A Big Bowl of Rice

So, I've been doing some inner soul searching and trying to decide what to do with this blog venture.  It just hasn't taken off like I had hoped.  I never have quite found the voice for it I think - life's too up and down I guess to be always upbeat or always serious.  Or so it is with my life anyway.  Dramedies, as this was self-proclaimed to be, are tricky mediums.  If handled just right, say as in Pleasantville, they're genius.  But sometimes they're just a mess where no one can tell if you're trying to be funny or sad and they just end up being bored and confused, like just about every Adam Sandler venture where he tries his hand at a bit of drama.  And then there's the whole adult attention deficit order that I seriously do suffer from - I'm bouncing from dogs to sports, to complaining about traffic, back to sports.  Who can follow that nonsensical rambling?

AP Photo, Patrick Semansky

But, without a large audience to worry about offending or entertaining, there is a certain freedom to say some things just how I really mean them, and so I've decided it will go for the topic of Ray Rice.  There was no way I could retire this thing without saying something about him, you (however few of you there are) knew that right?  And that's because the issue intersects with all that I am:  a woman, a football fan and an opinionated s.o.b.

But to say this can be just about Ray Rice is a fallacy at this point because the story is so much larger, particularly in light of the Adrian Peterson indictment.  This is a story about domestic violence in the NFL, which by its very nature is a violent sport.

First, as a Steelers fan, I have to address the black and gold elephant in the room:  Ben Roethlisberger.  I am happy that he's my quarterback.  Truly, I have to admit that I am.  I think he's turned his life around to the point where I don't worry about how he represents the Steelers brand now off the field, only how he does that on the field.  He's married to a local girl, they have two kids and he's been a pillar of the community for a few years now.  I've joined in on his causes a lot since our interests in police dogs intersect.  In a football crazed town like this one, the large female fan base seems to think that's enough and this past Thursday I saw Tweets and Facebook posts all day long from women sporting his jersey. The one that bothered me was the elementary school age girl getting ready to go off to school in her pink Roethlisberger jersey.  I still have mine, I admit it.  It's the one thing with his name on it I kept.  But I'm not ready to forgive him to the point where I join all those other female fans.  I won't sport his number.  I haven't worn it since the second story broke (I still don't believe the woman who sued him - another whole blog post someone else will have to write).  I'm waiting for the day when he's finally ready to come out and say something along the lines of, "You know, I was a brute to women and treated them like objects.  I wouldn't want my daughter to run into a guy like me, and I am truly sorry."  That day, I'll dust that jersey off and proudly put it back on.  But he did his suspension, he's cleaned up his act, and I don't have any trouble cheering for him on Sundays.  If that makes me a hypocrite, then so be it.

But I'm waiting for the question about domestic violence and NFL players as a whole to be the focus instead of Ray Rice himself.  It's beginning to happen.  The Los Angeles Times ran an Op-Ed piece today about the NFL and domestic violence.  It's damning because it talks about incidents other than Ray Rice that the NFL was apparently aware of and did nothing about.  Ray Rice, let's face it, is in the hot water he's in because he was stupid enough to be caught on camera.  And he's now exposed not only himself, but the whole of the NFL.  The commissioner's office has made such a thing about protecting the brand over the decades that they forgot about protecting the women and the children and how maybe that's a higher calling.  Sweeping what wasn't national news under the carpet ultimately did nothing but build up the dirt pile that now will almost certainly come pouring out.

Now, here's the thing to keep in mind as you try to decide if you're going to watch on Sunday or boycott the games (I myself am not watching football, but that's only because I'm going to the Pirates game):  domestic abuse among NFL players is no more prevalent than in the general population.  Maybe that's the thing that should give us all pause actually.  So let's not give up the game we love.  Let's just use this horrid mess for some good and force the NFL to use the power of that brand to educate abusers and victims both.  I've always been impressed with the work they've done to promote breast cancer awareness.  Now they need to throw some resources at this issue.  And they need, in my opinion, to have zero tolerance for abusers under their employ.  And not just the knee jerk reaction that they are currently having to try and stem the tide of public opinion, but let's continue to keep the pressure on them to make this a long-term focus.  But all of this is easy for me to say and harder to do, I know, because this will be an issue with many shades of grey.  But my fear is at some point, as this whole Ray Rice thing dies down, all the other women who aren't and never will be as famous as Janay Rice will be forgotten.

Pittsburgh Magazine

Here's the other thing to keep in mind, however, and this is a big point:  for every Ray Rice there are good and decent men who play this game and in no way take the violence on the field off of it.  They use their fame, money and position to leave the world a better place.  Troy Polamalu springs easily to mind, Charlie Batch is another now ex-player who has always been a strong advocate for the community. And of course I couldn't do an article like this one without mentioning William Gay, whose mother was murdered by his step father.  Gay does a lot of work with local women's shelters and has been outspoken on domestic abuse for a long time.  These are just a few Steelers.  Every team has a contingent of players like Troy.  There are good, decent people who play this game.

At the end of the day, I don't know what will happen to Ray Rice.  Nor can I predict what will become of Roger Goodell.  I do believe he blew this call in every way imaginable - the elevator video make me physically ill, but seriously, did any of us really doubt what had happened inside that elevator before TMZ exposed it?  What I do want to know is what will become of the conversation that has opened up about domestic violence.  I do want to know what we can do as a society to help victims.  If this is the mess that it takes to shine a light on the topic, then maybe there is some good to be had from it.  In the meantime, I love the game too much.  I will not be giving it up.

Endless Love

There's little doubt that when I'm gone and people think about me, if they do, one of two images will immediately come to mind:  the crazed Steelers fan or the crazy dog lady.   Maybe both, but, be honest, not much else will immediately spring to mind.  So, on a week when real football began, it was a given that I would talk about the Steelers, right?  Well, the crazy dog lady part of me will be taking over and controlling the show temporarily because two rather dramatic events took place in our household recently that got me to thinking...

First, there was the loss and then nearly miraculous recovery of Kelsey's cat Tum Tum after she slipped out one night and was gone for three weeks.  And then, my oldest pet, Luke, took his journey to the Rainbow Bridge on Friday.  Both events combined as a sort of perfect storm to crowd out all other thoughts - Pirates losing streaks, badly behaving running backs, a disastrous fantasy football roster (thanks so much, Wes Welker, another dumbass heard from), and Sidney Crosby false arrest reports.  None of it mattered that much really in the larger scale of life and death that was playing out at our house.

And what it equated to was the contemplation of unconditional love and whether it truly exists in the world.  My thesis here is that it does.  But not by us as humans.  We're not geared that way, and for good reason.  We may be empathetic, we may be compassionate, we may be saints in the making, but at some core level we're self interested parties.  Because it's what we have to be to survive.  So, can unconditional love truly exist in tandem with that?  Maybe, but I've never seen it in another human being, and I've known some exceptional ones.  But I've seen it.  And I've been the recipient of it - whether I deserved to be or not (and I most certainly did not).  If you ever want to know why humans have pets, it's because no one - and I do absolutely mean no one - loves you like your pet. 

The thing about pets is they accept you without conditions.  They don't care if you're fat or thin, the smartest tool in the shed or maybe a little dull around the edges.  They don't worry if you don't put on makeup or could really stand to put that favorite lucky shirt through the wash.  Hair turning a little gray and seeing some new wrinkles around the eyes?  Don't worry, your pet won't care.  He or she won't leave you because of it or "stray" (pun completely intended).  They stay by your side through good times and bad.  I think about the default wedding vows that many of us have said and hardly any of us completely live by:  in good times and bad, sickness and health, 'till death do you part...those vows, you know.  Well, our pets actually take that all to heart.  I'm not sure we deserve them actually, but I for one am better for my pets.  And they really, really don't care if your team wins or loses.  So, I'll continue to risk the heartache and pain of losing one because of all the joy, acceptance and love they give me.

And with that, as we celebrate the return of Kelsey's beloved companion Tum Tum, I'll say a final goodbye to our old, old man Luke.  His gentle, quiet and patient ways will be missed in a house full of high strung females.