Where sports and politics collide.
There is a 23-year-old Los Angeles Dodgers rookie of great promise named Erisbel Arruebarrena, walking around spring training wearing number 11, and this bothers the holy hell out of me. There is only one number 11 for the Dodgers, and that is Manny Mota. The 76-year-old Dodger legend, who is not a Dodgers coach for the first time in more than three decades, is also present at spring training still wearing his own number 11. He has responded to Arruebarrena being given his number with nothing but class. Maybe I am just less classy. Maybe I am biased because I had the privilege to meet Mr. Mota and found him to be as principled and proud as I dreamed the Dominican trailblazer to be. Maybe I just do not like the casual disrespect for a man who has given so much to both this organization and the city of Los Angeles. Maybe I should explain.
More than any other sport, by a country mile, numbers in the world of baseball have a near-sacred quality. I am not only talking about statistics, although there is certainly no sport that fetishizes their numerals quite like baseball. Few know or care about the exact number of yards the NFL’s all-time leading rusher, Emmett Smith, ran for in his career, yet books have been written about Babe Ruth’s 714 home runs, Henry Aaron’s journey to 755 and then, with appalled overtones, Barry Bonds’s muscled-up quest for 762.
There is certainly a case to be made that the reason why everyone from the sports media to the US Congress is so much more fanatical about performance-enhancing drugs in baseball than any other sport, is the belief that PEDs lead to inflated statistics which harm the integrity of these treasured, talismanic statistics.
The other numbers, which hold a hallowed weight in baseball, is the number on the uniform. The two most famous hoops players of their generation, Kobe Bryant and LeBron James, both switched up their uniform numbers in the middle of their careers. In football, players sell their numbers to teammates. Baseball is different. It is why Jackie Robinson’s number 42 is retired in every ballpark. It is why there has been a push to retire the great Roberto Clemente’s number 21 for every team as well. It is why part of the thrill of Derek Jeter’s career has been seeing him grow into his number 2, someday to be retired amongst Yankee immortals number 3 Babe Ruth and number 4 Lou Gehrig.
That is why I find it to be so personally disturbing to see Erisbel Arruebarrena wearing that number 11. Mota, as I mentioned, was a coach for the Dodgers for thirty-four consecutive seasons, the longest in team history and the second longest in the history of the sport. He retired as the all-time leading pinch hitter in the Major Leagues. His pinch-hitting also led him to become a pop-culture legend when, in the movie Airplane, Robert Hays thought the words, “Pinch-hitting for Pedro Borbon… Manny Mota… Mota… Mota.” (Borbon and Mota never actually played together, which kind of makes it even funnier.)
The bigger issue however, is the casual disrespect to what Manny Mota represents. This is not only disrespect to someone who has given his professional life to the Dodgers organization—in a sport that is supposed to revere its history—but also disrespect to one of the first significant players to come to the Major League Baseball from the Dominican Republic. Today, it is difficult to imagine Major League Baseball without the talent infusion from the DR. Every team now has a baseball academy on the island. One-quarter of all minor league players were born there. At the start of the 2013 season, eighty-nine Dominican-born players were on major league rosters, the highest of any country outside the United States. All of this talent comes, remarkably, from a country with a population less than that of New York City.
I have written before, and surely will write again, about the problems that exist in MLB’s exploitative relationship with the young dreamers in the DR, living in poverty and striving for that Major League contract. But Manny Mota is someone who has used his stature to try and combat poverty in the DR, through his organization, the Manny Mota International Foundation. He is more than just an all-time Dodger. He is a humane bridge to a country that Major League Baseball has too often treated with contempt. It is difficult to not see the bestowing of Mota’s number 11 to Arruebarrena as symbolic of the blasé disrespect with which MLB treats the DR as a whole. But once, again, this is just me talking. When Erisbel Arruebarrena was introduced to the media, Mota came by, all class, and said, “You know what? That’s my number. Wear it with pride.” Only one person should wear that number, and he never had to be told to wear it with pride. The pride was always there. Dodgers, do the right thing and make sure that the number 11 lives only with Manny Mota-Mota-Mota.
Read Next: In the NFL, a victory for ending mental health stigmas.
When offensive lineman Jonathan Martin did the unthinkable and walked away from the Miami Dolphins in the middle of the 2013 season, some said he would never play in the NFL again. Never mind the fact that he was suffering from severe depression, with ideas of self-harm on his mind. Never mind the revelations that he was dealing with the hazing, bullying and even assault perpetrated by teammates, led by his “friend” Richie Incognito. Never mind that there were coaches complicit in this scenario. His pro football days were done, not only because he left the team, but also because of what his decision to leave supposedly revealed about his character. As Reggie Rivers, a former NFL player, wrote in The Denver Post in a column titled, “Is Jonathan Martin in the Wrong Career?,” “Martin may be too quiet, too unwilling to speak up for himself and too emotionally fragile to handle the vicissitudes of the NFL. It was bad enough when Incognito was bullying him, but now that a national scandal has erupted, the situation is far worse for Martin. He may feel too humiliated to ever play in the NFL again.”
At his sports blog, Jake Elman also wrote last November, “Jonathan Martin, despite seeming to be the victim of bullying, death threats, and racism, will not play again in the National Football League. Martin has entered a list of players who teams won’t want on their rosters simply by leaving the Dolphins, exposing things that are supposed to stay in the locker room, and hiring a lawyer to investigate allegations of workplace abuse…. Martin, has one of the worst qualities you want from a player…. he’s become a distraction.”
Neither of the above pieces was unsympathetic to Martin, and the two writers should not be singled out as outliers. To the contrary, both reflected a common sentiment repeated often on sports radio: Martin was too “soft,” too “vulnerable” and too much of a “distraction” to get another chance in the National Football League. Now we know that Martin’s NFL career is not over, and this is cause for relief. The 24-year-old second-round draft pick and two-time All-American is now a member of the San Francisco 49ers, traded by the Dolphins for a song—a seventh-round draft pick that Miami receives only if Martin makes the team. It is difficult to think of a better landing place than the 49ers. They have a strong foundation, veteran leadership, a solid offensive line and most importantly, are coached by Martin’s Stanford University coach Jim Harbaugh.
Martin thrived under Harbaugh’s tutelage at Stanford. His old college coach also gave him a major boost, as Deadspin noted, when NFL investigator Ted Wells was assembling his report on Incognito and the Dolphins locker-room culture. One of the contentions of Incognito and his defenders was that Martin had no business in an NFL locker room and they should not be faulted just because he lacked the mental fortitude to handle the pressure. Ted Wells wrote in his assessment:
Jim Harbaugh, Martin’s former head coach at Stanford and the current head coach of the San Francisco 49ers, told us that he had never doubted Martin’s tenacity, work ethic and dedication to the game, and that he had never seen Martin exhibit problems with social adjustment. Coach Harbaugh told us he believed that Martin likely could continue to have a successful career in the NFL. It appears that Martin was up to the challenge of dealing with physical or verbal intimidation by opposing players during NFL games, but fell victim, at least in part, to persistent taunting from his own teammates.
It matters that Martin is getting this second chance. The idea that having mental health issues makes a person a “distraction” is not something that should be accepted with a shrug of the shoulders but needs to be challenged. The idea that having the courage to blow the whistle on an abusive situation makes a person “emotionally fragile” is so backward, one does not even know where to begin. The idea that the victim of hardcore bullying could then become further victimized by being denied a future at the age of 24 should be seen as manifestly unacceptable. This has always been about not just the NFL but about the messages the NFL sends. Mental health issues are not impermeable “handicaps” but a part of life, and admitting that you need help should never be, as Mr. Rivers wrote, “humiliating.”
This entire situation has been a stench-producing view into the reality of one NFL locker room. Jonathan Martin getting a second chance is a sign that something productive could emerge from the toxic landfill in Miami. Another positive sign was news that after trashing his own car with a bat, Richie Incognito admitted himself into a mental health facility. There is no shame in needing help. Degradation is only assured if someone pretends all is well, thinking that they are going to “man up,” when in reality they are just biding time to a greater fall. It is hard to find someone who does not hope Jonathan Martin makes it all the way back from whatever depths of depression he found himself in last year. We should hope Richie Incognito makes it back as well, whether or not that means finding a place on an NFL team.
Read Next: After Darren Sharper, the NFL must address violence against women.
Last week, Jen Psaki, the spokesperson for the US State Department, was asked if she had comment on “Israeli soldiers at checkpoints targeting Palestinian soccer players.” She said, “I haven’t seen that. Obviously, we spoke to our concerns [about checkpoint violence] again, in the same Human Rights Report about certain actions and behavior…. I will check that out.”
“Checking out” what is happening to Palestinian soccer players would be well advised, and not only for Ms. Psaki. Last week, I received what could best be described as an overwhelmingly hostile response to my article on a recent shooting by Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) of two youth soccer players, and how this could affect the extremely perilous position Israel finds itself in the international soccer federation, FIFA. My piece went through the Palestinian Football Association’s very underreported push to get Israel removed from FIFA. Their appeal has been gaining support and will be raised formally at FIFA’s meeting in Brazil. The second part of my article centered around the aforementioned recent shooting of two young soccer players in their feet outside of an IDF checkpoint. The IDF claimed that the two young men had a bomb, something that they deny. My article aimed to show that this incident, alongside the jailing, injuring and killing of prominent members of the Palestinian national soccer team would have the effect of adding fuel to the movement to have Israel removed from FIFA.
I expected to get the typical barrage of hate mail from the usual suspects: the darkest corners of the Internet that believe on principle that Palestinian life is cheap if not entirely without value. At most, these e-mails are as nettlesome as spam.
The part of the response that was truly jarring however was the numerous private queries I received from prominent members of the media. I am choosing to keep their identities private because their correspondence to me was private and I will respect that. The queries contained no curiosity about Israel’s possible expulsion from FIFA. They all instead openly doubted that the shooting of the two young men had even taken place. Was I sure this really happened? When I pointed to my initial sources, the response by numerous people was, “Do you have any sources that are not Palestinian?” One person, writing for a major sports website, sent me numerous queries that I did not respond to, and then when the facts of the shooting appeared in the Israeli paper Haaretz, said to me, “Forget previous queries. I see news of the shooting on Haaretz. Never mind.” The assumption of mendacity affixed to Palestinian sources spoke volumes.
The other part of my story that people accused of being untrue was my theory that members of the Palestinian soccer community are being targeted for violence by the Israeli state. This was described to me as “laughable,” “ridiculous,” and one even said that they would reach out to The Nation directly to agitate for dismissal.
Yes it is certainly true that I don’t have a document signed by Benjamin Netanyahu calling for a systematic attack on the Palestinian national team. What I do have are names: real people, with real families, whose lives and deaths are testament to a story that needs to be told.
There was Ayman Alkurd. He was a 34-year-old member of the Palestinian national soccer team. Alkurd was killed during the 2009 Operation Cast Lead when a missile was sent into his home in Gaza. There was Wajeh Moshtahe, another national team member. He was killed in his home during Operation Cast Lead as well. He was only 24. There was Shadi Sbakhe, another national team member who suffered the same fate. All three, in fact, died within seventy-two hours of one another. They reminded many, at the time of their deaths, of Tariq Al Quto, described by the BBC as “a talented midfielder,” who was killed by the IDF in 2004.
Then there are the imprisoned. We can start with Omar Abu Rios, the former starting goalkeeper for the national team. He was arrested at age 23 for allegedly being part of an attack on Israeli troops at the Amari Palestinian refugee camp near Ramallah. He was, according to Chairman of the Palestinian Football Association Jibril al-Rajoub, “arrested at work and taken to an unknown location.” Rajoub appealed directly to FIFA chief Sepp Blatter on Rios’s behalf, saying that his arrest “was in total disregard of all agreements signed by the Israeli side and in direct violation to the simplest right of our players.”
There was also Muhammad Nimr, a top 23-year-old striker and national team member, who had his house destroyed by the IDF and was then jailed without charges being filed. Nimr’s story echoed that of another striker, Zakaria Issa, who had been jailed for sixteen years before being released in 2013 when he was struck with terminal cancer.
Then there was Mahmoud Sarsak. Sarsak was a defender on the national team who was arrested and jailed without charges while trying to cross a checkpoint in order to join his teammates. His plight became an international cause when the Palestinian national team member went on a three-month hunger strike while being held in an Israeli prison. He was released in July 2012. As he said at a meeting in England upon his release, “Israel actively attempts to stop sportsmen and women competing, and there are a large number of athletes in prison…. Since 2008 we have seen Israel detain a number of sportsmen who were arrested under the administrative detention laws—meaning no charges need be brought. They never have to go to trial.”
This is reality for the Palestinian national team: four dead by Israeli munitions and—at least—three jailed in Israeli prisons without trial over the last decade. I have no idea whether people will see this as constituting a “targeting” of the Palestinian soccer players. I do believe that it is our job as sports journalists to ask the questions. There can be no doubt that we would press for more information if those killed and jailed were members of the Spanish national team, the German national team, the Brazilian national team or, heaven forfend, the US national team. Israel’s future in FIFA should depend on its answering these questions, but they only get answered if they are asked.
Yes, it is understandable why looking to FIFA for any kind of moral guidance is laughable. The locations of the next two World Cups, Russia and Qatar, contain enough human rights violations to keep Amnesty International busy until the next century. But attacks on athletes themselves need to be, pardon the expression, a red line for all international sporting bodies: a red line no country should be allowed to cross.
Read Next: Dave Zirin’s original piece about violence against the Palestinian national soccer team
The role of the referee in professional sports is not just making sure play is monitored, penalties get called and the game has a sense of flow. It is to protect the integrity of the product and the safety of the participants. The NFL demonstrated starkly when it started the first four games of the 2012 season with scab—or in the parlance of our neoliberal times “replacement”—referees, that the game was simply not the game when you had untrained eyes in charge of the action. For reasons that beggar belief, Major League Soccer has decided to follow in the tragic trajectory of the NFL and start the season with scabs on the pitch.
The Professional Soccer Referees Association, otherwise known as the refs union, has been attempting to negotiate their first collective bargaining agreement in league history. The amount of money that separated the two parties is not vast, estimated between $440,000 and $1 million for the lifetime of the deal. The main financial issue was that in recent years, MLS mandated far more trainings for referees to improve the quality of officiating. The refs, however, were not compensated for the extra hours.
The greater issue, however, was political. It was the fact that the refs union refused to sign a no-strike pledge. As the MLS league negotiator Peter Walton said, “Since they will not give us a guarantee they will not go on strike immediately prior to our match we are left in a position where we must use replacement officials.”
Yes, you read that correctly. The response to the refs shockingly ungentlemanly refusal to sign a no-strike pledge, has been to lock them out. This contemptible, hypocritical move forced me to ask the question, what the hell is it about labor rights that so repulse people named Walton? No, Peter Walton, a former British referee, is not related to those Waltons but I did truly wonder if some ne’er-do-well billionaire Walmart nephew had taken to breaking unions as a sideline hobby.
As for the refs, they have decried the lockout as a “scorched-earth” tactic and vowed to press on. They point out that the lockout comes after the union had already filed unfair labor practice and labor intimidation complains with the National Labor Relations Board.
Meanwhile, however, we have the specter this weekend of games that could be a train-wreck waiting to happen.
I spoke with Kevin McNutt, the cohost on my radio show Edge of Sports and a basketball referee for over thirty years. He said to me, “Scab referees are not adequately trained or qualified to service the product at the professional level. Expect referee calls and interpretations to be inconsistent not only from game to game but half to half. Through this, a state of anarchy may ensue from players and coaches that could lead to the challenging of referee’s authority, increased injury to players and sloppy overall quality of play that will make fans and followers of the sport question the integrity of the games.”
Those two words, integrity and injury, cannot be mentioned enough.
On the question of “integrity,” it must be noted that professional soccer has been engulfed in match fixing scandals at the highest levels of the sport, in the English Premier League, as well as, in recent years, fifteen other nations. So far we have not seen these scandals hit MLS, but for a league with far less of a foothold than its English brethren, integrity is everything. Scab referees, with little invested long term in MLS, will make people roll their eyes with every blown call as people wonder in the stands and on message boards whether it was incompetence or fraud.
Then there is injury. The players union has certainly taken note of the lockout, with their focus firmly on the wellness of the people that fans pay to see. MLS players’ union executive director Bob Foose said that the “decision to lock out the referees and use scab replacements presents a serious health and safety issue for our members. We will continue to monitor this situation closely, as it is our sincere hope that cooler heads will prevail, the parties will reach an agreement and PSRA [union] officials will be back on the field as soon as possible.”
A parallel outrage, however, is that the MLS will become yet another pro sports league that utilizes the lockout in negotiations with refs or players, joining the NFL (twice), the NBA and NHL since 2011. The utilization of this tactic on such a high cultural platform only adds to the societal acceptance of something that was once the third rail of labor-management relations. Lockouts should never be a part of union negotiations, but in sports and beyond, they have become just a part of the process. This has to be stood up to, no matter the industry. The MLS refs lockout is awful for the unionized refs, dangerous for the players, devastating for MLS and terrible for all working people, whether you consider yourself a soccer fan or not.
Read Next: Israel’s future in FIFA is uncertain after this latest incident.
This Friday on my weekly radio show, Edge of Sports, I am going to interview Jeff Pearlman, author of the new book Showtime: Magic, Kareem, Riley, and the Los Angeles Lakers Dynasty of the 1980s. I cannot put this book down. Showtime is both like an excavation of a long-lost era, as well as a pulsing, utterly relevant roadmap into our twenty-first-century sports celebrity culture. It is a fascinating window on the last time when fame not only opened doors but also then closed them behind you.
The book is also reminding me just how emotionally connected I was as a kid to these particular Laker teams. Growing up in New York City, it was a rare year when I did not find a way to get what was then a $10 ticket to see the Showtime Lakers on one of their two annual trips to Madison Square Garden. With a perennially middling-to-awful Knicks team to root for, I first shouted myself hoarse for the Lakers because they were the greatest threat to thwart the dreams of the hated Boston Celtics. (The Lakers and Celtics took every championship but one from 1980–88.) Any team that could keep Red Auerbach from lighting that damn cigar deserved all the preteen support I could muster. When Kevin McHale clotheslined Kurt Rambis or Larry Bird looked like he wanted to fight Kareem, I remember getting off the couch as if I could jump through the TV to enter the scrum. (Yeah, I also probably could have used some more adult supervision).
But I really loved these Lakers to death because of Earvin “Magic” Johnson. Magic was the synthesis of two extremely different styles of playing that, as a short, athletically challenged basketball obsessive, I could at least try, through sheer will, to replicate. He couldn’t really jump, he rarely dribbled in a fancy manner and he had an ugly push shot that looked like it was borrowed from a grainy 1950s video. What he could do, like no one before or since, was combine this olde-timey game with a twenty-first-century brand of flair. He saw angles no one could see and could throw no-look passes that smacked people right in the hands, ready to shoot. I would go to 77th and Amsterdam and chalk a Lakers yellow circle on the wall no bigger than a grapefruit and whip different kinds of no-look passes—chest, baseball, behind the back—and see how many would hit their mark. Sure, I would never be Magic, given that he was six-foot-nine, could rebound like a power forward and dribble the length of the court in seconds, but I could feel like Magic any time one of my no-look passes didn’t break a window and instead found someone for a layup.
I took this approach to the courts with confidence far beyond my game. As a Caucasian playing ball in New York City, a 12-year-old who would loiter on the courts until the big kids would let me play, I was a bit of a curiosity, treated with more affection than I probably deserved. I would hit shots and people would yell “Bird!” I would grit my teeth and say, “Call me Magic!” This was always good, if nothing else, for a laugh.
The Showtime Lakers were a rolling party and to be a fan felt like you were getting a secondhand high off of their vapors of glitter, glamour and glory. They also projected an image of Los Angeles, especially for us cloistered East Coasters, as a place of endless celebrity and sunshine.
As if being a teenager isn’t dramatic enough, this love became gothic tragedy, as both Showtime and my dreams of Los Angeles skidded to a stunning end. Magic Johnson, after years of abundant unprotected sex, became HIV-positive and quit the game he loved in 1991. The Los Angeles Times described the public reaction to the news like “an icon had been shot down in mid-stride…. The news was treated like the death of a head of state or the outbreak of war.” It was assumed, in our collective ignorance, both that he had to quit and that he would slowly die over the course of the next several years. In life, he was already being mourned.
But then, in a manner that was both upsetting and confusing for a kid who went to school in the East Village and whose mom had worked in an AIDS clinic, Johnson also felt the need to emphasize repeatedly that he had contracted the virus only by having a lot of random, condom-free, heterosexual sex. I remember watching The Arsenio Hall Show, more puzzled than angry, as the crowd cheered when Magic said, “I’m far from being a homosexual, you already know that.” This made him acceptable. President George Bush even gave him a position as head of AIDS Awareness. Thank God for Martina Navratilova. I remembered that she did not go along with this narrative and, for this article, I looked up what she said exactly, and it is even more bracing than I remember. The tennis legend said, “There have been other athletes who died from AIDS and they were pushed aside because they either got it from drugs or they were gay…. If it had happened to a heterosexual woman who had been with 100 or 200 men, they’d call her a whore and a slut and the corporations would drop her like a lead balloon. And she’d never get another job in her life.”
Her reaction prompted outrage from the mainstream press and demands for an apology. But in her follow-up comments, she said, “I certainly don’t want him to take it personally because it is not meant as an offensive thing to him. But the double standard is there, and it makes me mad as hell…. This Magic thing is another example of women losing power, and we are taking steps backwards.” Holy crap. If an athlete of her stature said that today, Twitter would implode.
As if Magic’s retirement wasn’t enough for those of us seeing the fall of Showtime’s seductive imagery, that very spring, during the same season when Magic retired, the so-called “LA Riots” took place after the Simi Valley verdict was handed down, clearing the LAPD officers who were captured on videotape beating Rodney King. For the young and ignorant, myself surely in those ranks, Los Angeles was revealed, beneath the dazzle, to be a cesspool of police brutality and institutionalized racism.
The aftermath of the “LA Riots” brought a level of hysteria that cannot be put into words. At my high school in New York City, administrators shut the school down at noon and I was assigned, as an upperclassman, to walk younger children home, presumably out of fear that they would be attacked by looting black teenagers. (These marauding teens were, alas, a figment of the NYPD’s imagination.) As an administrator openly wept and children cried at the thought of never seeing their parents again, a friend on the basketball team turned to me, like he was Marlin Perkins surveying a scene on Wild Kingdom, and said, “Damn. White people are crazy.” That was prophetic. After the LA Rebellion, we saw the ramping up of the tough-on-crime legislation of the 1980s that brought us to a point where our prison system now represents a “New Jim Crow,” packed with young black men serving mandatory sentences.
If I am fascinated by Jeff Pearlman’s book, it is because it has brought me back to a time before I felt like the world was too often just floating unconsciously from one set of injustices to the next. Obviously, there was evil aplenty in the 1980s, and I was just too young and too sheltered to see it. But it definitely took the fall of Los Angeles, both the team and the city, for me to be shaken out of a youthful slumber where a bad day could be remedied with a successful no-look pass. If I still cannot get enough of the Showtime Lakers—as profoundly hackneyed as this sounds—it’s because it reminds me of what it once felt like to feel the presence of magic.
Read Next: The NFL must address violence against women.
Their names are Jawhar Nasser Jawhar, 19, and Adam Abd al-Raouf Halabiya, 17. They were once soccer players in the West Bank. Now they are never going to play sports again. Jawhar and Adam were on their way home from a training session in the Faisal al-Husseini Stadium on January 31 when Israeli forces fired upon them as they approached a checkpoint. After being shot repeatedly, they were mauled by checkpoint dogs and then beaten. Ten bullets were put into Jawhar’s feet. Adam took one bullet in each foot. After being transferred from a hospital in Ramallah to King Hussein Medical Center in Amman, they received the news that soccer would no longer be a part of their futures. (Israel’s border patrol maintains that the two young men were about to throw a bomb.)
This is only the latest instance of the targeting of Palestinian soccer players by the Israeli army and security forces. Death, injury or imprisonment has been a reality for several members of the Palestinian national team over the last five years. Just imagine if members of Spain’s top-flight World Cup team had been jailed, shot or killed by another country and imagine the international media outrage that would ensue. Imagine if prospective youth players for Brazil were shot in the feet by the military of another nation. But, tragically, these events along the checkpoints have received little attention on the sports page or beyond.
Much has been written about the psychological effect this kind of targeting has on the occupied territories. Sports represent escape, joy and community, and the Palestinian national soccer team, for a people without a recognized nation, is a source of tremendous pride. To attack the players is to attack the hope that the national team will ever truly have a home.
The Palestinian national football team, which formed in 1998, is currently ranked 144th in the world by the Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA). They have never been higher than 115th. As Chairman of the Palestinian Football Association Jibril al-Rajoub commented bluntly, the problems are rooted in “the occupation’s insistence on destroying Palestinian sport.”
Over the last year, in response to this systematic targeting of Palestinian soccer, al-Rajoub has attempted to assemble forces to give Israel the ultimate sanction and, as he said, “demand the expulsion of Israel from FIFA and the International Olympic Committee.” Al-Rajoub claims the support of Jordan, Qatar, Iran, Oman, Algiers and Tunisia in favor of this move, and promises more countries, with an opportunity at a regional March 14 meeting of Arab states, to organize more support. He has also pledged to make the resolution formal when all the member nations of FIFA meet in Brazil.
Qatar’s place in this, as host of the 2022 World Cup, deserves particular scrutiny. As the first Arab state to host the tournament, they are under fire for the hundreds of construction deaths of Nepalese workers occurring on their watch. As the volume on these concerns rises, Qatar needs all the support in FIFA that they can assemble. Whether they eventually see the path to that support as one that involves confronting or accommodating Israel, will be fascinating to see.
As for Sepp Blatter, he clearly recognizes that there is a problem in the treatment of Palestinian athletes by the Israeli state. Over the last year, he has sought to mediate this issue by convening a committee of Israeli and Palestinian authorities to see if they can come to some kind of agreement about easing the checkpoints and restrictions that keep Palestinian athletes from leaving (and trainers, consultants and coaches from entering) the West Bank and Gaza. Yet al-Rajoub sees no progress. As he said, “This is the way the Israelis are behaving and I see no sign that they have recharged their mental batteries. There is no change on the ground. We are a full FIFA member and have the same rights as all other members.”
The shooting into the feet of Jawhar and Adam has taken a delicate situation and made it an impossible one. Sporting institutions like FIFA and the IOC are always wary about drawing lines in the sand when it comes to the conduct of member nations. But the deliberate targeting of players is seen, even in the corridors of power, as impossible to ignore. As long as Israel subjects Palestinian athletes to detention and violence, their seat at the table of international sports will be never be short of precarious.
Read Next: The NFL must address violence against women.
This article contains a trigger warning due to its frank discussion of rape and sexual assault.
In 2010, Darren Sharper was the hero of New Orleans: an All-Pro safety who led the Saints to Super Bowl glory. Now retired and working for the NFL Network, Darren Sharper has been formally charged with multiple sexual assaults and is suspected to have raped at least nine women across five states. In California, he has been arrested and charged with drugging the drinks of two women before raping them. His bail was not only set at $1 million but Judge Renee Korn ordered that a condition of his release would be a legal agreement to not be alone with women he didn’t know before October 30. Korn said, “The court considers these crimes quite serious and has to evaluate the protection of the public.”
This news comes on the heels of the online release of video that shows Baltimore Ravens running back Ray Rice dragging his unconscious fiancée Janay Palmer out of a casino elevator. Police have said that they have footage of Rice physically assaulting Ms. Parker as well.
Sharper’s story has been, according to my own surveying of the top-rated national programs, almost entirely absent from sports radio and Rice’s story has received far greater coverage only insofar as his “legal troubles” affect his future playing prospects. Ravens Coach John Harbaugh has said, “I haven’t seen anything that would remotely make me think” that Rice would not be on the team this fall. This kind of response is all too typical. The news would have been if Harbaugh had said otherwise.
Both the Sharper and Rice stories raise a blaring question: At what point do the NFL and Commissioner Roger Goodell confront the constant, haunting league-wide presence of violence against women? In 2012, after Kansas City Chiefs player Jovan Belcher killed Kasandra Perkins, the mother of his child, before taking his own life, Justin Peters at Slate determined, in the aftermath, that twenty-one of thirty-two NFL teams had employed a player that year “with a domestic violence or sexual assault charge on his record.” There is an argument that the actual rate of players accused of violence against women is lower than the national average, and therefore should not be considered a problem. This is hogwash. When one considers the underreporting of these instances, the ways in which our society blames victims and the resources NFL players and teams have at their disposal to make “problems” go away, statistics don’t really get us anywhere. I would also add that the NFL rightly saw the bullying culture in the Miami Dolphins locker room, even if it was atypical, as utterly unacceptable. Even one incident was one incident too many. In other words, even one instance of violence against women should be compelling the NFL to act. But instead, we get silence.
It is stunning that an NFL, which wants to police how players talk to each other on the field and has announced plans to institute an entire new set of guidelines around “locker room conduct,” does not address this publicly. It is stunning that an NFL, which tries to cultivate and grow its female fan base by trussing players in pink for a full month out of the season to display their seriousness in the fight against breast cancer, is silent on the question of violence against women. It is stunning that Roger Goodell, who believes that players should be “role models,” does not address the kind of behavior that is being modeled.
This is about more than violence. It is about a locker-room environment that sees women as little more than “road beef.” Amidst the infamous text messages between Miami Dolphins offensive linemen Richie Incognito and Jonathan Martin, lost among the racial taunts and homophobic jibes, were the discussions of “bitches,” “hooker parties,” “strippers who go the extra mile,” and Incognito’s boast that “I was doing work last night. I got those girls hammered.” This is the same Richie Incognito who received second chance after second chance, no matter how many accusations of sexual assault were levied against him throughout his career in college and the pros. The entire Incognito saga could have been avoided if the league had a zero-tolerance approach to violence against women. They don’t, so it wasn’t.
No, the connective tissue between football and rape culture is not created in the NFL, as Incognito’s own history demonstrates. We know too much from stories that span from high schools in Steubenville and Maryville to colleges like Vanderbilt, Notre Dame and Missouri to think that it possibly starts in the pros. But shouldn’t the NFL be where it ends? I have no idea why an NFL and a commissioner that is so acutely image conscious does not see how badly this looks. It looks like the league turns a blind eye and shrugs its shoulders, as if violence against women is little more than “boys will be boys.” It looks like they believe that the stink of stories like Darren Sharper’s will not waft into their boardrooms. It looks like they do not care. Roger Goodell needs to read the arrest report for Darren Sharper and admit that this league has fostered, and not fought, a football culture that sees women as collateral damage. He needs to admit they have a problem and he needs to act. He needs to think not only about “how it looks” but also the young people who are doing the looking.
Read Next: A penalty for the n-word, but not for the r-word?
“How is it you can have a team in Washington that’s named after a racial slur for Native Americans, but punish young African- American men for how they speak to each other?” This is how Nation sports editor Dave Zirin thinks boxing legend Muhammad Ali might feel about the NFL’s new proposed rule to penalize players for using the n-word on the field. On the fiftieth anniversary of the famous boxing match between Ali and Sonny Liston—an event that Sports Illustrated called the fourth-greatest sports moment of the twentieth century—Zirin spoke with Ali’s daughter Rasheda on MSNBC’s The Reid Report. The two discussed the role that athletes like Ali play as political advocates, a very germane topic after Jason Collins just became the first openly gay player to play in a major American sport.
Picture it: February 2015, Glendale, Arizona. Michael Goodell, the brother of NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell, is in town for the Super Bowl. Michael Goodell is gay. He has also garnered media attention in recent months by encouraging the NFL to accept and be welcoming of NFL prospect Michael Sam and all players regardless of their sexuality. Michael Goodell attempts to walk into a Glendale coffee shop for a snack on the day before the big game. The owner recognizes him from the recent press coverage, denies him service and tells him to leave. Michael Goodell, used to a red carpet and not a slap in the face, refuses. The owner calls the police and has the commissioner’s brother arrested because his very presence violates the owner’s religious principles and therefore the laws of Arizona.
This would be the fate of LGBT people throughout Arizona if Governor Jan Brewer signs Senate Bill 1062 this Friday. Not content with codifying the racial profiling of immigrants, the Arizona Senate wants to bring yet another twenty-first-century variant of Jim Crow segregation to their state. Brewer has given some early indication that she would not sign the bill, but we have heard precious little from an NFL who by threatening to move the Super Bowl, could cost the state millions in revenue and even more in prestige. So far, all we have heard from the league came from their spokesman Greg Aiello who stated, “Our policies emphasize tolerance and inclusiveness, and prohibit discrimination based on age, gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, or any other improper standard. We are following the issue in Arizona and will continue to do so should the bill be signed into law, but will decline further comment at this time.”
This is weak sauce. Roger Goodell should be threatening to pull the Big Game out of the state unless Brewer vetoes the law, not only because it’s the right thing to do but because it would be a show of support to Arizona’s own Super Bowl host committee, which said in a written statement, “We do not support this legislation.”
If Goodell threatened to pull the game, he would be following the precedent of his predecessor Paul Tagliabue who, in 1990, moved the 1993 Super Bowl out of Arizona because of the state’s refusal to recognize Martin Luther King Day. I spoke with Wade Davis, former NFL player and executive director of the You Can Play project. He recalled that previous show of courage under the previous commissioner, saying, “Similar to 1993 when the NFL moved the Super Bowl [out of Arizona] due to the state’s failed recognition of MLK Day, I firmly believe the NFL will stand in solidarity with human rights advocates who oppose the bill and move the 2015 Super Bowl.”
The Arizona Cardinals have not commented on pulling the Super Bowl, but they did e-mail us their displeasure with the bill. The team wrote, “What so many love about football is its ability to bring people together. We do not support anything that has the potential to divide, exclude and discriminate. As a prominent and highly-visible member of this community, we strive to bring positive attention to the state. We are concerned with anything that creates a negative perception of Arizona and those of us who are fortunate to call it home.”
While we all wait for Roger Goodell to say something about this bill, news emerged this week that the NFL is considering Arizona as the future site of the Pro Bowl. In other words, while the nation recoils at Jan Brewer’s pariah state, Roger Goodell—blinders firmly in place—lumbers forward, doing business with a place that should be seen as radioactive.
It is time for the commissioner to act even if it hurts the men who pay his obscene $44 million salary. Here we have a league that is trying to project itself as welcoming to players who want to be open and honest about their sexuality. They cannot do that and hold the Super Bowl or the Pro Bowl in a state that proudly projects itself as a bastion of intolerance. They cannot put NFL employees, players and family members in a situation where they would be unsafe. Roger Goodell has said all the right things in recent weeks about the league being an open and inclusive environment. He needs to be told that words, when not matched with deeds, are very cheap. For $44 million a year, one would think he could afford to do better.
Read Next: Dave Zirin interviews Wade Davis on Michael Sam and homophobia in the NFL.
Fifty years ago, no one gave 22-year-old Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr. a chance against the heavyweight champion, Charles “Sonny” Liston. Even Clay’s own corner pre-emptively mapped out the quickest route from the hospital from the arena. Their fear was rooted in reality. Liston had an arrest record that could fill a file cabinet and in previous lives had been employed by the mob as a strike breaker and enforcer. The recently deceased poet Amiri Baraka (then LeRoi Jones) called Liston “the big black Negro in every white man’s hallway, waiting to do him in, deal him under for all the hurts white men, through their arbitrary order, have been able to inflict on the world.”
Before Liston’s championship fight when he won the title against Floyd Patterson, President Kennedy took the time to call Patterson and express that it would not be in “the negroes best interest” if Liston won. As one writer noted dryly, “The fight definitely was not in Patterson’s best interest.” Liston destroyed Patterso, setting the stage for his fight against Clay.
The great James Baldwin was sent to cover Liston before the fight. He wrote, in a brilliant essay, “[Liston] is far from stupid; if not, in fact, stupid at all. And while there is a great deal of violence in him, I sensed no cruelty at all. On the contrary, he reminded me of big, black men I have know who acquired the reputation of being tough in order to conceal the fact that they weren’t hard. Anyone who cared to could turn them into taffy.” Baldwin also pointed that Liston had moved seamlessly in the white-sports media from villain to hero, as they were counting on him to shut the mouth of the young Olympic gold medalist they called “the Lousiville Lip” and “Gaseous Cassius.”
Clay had a gift for gab that made a sportswriter’s job easy. He had also been keeping close company with Malcolm X, and rumors flew through the boxing world that Clay was going to join the Nation of Islam. Malcolm, himself, was a fixture at Clay’s Miami training facility and took great joy in tweaking the sportswriters’ assumptions about the fight. While everyone was predicting an easy knockout for Liston, Malcolm said, “Clay will win. He is the finest Negro athlete I have ever known and he will mean more to his people than Jackie Robinson. Robinson is an establishment hero. Clay will be our hero…. Not many people know the quality of mind he has in there. One forgets that although the clown never imitates a wise man, a wise man can imitate the clown.” Although the verdict was out on whether he was wise or a clown, no one gave him a chance against Liston. But Ali, quicker, stronger and bolder than anyone knew, shocked the nation and beat Liston. He then famously shouted to the heavens and over a reporter’s questions, “I shook up the world!”
The day after Liston fell, Clay announced publicly that he was a member of the NOI. Words cannot do justice to the firestorm this caused. Whatever disagreements one may have with the Nation of Islam, the fact is that the heavyweight champion of the world was joining the organization of Malcolm X. The Olympic gold medalist had linked arms with a group that called white people “devils” and stood unapologetically for self-defense and racial separation. As Mike Marqusee wrote, “Clay’s embrace of the Nation was provocative in the extreme. First, he was repudiating Christianity in a predominantly Christian country, in favour of what was seen as an exotic and, at best, suspect religion. Secondly, he was repudiating the integrationist agenda of the civil rights movement at the height of that movement’s prestige (six months after the March on Washington), in favour of a militantly separatist politics and practise. And thirdly, he was repudiating American national identity in favour of a Black Nationalist (and internationalist) identity. In the midst of the Cold War, at a time when patriotism was considered de rigeur [sic] for anyone in American public life, this was perceived as virtually treasonous.”
Not surprisingly, the power brokers of the conservative, mobbed-up, corrupt fight world lost their minds. Jimmy Cannon, perhaps the most famous sportswriter in America, wrote, “The fight racket since its rotten beginnings has been the red light district of sports. But this is the first time it has been turned into an instrument of mass hate…. Clay is using it as a weapon of wickedness.”
Ali was attacked not only by Cannon and his ilk but also by the respectable wing of the civil rights movement. “Cassius Clay may as well be an honorary member of the white citizen councils,” said Roy Wilkins. Ali’s response at this point was very defensive. He repeatedly said that his wasn’t a political but purely religious conversion. His defensiveness reflected the perspective of the NOI. Ali said, “I’m not going to get killed trying to force myself on people who don’t want me. Integration is wrong. White people don’t want it, the Muslims don’t want it. So what’s wrong with the Muslims? I’ve never been in jail. I’ve never been in court. I don’t join integration marches and I never hold a sign.”
But much like Malcolm X, who at the time was engineering a political break from the Nation, Clay—much to the concern of NOI leader Elijah Muhammad—found it impossible to explain his religious world view without speaking to the mass black freedom struggle exploding outside the boxing ring. He was his own worst enemy—claiming that his was a religious transformation and had nothing to do with politics, but then in the next breath saying, “I ain’t no Christian. I can’t be when I see all the colored people fighting for forced integration get blown up. They get hit by the stones and chewed by dogs and then these crackers blow up a Negro Church…. People are always telling me what a good example I would be if I just wasn’t Muslim. I’ve heard over and over why couldn’t I just be more like Joe Louis and Sugar Ray. Well they are gone and the Black man’s condition is just the same ain’t it? We’re still catching hell.”
If the establishment press was outraged, the new generation of activists was electrified. “I remember when Ali joined the Nation,” recalled civil rights leader Julian Bond. “The act of joining was not something many of us particularly liked. But the notion that he would do it, that he’d jump out there, join this group that was so despised by mainstream America and be proud of it, sent a little thrill through you…. He was able to tell white folks for us to go to hell; that I’m going to do it my way.”
At this time, he was known briefly as Cassius X, but Elijah Muhammad gave Clay the name Muhammad Ali—a tremendous honor and a way to ensure that Ali would side with Elijah Muhammad in his split with Malcolm X. But the internal politics of the Nation were not what the powers that be and the media noticed. To them, the Islamic name change—something that had never occurred before in sports—was a sharp slap in the face.
Almost overnight, whether an individual called the champ Ali or Clay indicated where they stood on civil rights, Black Power and eventually the war in Vietnam. The New York Times insisted on calling him Clay as an editorial policy for years thereafter.
This all took place against the backdrop of a black freedom struggle rolling from the South to the North. During the summer of 1964, there were 1,000 arrests of civil rights activists, thirty buildings bombed and thirty-six churches burned by the Ku Klux Klan and their sympathizers. In 1964, the first of the urban uprisings and riots in the northern ghettoes took place. The politics of Black Power was starting to emerge and Muhammad Ali became the critical symbol in this transformation. As news anchor Bryant Gumbel said, “One of the reasons the civil rights movement went forward was that Black people were able to overcome their fear. And I honestly believe that for many Black Americans, that came from watching Muhammad Ali. He simply refused to be afraid. And being that way, he gave other people courage.”
A concrete sign of Ali’s early influence was seen in 1965 when Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee volunteers in Lowndes County, Alabama, launched an independent political party. Their new group was the first to use the symbol of a black panther. Their bumper stickers and T-shirts were of a black silhouette of a panther and their slogan was straight from the champ: “WE Are the Greatest.”
Yes, it is certainly true that Cassius Clay was born on January 17, 1942, but Muhammad Ali, in every way, was born fifty years ago in Miami.
Read Next: At long last, Jason Collins is the first.