"Where I come from, we don’t like losing, It’s a matter of fact. We don’t like that."
Here’s the thing, a lot of us have been voicing our opinion on how NOT JUST THE NHL but sports as a whole can make moves to make not only women, but fans who are not just white men feel welcome. Making us feel “welcome” is a disgustingly low standard honestly. I would prefer being acknowledged and accepted as an equal rather than begrudgingly tolerated. “Welcoming” is what you do at a get together where there is forced social interactions and instead of being nice and talking to everyone you’re really just glacial and backhanded and dick around on your phone the entire time and whine the wifi is password protected. Believe me, I would know. I recognize my own behaviors.
I’m infuriated because so many have said this in so many ways for years. That article does a disservice to the countless women who have written thoughtful pieces on how hard and complicated it is being a fan of something that honestly doesn’t like you and just sees you as a walking wallet. It doesn’t acknowledge all the women who have logged so many hours writing about hockey and trying to process things passionately even if they don’t have the luxury of a massive reader base. I’m angry because no matter how women have expressed what needs to happen in a variety of tactics, they have been shoved aside and disregarded. It does not matter if I scream from the rooftops or politely hold civil discourse (and use a quiet voice) where I’ve been routinely talked over.
— "How The NHL A Better Job Of Welcoming Women” – said the man, from wrap around curl
"It is foolish and childish, on the face of it, to affiliate ourselves with anything so insignificant and patently contrived and commercially exploitative as a professional sports team, and the amused superiority and icy scorn that the non-fan directs at the sports nut (I know this look - I know it by heart) is understandable and almost unanswerable. Almost. What is left out of this calculation, it seems to me, is the business of caring — caring deeply and passionately, really caring — which is a capacity or an emotion that has almost gone out of our lives. And so it seems possible that we have come to a time when it no longer matters so much what the caring is about, how frail or foolish is the object of that concern, as long as the feeling itself can be saved. Naivete — the infantile and ignoble joy that sends a grown man or woman dancing and shouting with joy in the middle of the night over the haphazardous flight of a distant ball — seems a small price to pay for such a gift."
— Roger Angell, my heart.
"Sure, his size and eager style of play make him an easy target, but maybe the jokes are just a way for people to start getting close to a new and scary idea about attraction. Or maybe he’s just too much cold water in the face. A person can hang a lot of excuses on a gut: single, tired, lonely, sad, gym too embarrassing, low confidence, bad job, the list goes on. Yet there he is. Prince Fielder. Naked, his body gleaming under the lights, basking in all the public adoration. He gets paid millions to play a child’s game for a living, and he is halting and enormous, and women lust for him, and yet, there it is. His gut. And it appears to hold him back from absolutely nothing, not even the unlikely transition from baseball’s husky boy to a legitimate sex symbol."
— Leigh Cowart
"Lueke’s inclusion in the game is particularly heartbreaking because baseball is a place where I’ve gone for many years to take a break from dealing with rape trauma. Its beauty, to me, has always been rooted in its fairness and transparency. Men follow rules, perform by standards, and are ejected for disrespect. It’s a fantasy, I know, but one I’d like to maintain as an escape, and the reliable stream of people who believe Lueke doesn’t belong there is a small solace in an outside world that so often mishandles and ignores the bad deeds of men."
— Josh Lueke is a Rapist You Say? Keep Saying It by Stacey May Fowles
Thankfully, there was a muted silence at the Rays-Yankees game when Josh Lueke came to the mound. I was at Sunday’s game, and on the Ray’s side, there was a smattering of applause that I needed to believe was half-hearted to reconcile the fact that my dream team got a rapist as our relief pitcher.
I love my scrappy team who capitalize on undervalued players to succeed, but seeing how Andrew Friedman and the rest of management frame Lueke’s rape as an “indiscretion” makes me sick. And dudebro baseball bloggers say they’re uncomfortable by its reminder -then GOOD, THAT’S THE LEAST OF YOUR WORRIES WHEN DISMANTLING RAPE CULTURE. (via misterracoon)