Country western hair

MELLIE MACKER

Occasionally, if I notice that someone on a baseball blog has written something egregious and erroneous, I won’t call them out on Twitter, but instead send them a courtesy email to protect them from their own shame. More often than not, my emails go unheeded, but twice I've received a kind response from the individual that I’m correcting. And once, I actually ended up having a really nice conversation with a blogger I greatly admire and he gave me some truly fascinating advice:

“Look, I don’t mean to be a downer but if you didn't play college sports and you don’t have Country Western hair, it’s unlikely that you will ever get a job in sports.”

He’s infuriating, but not at all wrong. The saga of female sports commentary is fascinating, and openly very sexist. Today, the most easily recognizable woman in the sports world is Erin Andrews of FOX Sports and formerly of ESPN--who is famous for getting naked once and saying incredibly stupid things even though she is a very intelligent college football analyst. Andrews has Country Western hair and though she did not play college sports, she was a cheerleader for the Florida Gators, which means that she’s hot and stood near football for a sufficient period of time to be recruited by national news networks.

But, in 2009, Andrews was filmed through a peephole in a hotel room without her knowledge and then subsequently posted on the internet. This horrifying invasion of privacy is the defining moment of her career. The harassment that was inflicted upon her as a result is all perfectly recorded for your reading pleasure if you Google “Erin Andrews” because Google loves to autocorrect her name to “Erin Andrews peephole”. Thanks, Google. You know exactly what I meant, I’m clearly not here to research a perfectly professional individual with a spectacular resume and an interesting story – I’m here to violate her privacy.

This is a woman who runs a television show about College Football and hosts men as correspondents, unlike the other 99.9 percent of all other sports programs on television that follow the opposite format. Sure, she says silly things once in a while, but “silly” is a total understatement when you breakdown the nonsense that emerges from the mouths of football analysts. Last weekend, I took a tally of the times that Jim Nantz and Phil Simms of CBS said “speed in space” – a phrase that means exactly zero things – in ten minutes, and the total was 86. That is stupid, borderline insane behavior. And while CBS commentators frequently field scrutiny for their total inanity, they never hear that they are stupid because they are men.

Erin Andrews, on the other hand, was deemed a “dumb blonde” by baseball fans across the nation because she accidentally stuttered to call Justin Verlander – one of the greatest pitchers in the last decade and arguably of all time – “Justin Bieber.” As embarrassing as that is, it was one single mistake that was picked at and scrutinized only because she’s a woman and therefore doesn't know anything about sports.

As for me, I sincerely doubt that I can take the pressure of that environment, but I’m not going to give up on the thing that I would most like to do with my life. So if you’re reading this and you know of a stylist who can make me look like Fara Fawcett’s hair had a baby with Cousin It, let me know. Maybe the Country Western hair isn't so much about the look as it is protecting yourself with a thick layer of hairspray for a helmet.

Unwritten women

CHRISTIAN MANDEVILLE

In my free time, I like to write on a number of Internet forums and archives. None of my pseudonym-fronted stories or essays has become noteworthy, but these excursions have brought me repeatedly into the community. And in each microcosm of our various hiding holes on the web, there always seems to be a section of authors who feel comfortable stating, "I just can't write female characters.”

Why is this such a phenomenon? There are always novice authors who simply have difficulty creating any characters, male or female (not to mention other identities).

These guys are still writing directly from themselves (as I've yet to encounter a woman who "just cant" write one gender) and will hopefully grow beyond the restriction.

The true problem, as I've seen it, is that male authors create complex and fascinating male characters, yet women seem strangely absent. Maybe they're far from the storyline, or are unseen pillars, holding up the main characters (all male) as they go about their adventures. This is exemplified in The Lord of the Rings series, where women make so few appearances that I can only remember four women with dialog throughout the course of the series.

In Tolkien's case, it seems he was restricted by gender-roles at the time, and I would allow a bit of leeway for that. In the forums where I write, such as “Archive of our Own,” or the assorted Forumotion domains, however, I've seen present day authors adopt the same style of women – being in the universe, but having about as much effect upon it as a houseplant.

One such has a veritable series, equivalently seven chapters in length last checked, and the author was publicly asked why none of his five main characters were women.

"Because I don't feel that this story needs any romance element," he responded.

No commentary on altering the plot occurred, no mention of altering the relationships – this author simply couldn't conceive of having a woman in the foreground unless she was a conduit to a love-interest plot.

Others emphatically state that women are irrational, or so emotional that they don’t understand them. As one such author typed emphatically; "It's not that I don't want [female characters] in my work, I just don't get them. If you don't understand a character how can you develop them?"

While it's completely true, in my experience, that you need to empathize with a character and understand them to help them grow, the solution to overcoming this ignorance is simple: Read books with genuinely strong female characters, read books written by women hang out on message boards and casually talk to women – ask them their opinions. 


Or better yet, do as Neil Gaiman suggested to those seeking advice on developing female characters: "Just write people."

Fiction is the genre about the impossible and the improbable. You can break barriers, be they laws of physics or cultural norms, but if you can't write women in fiction, then you have bigger problems than static characters.


Up To Bat: Sexism in the Boys Only Club

MELLIE MACKER

I love baseball. Every year, through 162 games, my emotions rise and fall with the success or failure of my Detroit Tigers. I follow the records and outstanding plays of every team, and adopt an appreciation for the all-stars and rookies who capture my heart with their athletic abilities. I eat, sleep and breathe statistics – AVG, OPS, BABIP, WHIP: I know what they mean and who’s leading in the rankings.

What I don’t love, however, is talking to men about baseball. As with cars, beer, or even comic books – when women cross over into the realm of things that are considered “masculine”, their opinions become subject to severe scrutiny. Sports are the goddamned paragon of this brutal prejudice. 

It would be one thing if I were merely a casual spectator, but instead I am a die-hard fan with an ego that refuses to be flexed with – just like any number of spectators with testicles.

Not all men are at fault; in fact, many of the guys I know and revere for their baseball knowledge genuinely don’t care if I’m XX, because they are too wrapped up in the game to even notice that I happen to have boobs.

So, if I’m talking to a guy, and he puts on that shit-eating grin when I mention that I live and die with the tide of America’s Pastime, I prepare myself to field the barrage of condescending questions and insulting statements that I am 76 percent sure will follow. Note: Statistics are variable depending on how many beers have been consumed and if anyone is in scoring position. 

This usually will manifest in one of two ways:

• He has one or two particular stats or historical occurrences that he has memorized for this particular situation. Usually, he’ll frame this into a question that has a correct answer and if I don’t guess correctly, he wins. If I do know the answer, great. If not, I have an entire arsenal of response questions that he probably won’t know. Sandy Koufax’s ERA in 1965? 2.05. The year Al Kaline was adopted into the Hall of Fame? 1980. 1929 Batting Champion? YEAH I DIDN’T THINK SO. Lefty O’Doul, for the record. I have mastered length and girth in this dick-measuring contest.

• “You only like baseball because you think (insert conventionally attractive baseball player here) is hot.”
  Yep. You caught me. I obsess over a rotating roster of 25 men and their individual performances, and closely monitor the activity of 29 other fully-staffed teams over the course of nine whole months in hope that I will one day have the golden opportunity to put my mouth on some dude’s weiner. RED-FUCKING-HANDED.  The sheer douche-baggery of this cannot be understated. In so few words, I am accused of being unable to properly enjoy an activity unless there is some sort of sexual context introduced – and this doesn’t work both ways. Men are allowed to “appreciate” the undulation of bodies, the grace of on-field motion without being accused of any sexual inclinations (“seriously bro, no homo”). This also undermines my intellect, by suggesting that I cannot actually comprehend the fundamentals and intricacies of the sport, and therefore must be drawn to it by some alternative primal instinct.

It used to flatter me when I talked to a fellow about baseball, and after some time, his skepticism relented and he said, “Wow, you really know your stuff!”

Not anymore. It’s exhausting, and quite frankly, it’s ruining my appreciation of the game because I have to prove that I like something more than someone else in order to be let into the Secret Club of Men Who Know Things About Sports No Girls Allowed. 

If I like baseball, I should be asked normal questions, like: “Who do you think is going to win the World Series?” Not: “Who is the hottest player from 1977?” 

But just because you asked, it’s Bucky Dent from the Chicago White Sox.