Probably the most nervously offered, yet most important post I've offered. Like you I am a Christian, and a gentleman. And like yourself, and St. Augustine before us, attend the gladiator spectacles. However, like you, for the contest, and not the blood lust (we are not sadists).
There was a time when the Left in this country spit upon and insulted our warriors. Now, like all of us, they thank them for their service, and set about to turn them into victims, which is what the left generally does to all voting blocs but one (the one so many of them belong to and seek absolution for, the "privileged white" bloc. Funny how so many of the actual racists in our society, guys like Donald Stirling, those corporate ninnies at Sony, are heavy Democratic Party contributors). But I digress, boy do I digress. I wanted to talk about "torture" which, when practiced U.S Government style, is kinda like a day at the beach - blaring radios of obnoxious music, threat of drowning with a lifeguard nearby who's paid to make sure it doesn't happen, and all. Now, if you want to make a moral argument against it, fine, I am all ears. If you want to make an argument regarding it's efficacy, I am as well. If you want to say it's immoral, and it doesn't work anyway, you are being disingenuous. It was at this point that I left the Andrew Sullivan Daily Dish. He and I used to exchange emails back I the day when we argued that Bush indeed won Florida, smelly though it was (though don't get me wrong, he wouldn't know me from Adam). Sully went off on Abu Grahib and Cheney and Yoo and torture in the middle of the great conflict between a civilization and barbarism (the kind of words HE used), and I would send him emails, to the effect of: "Andrew: you may be morally bothered, but you gotta admit, from your own experience and knowedge, that pain can bring forth the revealing of what one is hiding." All I got was silence, and, well, goodbye to all that. Similarly, a torturer cannot say it works, and besides, we aren't really hurting the detainee. Thank the gods Cheney didn't use that approach on the talk show circuits (more something like, "what are gonna do, kiss him on the cheek?").
Anyway, those poor souls who endured 48 hours of "What's New, Pussycat" or whatever tune the interrogators used are now being released back to the battlefields to face us and our allies again. We gotta close Guantanamo, you know. We got drones now. Drones are the saber tools of war. Neat little tools to measure wins and losses without having to face the opponent one on one, and size up both the evil, and the humanity of him. It's kinda like abortion in that way. Neat, quick.
I don't pretend to understand the warrior mentality. I am not a warrior, I am a conciliator. I look for peace, a place to exchange ideas. There was a time when football, sports generally, were used to prepare boys for war. Now, the President himself, The Drone King, wonders if he'd allow his imaginary son, whom he speaks of so often, to play such a violent game. Today, the game is an end in itself, as we seek to withdraw from a strong military presence and shower our fortunes on season tickets and stadia (can't have the Sonics playing in a dump like Wrigley, er, I mean Key Arena). But whether in the military, or on the gridiron, the participant is in a war. There was a time when combat included referees and rules, when civilization enforced such a thing: you treated prisoners with respect, you didn't deliberately shoot officers, etc. The Muslim terror warrior insists on allowing us to tie ourselves into fits over this, the useful idiot left always there to do their work while they plant their weapons next to civilians and cry foul. You infidels shed innocent Muslim blood! (Well, we do too, but that's different).
We have referees to keep our football wars fair, and to remain games, and ensure a modicum of sportsmanship. But when you fight for your buddies in the trenches, like Marshawn does, you take it personally when they disrespect your buddies. You fight for your team, your organization, and your city, but in the end, you know they'll turn on you when you lose your effectiveness. So you fight for those next to you. And you have each other's back. And you return home in glory and the appreciative throngs when you win, and appreciation when you do not.. And like an old soldier, you eventually fade away
I wonder at times if we will turn into Western Europe should we do away with football. I love Western Europe, don't get me wrong. But there, it gets ugly when you take away a subsidy. I don't include hooliganism, which I hear about at the soccer matches and witness at Seahawk games. Never cared for the "let's get drunk so we will fight," ethic. Much prefer the "let's stay sober so we'll win" ethic.
All this to say again: I love you Marshawn, and rue the day you put on another uniform, should it ever come. I want you to fight for my team. And you never have to answer a single question from me. Were I still a journalist, I'd walk by and interview the guy who wants to talk about the game you just played next to him. And you can then keep your hard earned money.
And to you vets out there, thank you for your rough and ugly service on my behalf.
Here there be sports-political commentary. You've been "warned." Dr. D wouldn't want to deflower your virgin ears. :- )
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Biology Rick sez,
New appreciation for Lynch.
His thirst for battle, and desire to pulverize his opponents, fuels so much of what this team does. There is this "How dare you enter the field of battle with us. Who do you think you are?" Attitude.
Remember the fit the media had when those Marines whizzed on dead Taliban? That is what Lynch's crotch grab was in football terms. The NFL fines him, and the football paparazzi allow them to collect by asking him questions he already made clear he won't answer. They aren't worthy of it, should respectfully step by to go talk to his teammates.
But they don't, and so, when he does speak, it's to fellow warriors turned journalists who he respects and knows understand. When I watch this guy NOT take the easy step out of bounds in favor of staying in and hitting a few more football Orcs...well, let's just say I watched the Hobbit this morning and thought often of Marshawn and the men he fights with and for. May he always remain a Seahawk. We cannot spare this man. He fights.
THAT is what ELO is measuring. And that is what takes it off the charts. Yeah, ESPN and Virginia, there is a hangover effect.
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From a Christian standpoint, obviously I'm not going to crotch-grab on a NesTea Plunge, much less lower my trousers and tinkle on a fallen enemy :- ) But just out of curiosity, what would be the NFL fine for Lynch doing the latter on Patrick Bowman on Colin Kaeperinick? And would Paul Allen float the "loan" on it?
That said, I (and YHWH in the Old Testament) appreciate that there is such a thing as a Man of Valor, and that his sensibilities are quite different from Mommy's. Mommy wants you to bring your galoshes; it might rain. A Man of Valor isn't quite as concerned about getting his feet wet and catching cold.
It's one thing to use the F-word while sitting calmly in our living rooms sipping coffee laced with designer flavoring. Our minds are affected by our choice of language, and a reasoned decision to become violent, for no reason, is unwise. We become what we live.
But it's a different thing to use violent words, when you are defending your children in a fight to the death, no quarter asked and none given. When a gentle man is required to become violent, well, that is what he's got biceps for. GEN George Washington found the whine of bullets past his head to be a "charming" sound. Hardcore, baby. He was all 'bout that action.
It's one thing to kill in time of war, another to kill in time of peace. Lynch is living in a time of war, and will until he retires and goes back to serve the kids of Oakland in the streets.
And it is precisely this vicarious "gladiator" spectacle that we love about the NFL. This includes the reporters, who have worked very hard to become part of the NFL periphery.
After enjoying the gladiation, these "Hunger Games Glitterati" effete reporters then step over to the gladiators, right in the arena, and ask them to speak with a lisp, like they do. (The same thing happens to Marines who have shot down evil terrorists at risk to their own lives.)
No. Human decency demands that we pass judgment on these gladiators according to a different set of sensibilities than we apply to ourselves.
Dr. D fell in love with Erin Andrews -- you know what he means here -- when she handled the Richard Sherman situation with the perspective she did. A lot of times, the women in journalism are less effete than the men are. It sort of had me wondering whether she was a Mom. That process requires a kind of toughness that even Marshawn will never understand.
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Marshawn is football personified. Like Aphrodite is love personified, Dyonisus is carousing personified, Ares is bloodshed personified. If Marshawn lived in 1700's Japan he would evolve into the patron deity who controlled all events that occur within NFL stadiums.
He plays like, and looks like, a Were-Lion lycanthrope. This is the player -- like Edgar Martinez in baseball -- who transcends worries about "dead money." Dead money is important. Players like Marshawn Lynch, Edgar Martinez, and Randy Johnson are more important.
Lynch is a lot more important than niggling concerns about what he might cost in post-retirement premiums. The city needs to wallow in every single game he has left, and if it costs twice as much, so be it.
Comments
I'm not in, Doc. Not in on the NFL "why we watch" analysis, anyway The gladitorial element of football is what I've learned to hate about it. It's just not what I want to watch. I suspect I'm part of a silent (near) majority on this front. I want to see superbly talented athletes exhibiting their tremendous gifts, not a "gladiator" standing over a vanquished foe and screaching about his superior manhood. It is what has mostly ruined football.
If it is OK for a Seattle Seahawk to engage in such behavior, then why not college players and then why not high school players and then why not Pee Wees? That is exactly what we now see in the "Games" at each of those levels, BTW. If we are going to make football the behavioral equivalent of actual battle then it should apply to all levels of football. Let's all become real Spartans.
Alas, the game is now lost in the spectacle.
Culturally, we see in football what we wish to see in ourselves, I had a long post about the various decades, from the 1950's on, and the players we most admired in each deacade representing what we wanted to admire in ourselves. It was too long, but for example, in the 50's and early 60's the football heroes were blue collar types, guys who represented an America at work, hammer and tong. Guys like Unitas, Bednarik, Otto Graham, Ollie Matson, Rosie Brown, Art Donovan and Sam Huff punched in to the time clock every day. They were larger than life because they seemed to be something (with more excellence) from our own lives.
By the the time we get to the end of the 60's and 70's we get the cool of the Namaths and Kiick/Csonka/Butch/Sundance's. Alworth, too. Even the Monday Night Football Road Show was tres hip, like we wished we were. Meredith and his MNF comment about a Cleveland WR named Fair Hooker ("Aren't they all?") and the Cosell-Lennon meeting epitomized a generation (mine) who thought they were twice as cool (or more) than they actually were.
Well, on and on I went in that vein, through the 80's and 90's and 00's.....you get the idea.
In the 10's perhaps we see ourselves as something I don't quite like.
Butkis and Mean Joe Greene wanted to separate your arm from your body, then hand you your arm and later have several beers with you, after the game. Jack Tatum wanted to separate your head from your body then gloat over what he had done.
I fear that too much of the game and too many of it's players is-are Tatums and not Greenes. We should celebrate the Gentleman Giants of the sport, the modern-day Rosie Greers and Alan Pages.
Jim Brown, one of the biggest (not largest) men to ever play the game and one of the two or three greatest RB's to ever put on pads would have never conceived of a crotch-grab as some declaration of his manhood. He scored 126 touchdowns in his career. I'm willing to bet that in (nearly) everyone of them he simply dropped the ball and jogged back to his team's sideline.
As it should be, in the pros or at the Pee Wee level.
Sigh,
Moe