Basebrawl

Yesterday afternoon, who-dat Giants relief pitcher Hunter Strickland plunked Nationals wunderkind and future Pantene spokesman Bryce Harper. Harper charged the mound, where Strickland was waiting, punches were thrown and the benches for both teams cleared.

I saw highlights and there are various entertaining stills from the brawl on Twitter, but especially in light of Mike Trout going on the DL, I just watched with a surprising amount of dread and discomfort, considering how much animosity I have for both teams.

You hear of old timers talk about intentionally hit batters as the result of a violation of the unspoken rules of baseball. Former Phillie and current Dodger Chase Utley gets hit all the time, mostly because his take-out slides, in which he basically slide-tackled infielders, are incredibly vicious. Other violations include taking too long to admire a home run. Harper’s transgression, according to the article referenced above, is simply hitting home runs off Strickland three years ago.

(Aside: Interesting how women are considered the more petty sex but a grown man getting paid exceptionally well to play a child’s game can hold a grudge for three years and start a fight because the other guy hit the ball well is acceptable behavior.)

The brawl was interesting in other ways. The Nationals are running away with the National League East, mainly because all of the Mets are in sick bay. (The Phillies have forgotten how to pitch and hit.) The Giants are floundering in their division. Why did Harper—the best Nats player and arguably a league icon—even engage? Giants catcher Posey, who clearly did not call for a fastball inside, stands up, sighs, and almost audibly says “NOPE,” when his pitcher starts swinging. He doesn’t enter the fracas at all. Neither does most of the Giants’ infield. National Jayson Werth, elder statesman and future Loreal spokesman, literally looks like Jesus as he scrambles to separate everyone. Are the subsequent fines and suspensions even worth it? And these are guys who depend on their health to play every day; depending on how their contracts are structured, they get bonuses for how many games they start. Their chances for injury increase exponentially when they enter that scrum. 

If I’m a Nats fan attending a game this week, I’m going to be pissed I’m not going to be able see franchise star Harper as he sits out a suspension because he couldn’t just stare down Strickland for a few seconds, slowly take the base and afterward tell reporters he doesn’t even know who the reliever is.

Basebrawl

This Is the Best Story I’ve Read This Week

This story affected me on two levels:

I used to eat lunch once former colleagues. More often than not, it’s always the same day and always at the same place. Once, I suggested meeting at another location and the response was mild alarm: why would I try to change something that was working so well for everyone? My answer-—I was tired of the regular spot and wanted to try a new spot—was inconsequential. (I don’t eat with them that much anymore, maybe once every other month, but the same routine applies.)

I live on a street sort of like the one described in the story. My neighbors, who are extremely kind and gracious people, look out for one another. They know who is visiting my house because they recognize relatives’ and friends’ cars. One neighbor apologized that her daughter’s boyfriend’s car was always parked in front of my house. We have two cars and they’re most always in the garage or the driveway. It’s OK.

A moment of silence for the guy who has to change his entire routine because some neighbors think it’s not OK to park on their street for 15 minutes and eat a hoagie.

This Is the Best Story I’ve Read This Week

Thirteen Reasons Why Irresponsibly and Selectively Lectures Us How to Feel About Suicide

Earlier this year, a local middle schooler committed suicide. To put it kindly, our school district has been in hot water, but the community put together a Go Fund Me page for the family to help defray funeral costs, and grief counselors were sent to the school to talk with students.

A friend of mine, who’s an administrator at a school in a neighboring district, says the school, although it’s not mandated by our state, has an action plan in place should such a situation occur.


Photo credit: Beth Dubber/Netflix

We’re never told exactly where Liberty High, the fictional setting for Netflix series Thirteen Reasons Why, is located, but after student Hannah Baker kills herself, the school administration slapped up some suicide awareness posters, allowed fellow students to enshrine Hannah’s locker, paid some lip service to being available if needed and called it a day.

As if anticipating this tepid response to a very real and tragic problem, Hannah helpfully and lovingly crafts charmingly retro audiocassette tapes that soon consume her guilt-ridden and shell-shocked fellow students as they struggle to cope with her death.

I didn’t read the YA novel upon which the series is based, but Hannah is repeatedly betrayed, humiliated and shamed during her two years at Liberty High. A compromising picture is broadcast throughout the school. She loses friends. She’s named Best Ass in a version of a slam book. She’s stalked, groped and eventually raped.

That’s a lot for any girl to deal with. But her melodramatic, passive-aggressive, manipulative tapes send earnest Clay Jensen on a macabre scavenger hunt as he desperately tries to find someone and everyone to blame for Hannah’s death, instead of putting it exactly where it belongs: with Hannah.

Thirteen Reasons Why, honestly, should have been called We All Let Hannah Down. Each of the other students featured on the tapes were dealing with their own problems–alcoholism, poverty, parental neglect, homosexuality, addiction, overbearing parents–but they all take a back seat to Hannah’s issues. Indeed, more than one angrily tell Clay that Hannah killed herself; she alone made that choice; but it’s portrayed as a defensive reaction instead of a very real and reasonable response. The anger, it seems, should only be directed inward.

Likewise, we’re made to believe that Hannah’s version of events are The One Real Truth instead of merely a perspective. By virtue of being dead, Hannah does not get challenged although she makes some incredibly poor choices (and, incidentally, is a pretty terrible friend) herself.

The series has graphic rape and sexual assault scenes, and the suicide is not only graphically described but also shown in all its glory, a horrifying instructional video.

For all the high-fives and headpats the creators are giving themselves, I didn’t see a single suicide hotline number, website or any other helpful advice prominently displayed for kids watching the show who might decide Hannah Baker is a role model instead of a cautionary tale. (It might have had text after the credits but I never watched that far.) Instead, the show glorified Hannah Baker’s revenge against her community, as if killing yourself is merely a way to get your point across.

Thirteen Reasons Why Irresponsibly and Selectively Lectures Us How to Feel About Suicide