My fundamental concept of feminism is that your well being is significantly enhanced by not assuming you can step on me because I am female. You are welcome to try, but the consequences are your full responsibility.
So when I read a headline this morning about the NFL’s pink ribbons not being enough to win over women, I rolled my eyes and for some reason, like gawking at a train wreck, just had to read it. I really should have spared myself, but since I read it, now you have to suffer along with me. It builds character, right?
The article proclaims, “…every feminist knows the women’s movement denounces all forms of violence. For a woman who is a football fan, this can be hard to reconcile.”
Really? I have never stayed awake all night, wrestling desperately to reconcile my love of hockey and football with my view of myself as a valuable human being. I worry and ponder about many things, but this is not one of them. Perhaps this writer needs some real problems so she gets a feel for what truly worrying about something substantial feels like.
Besides, aggression and violence are two very different things. While hockey and football are, no doubt, quite aggressive sports, I question the unhindered violence of either game.
Of course the writer drones on endlessly about Ray Rice and the elevator video, and zzzzzzz….oh, what was I saying? Never mind, I’ve already covered that: check it out here.
Apparently the pink ribbon was a devious plot masterminded by that cheeky NFL to appeal to my raging feminine weakness for all things pastel. I am forever grateful to this writer for revealing this unfathomable madness to me before I uncontrollably did something wild and crazy like watch a football game.
Wait, I already do that. Oddly, I even did that before the mesmerizing pink ribbons appeared on the football field, as they have for many an October, of which this writer seems a bit unaware. Maybe the NFL should have added glitter, rhinestones, or sparkles to really catch our giggly, girly eyes and dazzle us into proper submission.
Because, according to this writer, we women are so soft-headed and daft that flashing a pink ribbon on the football field was surely intended as a surefire strategy to get us to toss aside our cooking, cleaning, and baby-tending, for at least the length of a typical televised football game. “Does anyone doubt that the NFL’s support of breast cancer awareness is mainly a strategy designed to give the impression that the NFL cares about women, and generate more female football fans?” the writer asks, presumably in a nasal whine. At least that’s how I read it.
So, let me get this straight. We feminists are presumably sleep deprived because we toss and turn at night, struggling to reconcile our denouncement of violence with a sport we don’t even watch, according to the writers, until that delectable and irresistible pink ribbon is painted on the grass, and then we are hopelessly hooked, unable to tear our eyes from the pastel glory, while we deliriously chant with glee, “The NFL cares! The NFL really cares about women!”
I don’t watch football for the pink ribbon. Am I a lone wolf here? I doubt it. Maybe this writer needs to get her head out of her ass and stop assuming all women are as weak-willed and silly as she seems to be.
I love and enjoy an aggressive game of hockey and football. I have no issues reconciling that with my feminist beliefs (my favorite definition of which is Rebecca West’s comment that “…people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat”). And to suggest that I only watch because there is a pink ribbon on the field? Give me a break. That is so insulting that it is nauseating.
Furthermore, it’s not the NFL’s responsibility to make me aware of, or educate me about, anything, from breast cancer to domestic violence to anything else. It is my responsibility. And yours. No ribbon, of any color, posted anywhere, is a substitute for personal responsibility, critical thinking, and a healthy dose of common sense.
Now, can I get back to just watching the game?