Roll Red Roll: Rape, Power, and Football in the Heartland

Around ten years ago, in Steubenville, Ohio, two high-school football players sexually assaulted a girl. One of the players, Trent Mays, already had a predatory history, and it seems he chose the new girl because she came from another town, and she was vulnerable.

The two football players took the unconscious girl and violated her with their fingers. Trent Mays also attempted to force her to perform oral sex. It seems other acts occurred, because of semen evidence, but the rest of the story is shadowy. Mays liked to have trophies from his assaults, so he circulated photos; boys saw footage of the assault and commented via video, and the videos then spread themselves throughout Steubenville. Only one witness -- a kid who had some history with law enforcement -- attempted to raise objections. "This isn't cool; this is rape." No one listened to this one witness.

Later, adults -- parents and educators -- tried to erase evidence of what had occurred. Rape myths popped up: "Drink too much, and you're asking for trouble," "boys will be boys," "we can't ruin a boy's life because of a bad choice." Ultimately, the two attackers did spend time in juvenile detention -- but then they were allowed to resume their football careers, and one of the two never even apologized (and continues to whisper that he did nothing wrong).

"Roll Red Roll" makes connections between high-school football and the NFL. In the NFL, you can assault a woman, or multiple women, and then go on to have a high-salary career. Additionally, professional football seems to suggest that the role of women is to be eye candy; watching an athletic display of cheerleading, you might hear someone in the stands whisper, "Yeah, but can that blond one do laundry?"

No one can read this stuff without squirming -- and three cheers to Nancy Schwartzman, for making people uncomfortable. I loved this book.

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog