My wife noticed
something interesting about me. I speak of the New York Mets in the first
person. WE won last night. We lost a pitcher to injury. We made it to the World
Series last year. This isn't at all
unusual among sports fans, and goes with what I've often said about sports
being a safe outlet for the tribal instincts so many of us have; it's better to
mock-hate eachother for our sports team than our country, religion, or
something else important.
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| A day at the ballpark |
Unlike many Mets
fans, I don't boo. We've had some bad players on the team, and some good
players who struggled mightily, costing the team wins. We've had overpaid
players, mediocre talents, and some the fans just don't like. I've never booed
any of them, not really seeing the point. If the team is an extension of
ourselves, then to boo them is to boo ones one failures. So, I don't boo.
Until now.
Last week I attended
the game and didn't only boo, I loudly booed the player who would score the
game-tying run, a player who has been an major factor in the team's recent
success, a player without whom we (there it is again) would not likely be on
the precipice of our second consecutive trip to the playoffs.
Those who know me
have likely guessed by now. I booed Jose Reyes.
For those who've
forgotten, Reyes is on the team because the Colorado Rockies decided it wasn't
worth keeping him around after he served a suspension for domestic violence.
This much is clear to me: had Reyes not thrown his wife into a glass door the
man would not be on the team. To make matters worse, his apologies after the
fact have been of the "I'm sorry for what happened" variety, not the
"I'm sorry for what I did" type. When the team was considering
bringing him back, I wrote about this. About the message it sends to young men
and women watching the game that this act is forgivable. If the team becomes
"we" then accepting a domestic abuser makes all of us as fans feel,
in a way, complicit. If we reached the
World Series, did not we bring an
unrepentant domestic abuser into the fold?
What makes it worse
for me is that the fans not only ignored the abuse, but embraced Reyes as a
returning hero. The "Jose/JoseJoseJose/Jose/Jose" chant returned,
lead by the Citi Field PA system. Reyes jerseys started selling again.
Nobody cared what he
did or how he came to be here.
For contrast, look
across the country, at another sport. Colin Kaepernick is hated, his jersey has been burned in effigy, used as a
literal doormat at a sports bar. He is, by some counts, the most hated athlete
in America. His crime? Silently protesting racism against African Americans by
kneeling during the national anthem. To many Americans, the anthem and flag
acquired a near-religious level of import, Kapernick's protest a form of
blasphemy.
So, here we have two
athletes in two sports in two cities. One is using his voice and his fame to
make a statement. One who admitted to using physical violence against his wife.
One hated, one beloved.
For a quick
digression, here are a list of football players less hated than Kaepernick.
Adrian Peterson.
Admitted to beating his four-year old son with a tree branch.
Ben Roethlisberger.
Accused of sexual assault multiple times.
Jonathan Dwyer.
Arrested for domestic violence against his wife.
Any of the literally
dozen athletes arrested for domestic abuse in the last few years.
This is says
something about who we are, and about what we value.
The counterargument
I've heard from some of my fellow Mets fans is that they separate Reyes the
baseball player from Reyes the domestic abuser. While I understand wanting to
focus solely on what happens between the lines, I'll respectfully note that
Reyes the ballplayer and Reyes who threw his wife into a door are the same
person. We celebrate players who participate in charity, even who just seem to
play hard with a sense of joy and enthusiasm. I find it unfair to celebrate the
good and shrug away the bad. In my eyes, the man on the field stealing second
base is the very same man who threw his
wife into a glass door. I cannot cheer for that man, nor am I comfortable
remaining silent when fans around me are cheering him.
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| At the park, in silly hats. |
There is, of course,
another and more important reason I didn’t cheer. The most important reason is
that I wasn't at the game alone. In the seat next to me sat my daughter, who
knows what Reyes did and knows how conflicted I am about following the team now
that he's on it. A girl with whom I am sharing my fandom and the pleasures
which it brings to me. What I want her to see - what everyone should see - is
that his behavior matters. That violence against women matters more than
on-base percentage.
So, yes, this year
for the first time in my life I booed a member of my own team. Remember,
whatever we choose - to cheer, to boo, to stay silent - our audience is greater
than the people on the field. It's those around us.
If there's a lesson
in Kaepernick's protest, it is that each of us has a voice.
It's up to all of us
to use it for the right reasons.
