Fall Favorites

The air was crisp, the cushion forgiving, and the colors muted. Cider simmered on the stove while the cool fall air floated in through the open porch door. Attendance was all but mandatory. Something homemade and delicious was always in process in the kitchen. Football season arrived every fall at my childhood home like clock work. I can still place every book on the shelf in it's proper place in my mind. I can sense the need for a blanket while I sprawl on the couch with the advent of the cooler fall weather. Dad always watched the first half of the game, but migrated to the backyard to water the plants when his team started losing. Though he could see the score through the main window, the lawn allowed a greater perimeter for pacing. Gran Anne always watched from her room, which shared a wall with the den. She liked to flip between games more than Dad or Jay did. We could always tell whether or not she was watching the same game based on the harmony of cheers. I'm certain that there were weekends when I had homework, or should have. But my memories consist of lazy, delicious afternoons sprawled in the den with the family.

For the longest time, I was the professional antagonist in the family. Whomever the family was cheering for I cheered against - because I could. Mind you, I was not simply attentive to the game but purposefully obnoxious on every call. My brother was a statistical sponge - able to recite the virtues of any player or team for the last forty years at the drop of a hat. It drove me crazy. Mom, Dad, & Gran Anne had a lifetime of loyalties to offer. It seemed to me that the other teams deserved a fighting chance as well, and my ardor was the key to their success. As you can only imagine, that didn't go over well.

It strikes me that the family teams have now become "my teams." Whether it's time or unlikely maturity that has developed, football season is undeniably my favorite. Although I'm sure my family does not have pleasant memories of my presence in the midst of our football Satur/Sun-days, it is one of my fondest recollections. There are few things in life that transport me in such a palpable way.

So, to my favorite season: welcome back and please, stay a little longer this time. To my teams: here's to hoping. To the family: save me a spot on the couch!

Powerful Disrespect

I am an self-professed, loyal fan of the NYTimes. I browse their webpage several times a day, and anxiously await the delivery of the "blue bag of joy" to my doorstep every Sunday morning. I carefully comb through each section and the magazine throughout the week. That is not to say that I agree with everything I read, but I appreciate quality writing and good journalism. This is part of the reason why I was so disappointed and shocked to discover the cover of the magazine two weeks ago now. The title across the front page was, "Women Who Hit Hard" on top of a picture that doesn't give away what the article is about. I admittedly left the thing sitting on my coffee table for the last two weeks to fester. I finally picked it up yesterday and decided I should at least read the article, lest my anger be justified.

It only got worse. My first disclaimer is that I am not an educated tennis fan. I will turn on national and world championship matches. I know some of the most popular names in the game. But I could not accurately recite the rules, nor is it likely that I could actually hit a ball with a racket. Nor do I know anything about the evolution or history of the game. That having been said, I was a collegiate athlete and did coach on a collegiate level. I am intimately familiar with women's sports both on a club and DI collegiate level. So let me just state my more than mild disapproval as the attempt to pull this article off as a tribute to the progress that women have made in any game.

First of all, there are plenty of dignified ways to photograph or chronicle a sport without sexualizing the women in the photos. The clothing, the make-up, the poses - just really disappointing. I'll leave it at that.

Then there is the title, "Women Who Hit Hard." Only once you turn to the article in the middle of the magazine does the subtitle appear: "How Power Has Transformed Women's Tennis." I can only imagine that the author was trying to be provocative. So in that generous vein: congratulations! Mission accomplished.

The author's analysis of women's attitudes is unprofessional. To claim that women are somehow more unprofessionally emotional is tacky. But I'll let his words speak for themselves, "In Henin, the line between an expression of vulnerability and a devouring stare of slightly sour competitiveness can be fuzzy."

Jelena Jankovic, tennis player ranked third from Serbia, deserves a nod for articulating what the author fails to capture in this article. Of course there are going to be different ways for athletes to market their image. "It all depends on how you want to develop your brand. Some players want to be known as great tennis players, others for something else. I smile a lot, I show my emotions, and maybe that’s what I’m known for. It has become very competitive in this sense, but the level of tennis is very high.” Acknowledging differences is inevitable, and I'm certain it can be done without compromising the integrity of the game and the dedication of the athletes.

I guess that's the rub. I know so many women who have worked incredibly hard to advance the recognition and integrity of their sport. We have come a long way. But clearly there are many miles yet to be traveled, as I was starkly reminded by Michael Kimmelman's article. Objectifying women sexually, emotionally, or any other way is only a detriment to any progress that has been made. I am not one to ask for different expectations for males and females - be it in sports, journalism, the church, or any other arena. All I'm really asking is that we respect one another's integrity and dignity.