Sex and College Sports

As many of us did, I followed the Jerry Sandusky pedophilia trial with mixed emotions. I didn't sit in that courtroom. I didn't hear the testimony. I watched the verdict when it was returned. And it brought back a memory I'd rather not think about.

Those of you who read this blog may remember an earlier post where I ended with "I was raped."

I was. On my college campus. In the classroom where I taught Freshman Composition. By a football player. Two weeks before the Rose Bowl game.

The player, a starter on the team, came into class with a form for my signature. He wanted me to give him a passing grade so that he could play in the bowl game. He was riding a solid F, because he'd only been in class three times all term, had never turned in a lick of work. I told him to stay after class when I fully intended to tell him why I couldn't sign his eligibility form.

Instead, this starring player decided I wanted to have sex with him. He told me so during the attack and afterwards. He attacked me on my desk, raped me and left.

I went to the campus health clinic, had a rape kit done, filed a report with the campus rent-a-cop, and another with the real police.

And then I marched the eligibility paper and copies of both reports into the head coach's office. I pitched a major league fit until he saw me. He brushed off my claim until I made him call the player into his office. I faced my attacker and the coach and proved the player had attacked me. His right had was wrapped in a bandage. Under it was an infected bite. A deep one in the webbing between thumb and forefinger. So deep that my teeth went through that webbing. The player said I liked rough sex and he was just giving me what I asked for.

The coach believed the attack happened. Hard to ignore a pus-filled hand. He had someone else sign the eligibility form. My attacker played in the bowl game. My university lost. I couldn't have been happier. The player left school immediately after the game, never charged with a felony.

I often wonder what happened to him. I should Google his name to find out what prison he's in, but I just don't care. The system let me down, but by biting him, I left a mark that won't go away.

He didn't leave a similar mark on me. I survived his rape and moved on. May Sandusky's victims find the same strength and move past this. Sandusky won't.

A Sheriff Rode into Town

A few decades ago, a tall sheriff rode into town on his mighty white horse, leaned on his saddle horn, looked around and smiled.

"This is a wonderful green and gold area with lots of money, lots of jobs and low taxes. I can make it better."

The sheriff won election to a high office. He reviewed the state budget, which had a surplus, and started spending. He looked at the jobs and saw that many were low-paying and filled by people who did not have legal papers to be in the state. He saw that surrounding states had many more poor people than his green and gold state did, so he invited them to move into his state and apply for welfare. He started new projects that would help the people.

Soon the budget was empty. In fact, the sheriff had spent more money than he had, so he raised taxes. A lot, to cover his spending shortfalls.

When he thought he'd done all he could for the green and gold state, he looked around for more challenges. He saw that the greater land needed his magic touch, so he ran for national office. It took a couple of tries, but he won over common sense with wonderful rhetoric. He called out the menace of a red foe trying to destroy our way of life. He promised to build up the military to fight this foe at its doors, not on our shores. He promised to keep taxes low. He promised to keep government small.  He promised many things, and he was elected.

The people were taken in for a long time. The sheriff did to the greater land what he had done for the green and gold state. He raised taxes, built up the military more than necessary, threw money at government projects and spent more money than he had.

The sheriff is long gone, but his memory lives on. Some of the new sheriff-wanna-bes ride through the land evoking his name and calling for a return to his policies.

If the people of the greater land listen to the new sheriff-wanna-bes and select them, the greater land will continue budget deficits, high costs for a military it no longer needs, spending on government projects and high taxes.

And that, dear readers, is a parable on what Reaganomics did for the green and gold state of California and the greater land of the United States. 

Not Me

"Who broke the wine glass in the kitchen sink?"
"Not me."
"Who left the toilet seat up?"
"Not me."
"Who's responsible for the mess the economy is in?"
"Not me."

Are you like me and have tuned out the noise about the election? Fingers point everywhere but at the speaker's own chest. It's always someone else's fault. I will grow old waiting for a politician to take responsibility.

Who's fault is the economy? Everyone's, with no small help from many different administrations. Government overspends. And spends on the wrong thing too many times.

TARP, set up by Bush II, had to be administered by Obama. Some of it worked; some of it didn't. I don't hear a calm voice looking at each million dollars spent, reporting back to the voters where it went, how much we were paid back, etc. I hear one candidate saying "he did everything wrong." I hear another saying "not me."

If we hadn't bailed out GM and Chrysler, how many jobs would have been lost? One candidate says the managed bankruptcy should have been supported through private equity, but I don't think a Bain Capital would have been willing to write a check. The managed bankruptcy was bailed out by the taxpayers. One candidate, who didn't like the bailout, now takes responsibility. "I always said GM should go into bankruptcy and I was right." Sorta.

The list is endless. I grow depressed thinking about it.

Do you have children? Were you a child once? Do you remember when your mother realized for the first time that you were growing up? Do you? What was the turning point?

For my mother and me, it was the first time I said, "I broke it" rather than "it got broke.

Isn't it time for our government officials to take the high road and grow up?

Try as I might, I can't like him any more

No, this is not a political post, although it could have been. It's a sports post. I try, I really try, but I no longer like Tiger Woods. When he first shook up the golf world, I thought we had a real role model for golfers of all ages. And he was for the longest time. Then, his personal and physical problems got in the way of being a role model and playing great golf.

Too many have already commented on the lies Tiger led. I don't want to repeat them here. I hoped he would come out of those problems, rehab his lower body and get his head back in the game. He hasn't.

He played really well just before the Masters. He won his first tournament in ages. And when his game left him in Augusta, he became a role model of the wrong kind. He cursed. He slammed his clubs into the ground. He threw at least one club. I was embarrassed by his behavior.

He didn't make the cut this week. Same crappy behavior. If he were a kid, he'd be in a time-out for violating the rules of golf, one of which is to behave with decorum.

I thought a lot about Tiger's career. It's hard to remember when he played with joy like so many of the younger players do today. He doesn't look like he's having fun. He walks the courses like a robot, growling and glowering, looking for the game he had a dozen years ago. He won't find it in the rough. He can only find it between his ears. He sure isn't looking there.

I really try to like him. I can't. I wonder what Pops would think if he watched his son play today. I'm glad he's not green-side any longer. He'd be in tears.