email exchange in the CNN report that Paterno’s reluctance to involve anyone outside of Penn State’s athletics administration in the matter may have significantly influenced the actions taken (or, more to the point, actions not taken).

While sanctions against these individuals have an important place in addressing this situation, I don’t think that speaks enough to the kinds of organizational and cultural power structures that would allow a football program to elicit that kind of power – particularly the kind of power to convince the university president to subvert state law about reporting the 2001 incident by handling the situation internally.  There are increasingly persuasive arguments recently that football may not even have a place at colleges and universities, but perhaps it does still have a place.  However, even if it does, that place should not be anywhere near as high as it appears to be not only at Penn State, but at numerous higher education institutions across the country.  I believe more is needed to address this, and I think a good start is by shutting down the football program at Penn State University for a minimum of a couple of years and then indefinitely after that until such time as the university demonstrates that football has been accorded a more appropriate place within the university structure.

As part of this proposal, current players, coaches, and staff affiliated with the football program and not directly involved in the Sandusky situation would be given the opportunity to transfer or seek employment at alternative institutions while foregoing any typical sanctions that they would face for doing so.  Given that that’s not a particularly practical consideration with the 2012 college football season only two months away, Penn State would be allowed to play its regular-season schedule this season.  They would be excluded from any postseason opportunities, but at least playing this season would give current players, coaches, and staff in the program a much more equitable opportunity to seek alternatives.  That could occur at the conclusion of the season, and with the program barred from any postseason opportunities, they could all begin that search early within the transferring and hiring cycles.  The program would then shut down at the end of the 2012 season—again, for at least a couple of years and indefinitely after that until Penn State University demonstrated to some independent entity that the university had sufficiently made arrangements for a more appropriate place for the program within the university structure.

Ideally, the university would make this move itself and seek help from other agencies in soliciting an outside entity to make a future determination about reinstatement of the program.  If the university won’t do it, then the government of the state of Pennsylvania and the NCAA are other possible sources for the decision, preferably in that order, I think.  Whatever the case, I’m very much coming to the conclusion that this kind of action is warranted.  At the very least, if I continue to watch college football (and, feeling a tension similar to that recently expressed by Abe Khan on the Agon, I’m seriously considering not watching college football at all any more), I will most certainly not watch or pay particular attention to games that involve Penn State.

An Oval of Conflict

I just sat down a little while ago to watch the Indianapolis 500, and for the first time in a long time, if not ever, I'm seriously conflicted about whether or not to watch.

As I've said before on this blog, the Indy 500 is my favorite sporting event to watch each year. Over the past 30 years, I've watched almost every race, only missing a few here and there because of conflicting events (mainly high school graduations, including my own). In recent years, I've also become fairly attached to watching the entire Indycar series. Yet, after the death of Dan Wheldon in Las Vegas in the final race of the series last October, I've had a hard time getting back into the series.  Much of this is tied to what I wrote on the Agon on the day of Wheldon's funeral last fall. Please read that piece, which sums up concerns that have significantly influenced my reservations about watching this year's race.

I tried to watch the Indycar series with the very first race of the season earlier this spring, but when pre-race television coverage went to a piece about Dan Wheldon and his death, I lost interest. I turned the telecast off and, while trying again with subsequent races, I have not watched a race in the series since. Still, as the calender turned to May, and the series turned to Indianapolis, I tried again, this time to watch the time trials as drivers qualified for the Indianapolis 500. Sure enough, that worked. I watched attentively, and here I am today watching the race.

Yet, coincidentally enough, the moment I turned on the pre-race coverage today, about 15 minutes into it, ABC was at the end of a piece about Dan Wheldon and his death. That piece ended with ideas about how important it is to remember Dan Wheldon -- to keep him "forever in our hearts," as one statement that could be seen on the telecast put it. Yet, that seemed only to translate into reflecting on how sad it was to lose a great driver, while not translating into serious contemplation on the conditions that contributed to his death.

It's that seemingly misplaced sentiment that makes it difficult for me to watch and support the league right now. It's the misplaced values that I associate with that sentiment that, even if I do manage to get back to watching the league, will keep me from watching the race at Texas Motor Speedway, which is run and promoted by Eddie Gossage, whose attitudes and actions appear to reflect deeply the very problematic ideological commitments that I mention in my piece on The Agon from last October. And it's all of this that has me so conflicted as I watch the race. We'll see how it goes. I very well may watch and enjoy it, but I won't be taking it so lightly.