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Blame A-Rod, Spoil the
Child
By William
Broussard, Ph.D.
As a pre-teen, I
loved the Toronto Blue Jays. This was an irrational
love affair, given that I’d never been to Canada (I’d
later discover that Toronto was one of the most
beautiful cities on Earth) or even met a Canadian at
this point in my life (I’d later discover that a
Canadian was one of the most beautiful people on Earth,
and convince her to marry me). I didn’t love ‘The
Jays’ because of their location. I certainly didn’t beg
my parents to take us to Arlington, Texas every summer
to watch the Rangers play (but they did play the Jays
every summer!), and I didn’t love The Jays because of
their jerseys (two-tone blue, ultramarine over powder).
No, I loved them
because of George Bell. In fact, one summer, less than
a week before Nolan Ryan would strike out his 5,000th
batter, I would meet him and ask him if he knew George
Bell (as if to say I bet you won’t strike him out
tonight!). You might not remember George Bell … just
imagine Ice Cube six inches taller with wider shoulders
and a better build … more his 100 Miles and Runnin’ days
than his Are We There Yet? days. I loved everything
about his style of play – his ability to hit the ball,
his athleticism in the field, and his leadership in the
clubhouse. It was because of him that I followed the
Jays so closely, celebrated their wins and dreaded their
losses, and recoiled when the Canadian flag was flown
upside down at the World Series (even though Bell is
Dominican).
My brother and I
would play baseball in the backyard, he with his St.
Louis Cardinals cap on, and me with my Jays hat, swingin’
for the fences every time like Bell, but hustlin’ toward
second if I happened to punch one through the infield,
which for our purposes, was a fig tree in the middle of
the yard.
That was some time
ago. Today, I come by the story of Alex Rodriguez
admitting his use of anabolic steroids from 2001-2003 as
someone who has not considered himself more than a
casual Major League Baseball fan for more than a
decade. I haven’t watched a game from opening pitch to
final at bat in many, many years. I know the difference
between Dwight Howard and Ryan Howard, for example, but
couldn’t pick either one out of a lineup without
considerable assistance (or unless one of them was
wearing a Phillies cap).
I am neither a
casualty of the short lived Yankees dynasty of the late
1990’s (I hate the Yanks), or more recently, of Barry
Bonds* eclipsing of Hank Aaron’s home run record
(there’s no footnote, btw, I’m just assuming that the
asterisk will heretofore be part of his name). In fact,
generally speaking, whether I follow a sport closely or
not, I have a tendency, like most folks, to become a fan
when any athlete is about to break a long-held record
(in fact, if I hear that someone is on 7:45 pace in the
3000m steeplechase, I’ll tear away from this computer so
fast …).
No, I stopped
following baseball the summer of 1994. For 232 days,
players and owners walked away from the fans over what
essentially was a dispute over the worsening financial
situation of MLB, and fans across the country were
outraged. In a nightmare envisioned by Durkheim nearly
a century earlier, the socialization of religion had
come to roost, and for many, the altars at which they
worshipped six months out of every year had been
destroyed, and hope for nirvana (you know, their team
reaching the post-season, or favorite player being named
an All-Star) had been stripped away from them. For many
fans, this was tantamount to theft—they were being
robbed of the opportunity to see their favorite teams
and players teeter and totter, get hot and go cold, and
of the catharsis of reaching the ultimate goal—winning a
pennant.
Fans packed away
their team-themed knick-knacks, cancelled their
cross-country commutes, folded and tucked away their
jerseys, and simultaneously swore they’d never
again—never again—root for a bunch of overpaid crybabies
and their ne’er do well bosses. Though I never wore the
jerseys or followed my favorite team to the point of
obsession, I shared this sentiment. I thought it was
just about greedy players, and blamed them for taking
baseball away from me. If only I’d understood every
labor dispute has at least two sides.
For a brief moment
in 1998, however, I considered the love affair all over
again, thanks to Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire. As both
men chased down one of the most coveted records in
professional sports (Maris’ 61 home runs in a season) I
grew interested again and found myself not only watching
Cubs games with interest, but Cardinals games too
(remember me and my brother used to play Jays vs. Cards
all the time? I hated the Cards). In what was a
wire-to-wire contest between the two men, the whole
world tuned in as the aloof McGwire and the ever-affable
Sosa banged out dinger after dinger all summer long.
Being the baseball
card collector that I was, I hunted down their rookie
cards to make sure that they were in mint condition and
safely stored away. Of course each of them was
noticeably more muscular now. And of course two men in
their 30’s shouldn’t be hitting the ball like men ten
years their junior, but no one cared. No one cared!
The doldrums of ’94 were gone, and America’s pastime was
back to stay.
Until we discovered
they were all using performance enhancing drugs. It was
’94 all over again.
I imagine that,
across the country, many 14-year olds are watching
baseball with the same critical and judgmental eye that
I once did. They’re giving up on baseball. When A-Rod,
one of the most consistent, well-liked, and powerful
hitters in the game (he is on pace to absolutely
demolish Bonds*’s record) is discovered to be under the
influence of performance enhancers, and many more likely
to come as long as the players union keeps leaking
names, the cynicism is understandable.
And while I do not
claim that A-Rod should be spared public scrutiny (he
certainly will have many opportunities to face the
music), I do hope that a responsible sports media,
rather than sensationalizing the latest story, chooses
instead to investigate the system that has produced one
A-Rod after another after another. They should
investigate the owners who either knowingly sanction the
use of performance enhancers to ensure the marketability
of MLB’s product or unwittingly fail to acknowledge the
use when it occurs (unless, the owners think it’s
natural to put on 30 lbs of lean muscle in a single
off-season and play 10 consecutive 162 game seasons
without injury).
It also includes
owners and league officials who have shrunk the strike
zone to the size of a wasabi-flavored pea and “juiced”
the ball, creating the environment in which more runs
were scored and more home runs hit. It also includes
scrutiny of the fans themselves, whose tastes have
become altered to expect their favorite players to hit
more and more souvenirs out of the park, and the media
who glorify the big hitters. Though A-Rod will shoulder
the bulk of the most recent wave of blame from fans and
media alike, there are many more to blame, or at the
very least, who are complicit in baseball’s demise in
American popular culture.
 |
It’s
probably too late for me. But for the sake
of that 14 year-old who excitedly dons that
A-Rod jersey every opening day, I hope this
instance finally opens up a more insightful
and critical discussion (more than, say, a
few late night sports programs giving
drug-addled provocateur Jose Canseco 5
minutes on the mic).
Unfortunately, for our dominant sports
media, all too prone to sensationalize
stories rather than investigate closely, I’d
sooner expect to see George Bell in the
Jays’ starting line-up again before that
happened. |
William Broussard is an Associate Director of
Athletics and Assistant Professor of Journalism and
Public Relations at Northwestern State University,
Louisiana who has published on the intersections of
sport and culture, college athletics administration, and
community literacy.
posted 4 March
2009
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Blacks in Hispanic Literature: Critical Essays
Edited by
Miriam DeCosta-Willis
Blacks in Hispanic Literature is a
collection of fourteen essays by scholars and
creative writers from Africa and the Americas.
Called one of two significant critical works on
Afro-Hispanic literature to appear in the late
1970s, it includes the pioneering studies of
Carter G. Woodson and
Valaurez B. Spratlin, published in the 1930s, as
well as the essays of scholars whose interpretations
were shaped by the Black aesthetic. The early
essays, primarily of the Black-as-subject in Spanish
medieval and Golden Age literature, provide an
historical context for understanding 20th-century
creative works by African-descended, Hispanophone
writers, such as Cuban
Nicolás Guillén and Ecuadorean poet, novelist,
and scholar
Adalberto Ortiz, whose essay analyzes the
significance of Negritude in Latin America. This
collaborative text set the tone for later
conferences in which writers and scholars worked
together to promote, disseminate, and critique the
literature of Spanish-speaking people of African
descent. . . .
Cited by a
literary critic in 2004 as "the seminal study in the
field of Afro-Hispanic Literature . . . on which
most scholars in the field 'cut their teeth'."
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Sister Citizen: Shame, Stereotypes, and Black Women in
America
By Melissa V.
Harris-Perry
According to the
author, this society has historically exerted
considerable pressure on black females to fit into one
of a handful of stereotypes, primarily, the Mammy, the
Matriarch or the Jezebel. The selfless
Mammy’s behavior is marked by a slavish devotion to
white folks’ domestic concerns, often at the expense of
those of her own family’s needs. By contrast, the
relatively-hedonistic Jezebel is a sexually-insatiable
temptress. And the Matriarch is generally thought of as
an emasculating figure who denigrates black men, ala the
characters Sapphire and Aunt Esther on the television
shows Amos and Andy and Sanford and Son, respectively.
Professor Perry
points out how the propagation of these harmful myths
have served the mainstream culture well. For instance,
the Mammy suggests that it is almost second nature for
black females to feel a maternal instinct towards
Caucasian babies.
As for the source
of the Jezebel, black women had no control over their
own bodies during slavery given that they were being
auctioned off and bred to maximize profits. Nonetheless,
it was in the interest of plantation owners to propagate
the lie that sisters were sluts inclined to mate
indiscriminately.
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The White Masters of the
World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
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Ancient African Nations
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If you like this page consider making a donation
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Negro Digest /
Black World
Browse all issues
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The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
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The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
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Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for
Slavery /
George Jackson /
Hurricane Carter
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
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January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
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