LYRA.
Pretending to like sports.
And some other things, occasionally.
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Roy O goes to the Rangers? Really wanted to see him on the bases again. He goes big AND goes home!
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CBC’s endorsement of a blog/audio feed called “While the Men Watch” has caused something of a shitstorm from both male and female sports fans. With good reason; almost everything about the concept is aggravating, including misfires in the collective outrage.
The Toronto Star published an article erroneously stating that female reporters and fans have taken issue with the sexist implications of the WTMW site. It’s a typical offshoot of a sexist issue; only the group being offended is supposed to be upset? The writer himself is male, so let’s take it as a poorly written sentence, but it’s kind of a perfect example of how easy it is to lose sight of the bigger picture.
Most of the negative attention has focused on the actual content of this website, which endorses the theory that women are only interested in elements of sports that have nothing to do with the physical activities themselves. This is obviously offensive, both in its simplistic approach and the resulting generic content. While women are admittedly the minority in the sports fan cohort, females do in fact possess brains that are capable of understanding and appreciating the skills and strategies involved in executing sport, beyond noting that Tom Brady’s pretty hot. Duh. It’s almost more offensive to have to point that out. As far as the content goes, it’s a stretch to bother tying sports things into standard Cosmo fare, the appeal of which has nothing to do with whether a woman likes sports. Giving the WTMW creators, Lena Sutherland and Jules Mancuso, a hefty benefit of the doubt, I’ll concede that an assumption was made that current female sports fans already know what’s going on and were therefore not intended to be the target audience.
So then, who is the target audience of WTMW? General answer: females who don’t like sports. But more specifically, women who are fed up “with their sports-addicted men”. And with that we arrive at the disturbing core of the entire concept: women with male friends, boyfriends and husbands who are sports fans cannot find anything better to do than try to cram “Sex and the City-esque” material into something their men like. It’s alarming to paint women as being so devoid of personality and interest that they have to piggyback on whatever their male acquaintances are interested in doing. I would personally be less offended if the WTMW site and commentary was full of content along the lines of, “So, your boyfriend likes sports? How about finding a hobby YOU enjoy!”
It’d still be sexist and kind of stupid, in my opinion, to put all the focus on a reaction to what “your man” is doing, but at least the spirit of it would be rooted in encouraging people to pursue their own passions and interests. Fine if you want to talk about whether you’re the Carrie or the Charlotte of the group – who am I to say it’s a better use of time than rushing home to hit your Fantasy League trading deadline? I personally don’t care about the former, but I’m not above similar things. To wit: there was a span of at least six months during which the only two things I cried over were cake (specifically, Torta calda al cioccolato at Toronto’s Terroni, if you’re in the hood) and Halladay pitching a no-hitter in his first post-season appearance. I’m kind of covering both demos there and it’s not really up to anyone to judge which one is superior to the other.
However, if you tell me that I’m supposed to morph my interests to match my boyfriend’s, I’m going to want to kick you in the shins. There’s this whole sidebar debate that WTMW spurred on, about the many other sexist features of sports (cheerleaders, commercials geared at men, promoting stereotypical images of “manliness”, etc.) and that’s also not the point. It’s ridiculous to make the argument that because there already exists a pervasive problem with sexism and stereotyping in sports, we might as well pile on to the mounting heap of stupidity. If there’s already garbage on the street, it does not make it okay to toss your refuse out there too. In fact, you probably want to be part of the cleanup, so you don’t up surrounded by trash, forgetting what it used to be like to see front lawn.
There is space for something like WTMW to exist; I’d never be a fan, but I’m not a fan of lots of things geared at women, Sex and the City, included. As much as I’d like to see gender stereotypes eradicated, it’s not going to happen and beyond that, there’s the cliché of “they’re clichés for a reason” that’s annoyingly true. However, where WTMW fails is not only in its overt reinforcement of negative female stereotypes, but its tacit endorsement that women adapt their lives and personalities for men. In this recent piece, “7 Phrases to Yell Out if You Don’t Follow Hockey”, there’s not even a remote hint at a suggestion that a woman might be interested in learning about the sport. The writer isn’t even approaching the piece as a fan or expert herself, who is passing on valuable information to a woman who is being introduced to hockey. Instead, the assumptions are that the woman is only watching because her man is and that the writer knows nothing about hockey expressions either, but has learned a few handy terms to toss out there now and then to trick your guy into thinking you’re enjoying yourself. Healthy!
I don’t even know how it’d be possible to spend time watching something and not learn anything from it. I also don’t know how it’s possible that anyone would want to be in a relationship where you’re capable of, and determined to, bullshit your way through something to impress the guy. But mostly, I’m just glad my boyfriend finds something to do while I watch sports.
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I wonder if Allen Iverson practiced for that honourary tip-off toss for tonight’s #Sixers #Celtics game? #classic
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I like my sugar with coffee and cream.
When I was 15, my friends and I thought this song was the coolest. I’d later learn that I was wrong. The Beastie Boys had done a lot of really kickass stuff well before that song was blaring out of our rooms and windows while we drank awful mixes of whatever was in our parents’ liquor cabinets, hanging in the backyards and patios of our parents’ houses in the suburbs. It was 1998 and the Beastie Boys were new to me but it was okay because I had a boyfriend who knew all the words and friends with older brothers who had all the tapes. Yeah guy, tapes.
It’s safe to say none of us were thinking much about the future then. We certainly weren’t thinking that 14 years later, Adam Yauch would be dead at 47.
It’s sad and unfair to lose people. It’s funny to feel like you’re losing someone you never knew.
Last weekend, my sister and her hangover went to a rally for her boxing coach’s wife. This woman has a rare form of cancer that required a type of chemotherapy that neither her police pension nor OHIP covered. Local media covered the rally, support was raised, and today, The Cancer Care Ontario agency (part of Province of Ontario) responded to all the letters from friends and family, as well as all the media (CTV, City TV, AM 640, among others) who have contacted them asking for an explanation. They have reversed their decision and will cover her treatment, and are making it so she can have the treatment done under the care of her oncologist at Princess Margaret.
Sometimes, there’s a strange comfort in being affected by people you don’t know.
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A new smoothie and a refusal to make any Yu puns.
Bautista hit his last home run… today! [Unexpected turn of events; Booster report pending]. As for the previous HR, that was recorded on April 23 against the Toilet Paper Tigers (recommended). I mean, Kansas City Royals. The Jays won that day, and the blue pie chart lives on to die another day. I had a Strawberry Storm to celebrate the occasion. It was decent. It had less protein than the steak-y Bananas-a-Whey and also less sweetness than that Rainforest dessert attack.
I’m a bit bummed about Bautista’s lack of output and I am obviously not alone. Fans aside, it seems like Bautista isn’t exactly enjoying himself out there and who can blame him? He’s got that Mexican jumping bean Lawrie twitching his way to headlines, warranted or not, with that adorable scamp Rasmus quietly producing solid numbers, quelling most of the “We hate Rasmus” vibe that kicked off the season, but also not doing anything so outrageously awesome to get him above the radar. (Side note: I wish Rasmus’ walk-out music was that Ra Ra Rasputin song… Rasmustin!) (Side note note: I’m aware it makes no sense.)
So through all that, Bautista’s busy hanging out in right, slumping at the plate, and slumping his shoulders. Actually, are there any sad memes of Bautista shaking his head, or walking slowly back to the bench yet? Today’s homer is great news, but I still think Sad Keanu could have a worthy opponent if someone hopped to that. Ideally, Bats’d have a Booster Juice on hand in each one. Whoever brokered that deal might be a bit concerned about their investment too, as a matter of fact. It’s only May though.
Oh, but then there’s Senor Encarcion, who keeps showing up with HR after HR, including a grand slam and a dinger off some pitcher named Darvish.
Speaking of Darvish, I don’t wanna speak of Darvish. WHY is everyone and their creepy uncle obsessed with making “Yu” puns? Aren’t we collectively over that, as a society? Haven’t we gone through enough with Linsanity and Tebowmania (not a pun, but they were trying, so it counts). Someone please make it stop. I honestly cannot believe how many unfunny punny headlines there have been in sports, specifically, over the past year. Imma let Yu finish but…
Oh no.
All I’m saying is, Beyonce had the best video. You know? And by Beyonce I mean Stephen Strasburg and by best video, I mean best pitcher. Imma also gonna have to start using slightly more current references but, regardless, if you need some inspiration for headlines, look no further than Nationals Park. Yeah, yeah that “brohawk” (I just learned this) fella Bryce Harper made his debut (mysteriously throwing off his own batting helmet), but, “old news” or not, that Strasburg is something to see. His team screwed him out of a win Saturday night against the Dodgers, but man alive is that guy good. Plus, it’s really hard to make puns out of his name. Please, please no one prove me wrong.
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President Obama slow jams the news w @jimmyfallon. I was amused. I can’t wait to see Stephen Harper do this… on what? Q? And then I’ll neeever be able to sleep again!
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Lest anyone fall under the impression that I wasn’t serious about my Bautista Booster Challenge (self-imposed), let me ease your mind.
Bautista HR Count: 2
Lyra Boosters Count: 2Success? Success.
The first Jose Bautista home run of the year arrived on the Jays’ first game of the year and was delivered out of the hand of Cleveland’s tall, very tall, Justin Masterson, who I also just learned was born in Kingston, Jamaica. Jammin’.
Homering in the fourth with the Jays down by four, Bautista’s shot to the left field crowd was what the literary crowd call FORESHADOWING. Like the raven. Too bleak. Like a phoenix! Too clichéd? Whatever. I am not going to say like a blue jay. I don’t know how high they fly but they seem small and perhaps best-suited for conserving energy rather than attempting resurrection, even metaphorically.
Moving on, the club, clearly buoyed by Bautista’s rocket, would soar to the great heights of tie-dom by the ninth, and then stretch that sucker out all the way to the 16th inning before finally winning the longest opening day game ever, by a score of 7-4. I was nearly passed out when it all ended. A Booster Juice would have come in handy, as a matter of fact.
I was very eager to celebrate such an auspicious start to the season. The nerdy tremors of excitement were triggering wild synapse firings in my brain and I even wondered if I’d be able to keep up with Joey Bats’ awesome power as I eyed the array of helpfully named Booster options. Feeling overwhelmed, I chose the April feature of the month, which was “Rainforest”, which was described as “a refreshing mix of pineapples, coconut, strawberries and vanilla frozen yogurt.”
I guess all those ingredients were in there. Mostly I tasted sweetness. Blood sugar spiking sweetness. That woozy feeling was returning. But no matter, the Jays! The Jays were on fire! Jose Bautista was gonna hit so many home runs I might end up owning a Booster franchise! So many avenues of sure-fire success were stretching out before me. Spring fever. It felt right.
Unfortunately, unsurprisingly, my Booster bubble was burst kinda quickly. I forgot I was dealing with the Blue Jays and that I would need to acquire patience and some kind of ability to harness the adrenaline that blind, irrational hope summons.
In the passing days since that one glorious home run Bautista let loose in Cleveland, the Jays have turned me into that Penelope Cruz character in Blow. I scream, I don’t make sense, I feel frantic most of the time, and most confusingly, I do all of this in a very thick and difficult to understand Spanish accent. Olé.
A brief respite was afforded me when Bautista’s bat woke up in the first inning last week against the Rays’ Jeff Niemann. Boom, like that, outta the park. I have less to say about this one because it didn’t inspire feverish excitement, as much as exhausted relief, as per the aforementioned goal to chill the fuck out. This is an important thing for all professional athletes, whether your game’s baseball or smoothie drinking. Stay within yourself. Pace yourself. Be the ball. Be the Booster.
Taking this to heart, I opted for “Bananas-a-Whey”, which seemed a far more placid beverage choice. I must’ve been nuts thinking I could handle the exotic call of the Rainforest right off the bat. (Seriously, no pun intended).
This banana one contained bananas (duh) and frozen yogurt blended with pineapples, skim milk, and whey protein powder. I later learned that means 26 grams of protein, which I think is the equivalent of a steak. I don’t eat steak very often.
Are the Blue Jays going bananas or “Away we go!”-ing? Only time will tell. I will point out a traditionally specific baseball stat: both times Baustista has homered in a game, the Jays have won. Chart below. I can’t wait to see if this trend continues.
Oh, and if you haven’t done so yet, I encourage you to visit the OFFICIAL Booster Juice Facebook page, where you will be greeted by a maniacally-smiling girl who’s setting the bar pretty high on Booster satisfaction, and Bautista, who’s got a more realistic, Blue Jays-esque level of contentment going on. That’s the final metaphor for the day. Govern your smoothies accordingly.Find me on Twitter at @lyrapappin.
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I throw like this too.
Trivia: Rick Ankiel throws more strikes from center field than Mike Timlin threw from the mound. Dated reference? Shut up. And hey, looks like the Nats could be the real deal this year. Jayson Werth and his Lincolnesque beard for President!
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Excellent read via @nytimes - ‘On the Origin of Everything’ - http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/25/books/review/a-universe-from-nothing-by-lawrence-m-krauss.html
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When the whole “Tiger Woods is a sex-crazed whore-lover” story broke, a friend of mine expressed little surprise; in his opinion, it was a long time coming, an exposed breakdown stemming from a childhood that was really a childhood in name only. My friend’s thoughts? “No child could golf for that long. Tiger was forced into it. Like a bear stapled to a bike.”
When you’re forced to do something, eventually, you learn to do it. But just because it turns out that you’re great at it, just because you happen to excel at it, doesn’t mean you love it. And since you were forced to do this thing, you probably also don’t have much of a shot at comprehending or caring whether you love it or not.
Self-awareness is not a common trait. Cheating, on the other hand, well, for better or for worse, cheating is pretty rampant, especially in professional sports. Employing the “but everyone does it” excuse as some kind of justification for Tiger’s transgressions is not the point; I’m not about to argue whether there’s any space for infidelity with professional athletes, or your average schmo, for that matter. What I am willing to argue for is the right to choose whether you care about what your hero du jour is up to in the wee hours of the night. The truth shall set you free, Tiger, ladies of the night, you and I, one and all.
So. Tiger Woods. It seems that he has slept with a lot of ladies. And by the headlines I’ve seen over the past year or so, “ladies” is not the way most are putting it. I take issue with that. Why is it that Tiger’s sleeping with “dirty whores” becomes the go-to gag? “Oh, gross, Tiger slept with some skanks”. Um, how about, “Oh gross, a multi-millionaire with a wife and children cheated with many, many women, all of whom had considerably different access to the privileges he enjoyed his entire life?”
Granted, Tiger took his licks; years of being truculent with the media, and allegedly, many around him, didn’t earn him too many favours from those publishing headlines, which were quite brazenly designed to cause him embarrassment. However, the insinuation is that cheating with porn stars, strippers or prostitutes is somehow worse or more embarrassing than cheating with… anyone else. The women end up being dehumanized and degraded, which really should not be the issue. We can’t pretend to know anything about these women, and apart from the ones that broke the story, they didn’t ask for this. And frankly, at least they got something out of it. Many professional athletes are having the times of their lives with women, some of which might be paid to party, but many are simply girls lining up after games waiting to sleep with some rich famous guy, just to say they did.
This shouldn’t be surprising. From hockey to baseball to basketball, and God help us, probably lacrosse and ping-pong, dudes with athletic prowess have it easy when it comes to landing girls. If anyone, anywhere thinks that this is a Tiger-specific issue, they should probably finish their milk and cookies, dial their rotary phones, leave their doors unlocked, and call it a night.
Is it okay that Tiger did this because many others do? No. Is it anyone’s business? No. Consider this: do you know, or care, what your CEO does after 5 pm? If he had a penchant for visiting nightclubs and doing some blow, would he deserve to lose his job? Character and morality are personal. It’d be nice if everyone had the strength and integrity to do the right thing in every situation, and were completely stable, but it’s simply unrealistic.
Is it worse to know that our heroes are flawed or to hide it because personal weaknesses are a complicated grey zone that we can’t quite wrap our minds around? Plus, there’s the issue of feeling somehow complicit in this kind of id-driven behaviour. We want to hold our stars to a higher ground and it’s just not sustainable or a reflection of reality. Why do we need Tiger to be a saint? Isn’t it better to strip back the Matrix and see Tiger for what he is: a guy with some issues who was, and maybe still is, an otherworldly golfer?
Most were shocked by Tiger’s troubles. Some were horrified. Some were amused. The thing is, most have now “forgiven” him. Whether we had this right or not in the first place is another debate, but as he takes each step on Augusta’s course this weekend, we no longer need to wonder whether the grass is greener where he is; we have the answer. I think there’s some comfort in that. There’s something nice about knowing the truth, twisted and imperfect as it might be.
