Today's Musical Selection: "Walk Like a Man" by the Four Seasons
Hello, everyone! Today I was having trouble finding something to write about, and I wound up finding something interesting over at Wonkette's site. I admit that Wonkette is something of a guilty pleasure of mine. I was discussing her the other day with The Smart Lady, who doesn't care for Wonkette. And I'll grant that Wonkette focuses on the shallow and trivial, and that she's unnecessarily crude a lot of the time. But shallowness, triviality and crudity are all par for the course with much of pop culture these days, and to Wonkette's credit, she does write very well. And you can't be serious about everything all the time. Wonkette is useful as an occasional diversion. She's like cotton candy: light, fluffy, and tasty in small doses, but nauseating if you have too much of it.
Anyhow. Today Wonkette delves into the fascinating topic of which candidate looks more like a girl playing football. The incriminating Bush photo is here, the incriminating Kerry photo here. Bush is shown finishing a pass at Browns training camp, with a limp wrist that evokes certain homosexual stereotypes. Kerry is shown catching a pass awkwardly, with a squint-eyed grimace that makes it appear that he's afraid of being hit by the ball. Both photos are, indeed, pretty damned incriminating. And how can we trust a man in the White House if he doesn't know how to throw and/or catch a football? We might as well skip the intermediate steps and toss the keys right over to bin Laden. So this is of course a crucial issue.
I've studied both photos extremely closely for hours now, using the most sophisticated technology I have at my disposal, and I have concluded that neither picture is an indicator of poor football ability. All they prove is how difficult it is to avoid looking stupid occasionally when a camera is following your every move. Which is a shame, because if one of them really did play like a girl, we could safely declare this election effectively over, thus saving ourselves valuable time and attention that could be spent watching "Who Wants to Marry My Dad?".
Let's start with a disclaimer and definition. Claiming that someone plays "like a girl" is an outmoded sexist stereotype, of course. I know plenty of women who can throw and catch normally. For the purposes of our experiment, though, it's important to know what the charge means. Throwing like a girl is defined as throwing with a stiff arm, bent tightly at the elbow, as opposed to a looser, straighter-armed toss. Someone who throws "like a girl" tends to throw the football as if it were a shotput, pushing it away rather than throwing it. Catching like a girl is define as showing a discomfort or fear of a ball coming in your direction. Reactions that betray discomfort and fear can range from squinching up your face as Kerry did to covering your head and whimpering. Whatever the reaction, it indicates unfamiliarity with balls hurtling toward you, which as we all know is extremely girly.
Let's start with the Bush toss. Defenders of the president claim that his finish is actually a sign of good form, limp wrist notwithstanding. I decided that there was only one way to figure it out. Being a red-blooded American male, I of course know how to throw a football the right way. So I set up an experiment. I stood in my dining room and tossed the ball at my couch, which is about 10 feet away. First I did several tosses normally, and noted my finishing position. Then I threw several tosses "like a girl," and noted the finishing position. (It probably would have been more scientific for someone else to observe my finishing position, but I could not figure out a way to ask someone to "come watch me throw my ball around" without making it sound like an indecent proposal.) Scientific note: President Bush is right-handed and I am left-handed. I do not believe this affects our relative throwing form, but it is a potential variable to note.
And after repeated experiments, I can report with relief that President Bush's limp wrist is indeed a sign of good throwing form. I may not be the president's biggest fan, but our partisan differences are insignificant when compared to the horrifying thought that our country might be governed by someone who throws like a girl. Can you imagine the ramifications for our national security?
The key here is to remember that President Bush was not trying to hit a receiver in coverage on the sideline 30 yards upfield. Rather, he was clearly throwing to someone a short distance away, standing just beyond the camera. This was, after all, a photo op, not a tryout. See, if you're trying to get to a reciever a long distance away, you'd stand perpendicular to the target and follow through, winding up with your hand down around your waist. But if you're throwing to someone a few feet away, you stand facing the target, take a short step, and don't follow through nearly so much. In short, you finish the same way the president did in the picture: throwing shoulder slightly forward, arm extended, wrist limp. If he really had thrown like a girl, his throwing shoulder would have been farther forward and his arm would have been closer to his body and bent at the elbow. So rest easy, America: the president throws like a man.
Now, let's consider Kerry. That is a pretty damning photograph. Kerry's catching the ball in the crook of his elbows, not his hands, as only a rank amateur would do. Worse still is that face; it just screams, "Please don't hurt me!" Elections may primarily be a referendum on the incumbent, but the challenger has to prove he's up to the job, and the Kerry we see in this picture just confirms all the Bush campaign's worst insinuations about his indecisive unmanliness. What gives?
Sadly, I could not conduct controlled experiment for this picture as I did for the Bush one. But fortunately, I don't need to. Kerry's expression has nothing to do with fear of the ball, but rather with the fact that he's clearly looking into the sun. Take a look at the same picture, only larger. Note carefully the angle of the light. The sheen on Kerry's cheeks is the biggest giveaway. He's obviously facing the sun, and given that it's neither high noon or twilight, it's probable that the sun is in Kerry's line of vision. Further evidence is offered by the person standing behind Kerry, who does appear to be paying attention, but doesn't have his eyes on the ball. The most likely explanation for this is that the sun is coming from the same direction as the ball, and the man behind Kerry doesn't want to burn his retinas watching it.
Now, as the aforementioned red-blooded American male that I am, I've spent plenty of time catching balls. And I can tell you that there's nothing worse than trying to follow the path of a descending ball as it crosses in front of the sun. The ball just disappears into the glare, and by the time you pick it out again, it might be hurtling directly toward your head. Never mind making a stylish catch, you're just grateful if you can get away without being killed. The problem is particularly acute when you're not wearing sunglasses, as Kerry isn't here.
With that crucial piece of information, suddenly it all makes sense. Kerry's eyes are closed because he's facing the sun, and he's grimacing because he's trying to catch a ball he can't see. As a result of his sun-blindness, naturally the ball might land awkwardly, because he can't make the necessary adjustments. (You'll notice that his hands are in the proper football-catching position, further suggesting that he does know how to catch correctly.) If you doubt me, go get a football and play catch with someone in the mid-afternoon. Make sure you're facing the sun. Ask your friend to throw a high, arcing pass in the direction of the sun. Then have the friend report how you looked trying to catch it. My guess is that you won't look like Lynn Swann either.
Therefore, I can safely close this case and report to Americans with confidence that both candidates have passed the all-important football primary. Next week, perhaps we can have both candidates play a game of Beer Pong, or see how much of the alphabet they can belch out, or some other equally vital test of their fitness as leaders. And thank God, Wonkette will be there to fill us in on every last detail. Bless her heart.
Well, my man Frinklin appears to have enjoyed my trading-deadline breakdown, and he took my ribbing on the Mariners in good humor. Just so you know, Frinklin, I'd be equally willing to mock the Brew Crew, but they didn't do anything mockworthy this time around. I'll just have to mock them for something else, like the fact that they can't beat the sorry Pirates.
I'm also 100% behind Frinklin's call for National Picnic Day. I think it would be great if we all took time away from our business to go picnicking for a day or two. I would, however, humbly submit that we schedule National Picnic Day for sometime other than August. The seasons may all be the same down there in San Diego, but back East here, August is the Month From Hell, weather-wise. It's hot and sticky and miserable. Not ideal picnic weather at all. More like ideal heatstroke weather. How about we put Picnic Day in May? What say you, Frinklin? If we've got a go on that, we can start rounding up the petitions.
And with that, I'm off for the day. See you tomorrow!
Posted by Fred at August 3, 2004 06:03 PM