"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)
"I think at some point the fear of dying alone outweighs the fear of fucking the same person for the rest of your life."
— Stacey May Fowles, Fear of Fighting (via derekwarwick)
"I felt like crying but nothing came out. it was just a sort of sad sickness, sick sad, when you can’t feel any worse. I think you know it. I think everybody knows it now and then. but I think I have known it pretty often, too often."
— Charles Bukowski, Tales of Ordinary Madness (via deatheruption)