When you hear the name “Mario Balotelli”, what terms come to mind? On the positive side, the words “powerful”, “strong”, and “muscular” ring around the room. On the negative side, we’ve all read about his “volatility” and “outbursts” and “immaturity.” Yet why do we tend to focus so heavily on terms of power when describing black male athletes, when the discourse of grace also applies? Why do vocally dissident black athletes get fed to the sharks?

The first discourse is a dishonest and disempowering “black athlete fetishism,” the second reflect subtle misogynist underpinnings – reason, the province of the white rational male, must trump emotion.

Let’s deconstruct both these ideas, shall we?

At the outset, this is not a finger pointing game of “he’s a racist/she’s a racist/not it!” Rather, I desire a nuanced look at how language and prejudices shape one another, like two strands of string tied together. In that respect, biases have shaped my own bi-racial life. When I’m early to a meeting for work, its my proudly punctual anglo-saxon roots. When I’m a half hour late to a social event, its my subtly cool Latin sensibility. In seriousness, these daily snap-decisions and internalized modes of thinking require reflection then rejection, not head-butting recrimination.

The terms used to describe Balotelli’s game generally revolve around physical attributes of the brute variety: his strength, his speed, his acceleration, his jumping ability. The black athlete is painted as the powerful and majestic “black stallion,” a sheer force of nature. But can’t these same attributes be depicted in terms of grace, balance, and agility? One may say they are two sides of the same coin – but why does the coin always come up tails when we read and hear commentators praise black athletes?  Balotelli is not alone in this regard.

One of my favorite EPL players, Michael Essien, is nicknamed “the Bison.” Granted, the man from Ghana has put in quite a few crunching tackles. But can’t we ascribe this quality to anticipation, timing, and reading of a game? When Essien leaves his feet to spear a ball, why not describe the tackle as if a soaring Eagle dove suddenly to pierce its prey?

While, duh, we watch sports because the athletes are super athletic and an athlete can be both powerful & graceful, why was Van Basten “a swan” yet Essien “a bison”? The alternative, of course, is to acknowledge the reality that Essien is a ballerina.

When Essien fends off two defenders and surges forward, it has nothing to do with the diameter of his thighs or his bench press. Rather, his toes deserve the credit. The Ghanian delicately crescendos to a brilliant forte, like a well choreographed swan lake.

While this may seem like splitting hairs over compliments, in American Football, this fetishism’s focus on “the physical” retarded the advancement of African Americans. While black players succeeded at highly skilled positions like running back and wide receiver, doubts lingered about the “cerebral positions” of quarterback and coach. This myth was popped by Randal Cunningham’s brilliantly spontaneous runs, Donovan McNabb’s mastery of the West Coast offense, and Tony Dungy’s even-headed firmness, decades passed before reality trumped prejudice.

Even if we accept that Balotelli is really Michael Flatley incognito, rejecting black athlete fetishism, a second discourse clouds our heads: subtle misogyny. Balotelli’s temper tantrums probably reflect the normal workings of supremely gifted teenager, yet why does the media latch onto these comments? Why does expressing displeasure with management or co-workers come as a shock?

Granted, white players that express their emotions and frustrations to the press also get their share of stick. Antonio Cassano of Italy is a prime example in soccer, as is Jeremy Shockey of New Orleans in American football. Yet the subtly sexist reasoning still applies: emotions are weak, expressing emotions is bad. Only the humanist prototype – the white male philosopher – is acceptable.

Many blindly argue based on “privacy.” Concerns about management decisions and teammates should be “behind closed doors.” These issues are a “family matter.” Why? Why should it be? Was domestic violence a private matter in the United States in the 1950′s? Why is stating one’s case, exercising First Amendment rights, and using the media to apply pressure a negative?

Let’s take a look at an example from American football: Randy Moss. For the unfamiliar, Randy Moss if a future hall of fame receiver. His speed, balance, and soft hands set him a class above everyone else. Yet he also “runs his mouth.” At the start of the season, he made some critical comments about his organization, the New England Patriots. They promptly let him go. How did the press react?

They applauded the Patriots’ actions. I wont get into nuts & bolts of management decisions, but the “crazy girlfriend” analogy by both Jason Whitlock & Bill Simmons bordered on a satire of itself. Could they both be so superficially misogynist? Below the surface of the “women as chattel” language, why associate emotions and “volatility” with women? Why depict emotions and their verbal expression as negative?

The answer is simple.

In the early 1900′s, a bunch of classically trained white academic male philosophers decided (1) reason and emotion were opposites and (2) reason must conquer emotion. Always. This same dynamic has emerged in the recent twittergate saga of black EPL players Glen Johnson and Ryan Babel. Did both manifest their hurt feelings in childish ways? Yes. But middle school ad hominems only overscore a point: these professionals take pride in their job. Should we expect less?

So we ask of Balotelli, the dark “Italian stallion” of the 21st century, can his white coach harness his bestial talent & tame his feminine volatility? Will Babel and Johnson forever trade twitter for foursquare? Or do we?

Photo credit: Vanity Fair

Digital Image Impression: the amazingly talented artist Erik Ebeling. Check out his other work at ErikEbelingArt .

Closed-minded pundits point to one simple moment, one single article of clothing, to represent the rise of the Women’s game in the US: the Chastain Sports Bra. This moment encapsulates the twisted history of women’s sports – the double standards and the fleeting big media attention. In a word, I hate and love this moment. As do many WPS fans.

To say the women’s game rose with the bra of Chastain overlooks a much more critical development decades earlier - Title IX. Title IX required all universities to equally fund male and female sports – a watershed moment for enthusiastic girl deportistas. Just as intended, universities across the nation fretted over the same dilemma – how would to keep their alumni-blood-sucking football and basketball programs, while spending comparable funds on females sports? Soccer, the sport of the collective 60′s parent hippie, with widespread youth participation even in those dark ages, was the shining white knight.

Thus, at the collegiate level, scholarships and programs popped up from East Coast to West Coast. The U.S. middle class obsession with a collegiate education, and  newly available scholarships, presented a tempting carrot for many aspiring high school ladies. Rivalries developed, and the simple act of playing against one’s peers in a consistent and competitive environment spun a wave of super soccer athletes. And they were American.

The Chastain World Cup winning goal in 1999 was a monumental sporting achievement, mind you. The ability to deliver a clutch penalty kick, despite millions of eyes, millions of doubts, belies nerves of steel and impeccable technique. Of course, Brianna Scurry’s save, a rarity by a goalie at the highest level in penalty kicks, was deserving of equal accolades. But the media did not notice Scurry. Why? The sports bra. Brandi Chastain scored a monumental goal and behaved like any male soccer athlete – she took off her shirt. But because she was a female, she attracted a prurient interest. The male gaze, with the maturity of a seventeen year old, latched onto the image of bare skin.

Since that time, both boys and girls have been banned from taking off their shirts in celebration. A yellow card awaits those who would dare display their chest. But such androgynous rules cannot mask the largest difference between the current female and male US national team. Success aside, it’s the style of play. Simply put, the girls share and keep the ball better. On a good day, the US men’s team can counterattack against the top teams in the world, which is a major stepping stone. But the girls….there’s something about these girls. Pretty? Patient? Possessive? Controlling? All of the above – but you can’t keep your eyes off them. For all the right reasons.

The intricate build-up play, the triangles painted on the pitch, the quick first touch passing – excuse my hyperbole, but I could easily confuse the ladies with the boys from across the pond that ply their trade on the continent. The US Women’s National team builds from the back and the offense runs steadily on a diet of team – simmering to a glorious boil. And, of course, in the era of globalization, all good concepts get exported in the blink of an eye. At the last Women’s World Cup, the media latched onto a precociously talented Brazilian with the swagger to match: Marta. And, for our viewing pleasure, she plays in the WPS.

As the WPS enters it’s second season, I plan on attending a few matches. In South Texas, there’s no local team, but I’ll catch some games online. I don’t expect to see any groundbreaking moments, but rather a few more big steps in the steady march of progress. And I won’t cross my fingers in anticipation of penalty kicks and sports bras. No, I’ll be looking for style. And it will be on display.

For an interesting examination of sexuality, femininity, and soccer, check out Fake Sigi on “the fans.” For female written footy blogs, get your fix at Futoblita or Kickette.

John Terry. Did I miss the bandwagon? Or am I fashionably late? Regardless of your level of interest, know this – John Terry’s sex life has stuck a simmering poker into the gaping chasm between the anglo-saxon cultures and the Latin world. And yes, I am referring to Sepp Blatter’s odd comments. And yes, I am giving him way too much credit. And yes, I will muse on the Bridge snub. Just bear with me…

I begin with an overlooked fact and a simple premise. John Terry engaged in intercourse of the consensual variety. That is to say – the French lingerie model was in no way coerced either by direct or indirect threats to engage in said relations with John Terry. Rather, she got with Johny Terry for….well, only the Good Lord knows. And even he may be confused.

While Capello stripped Terry of the England captaincy and pundits cried foul play and lamented on England’s World Cup title chances, few in the media called for the French lingerie model to be stripped of the captaincy of the French lingerie team. Few reflected upon the implications of the affair for the French lingerie team’s chances at the coming World Cup of lingerie.

Granted, no such events exist. But, but, but….

If it takes two to tango, then why is only the man taking the blame? If Susan B. Anthony and other female pioneers in the workplace have fought for suffrage and equal pay and equal opportunity, then why does society fall into the same “players playing the part of player” discourse and narrative?

Let’s take a somber look at reality.

John Terry, for all his headed goals, missed penalty kicks, million pound wages, terrifying familial relations, and million pound wages, still looks like…John Terry. Is no female embarrassed that this French lingerie model has to wake up in the morning, look herself in the mirror, and accept that she had relations with a man named John Terry and looks like John Terry? Should they be?

Sepp Blatter, of course, played the old Latino “boys will be mischievous boys” card. In some part, the two cultures do speak differently about marital vowels. However, social science research indicates that infidelity does not vary greatly between the two. His talk is the lion’s roar masking a nail-less claw. El perro que ladra nunca muerde.

Still, how a society views the genders is important. And the English press’s obsession with WAGS and women as receivers-of-nice-cars certainly does little to dispel the impression that despite suffrage, equal university enrollment, and almost equal workpay, the male as infidelit-ious/breadwinner mentality pervades.

So try not to get caught up in the gossip rag hype. Try not to overreact to Blatter’s prudent observation with shallow statistical support. Just thank yourself that tomorrow morning, no one will strip you of the captaincy of any team. And most likely, you will not have to live with the simple fact that the previous night, you had relations with a man named John Terry that looks like…John Terry.

Still, the discourse turns to England and the World Cup. And my gaze turns to the UK media. The chicken and egg rears it’s ugly head – do the tabloids feed our prurient interest, or vice versa? More importantly, how does the UK tabloid machine magnify the minutiae of details of personal lives, yet always end with a weak relation to the prospects of England winning a World Cup. In the case of Bridge, who today said adios to Capello’s plans, one has to wonder – had this matter stayed private, could the two have worked it out for the sake of the Three Lions?

More disturbingly, the England “excuse magnet” now has its focus – leftback. With Cole injured and Bridge excused, all of England’s wins, losses, goals, and goals conceded shall gyrate around that single position on the field. “Heskey lays off for Rooney who shoots, its blocked, but Gerrard scores off the rebound. BUT WHY didn’t the leftback overlap five minutes earlier? By the way, England is winning 4-1.”

Never mind the fact that leftback is the problem position for every other national team. Never mind the peripheral role that position plays. I feel sorry for the Three Lions and Fabio Capello because no team has ever or ever will win a World Cup without at least 5 world class leftbacks waiting neatly in line and getting along well.

So, in summation, John Terry is a bad person but so is that French model, and none of that matters much to England’s prospects. They are a good bet at the quarterfinals, but anything after that is just gravy on the mashed potatoes.

For a balanced appraisal, check out Tom Dunmore’s insight on “wag culture” at Pitchinvasion and Kira Cochrane’s wag interviews at the Guardian

So, everybody knows about the Cristiano Ronaldo campaign for Armani. The Portuguese wears little clothing and everybody coos, even Florentino Perez. But what about when lesser known Jesus Datolo, a young Argentine of Boca Jrs fame and currently at Napoli, poses for a gay Italian magazine? Well, his club threatens to fine him for “injury to their image.” I have breaking news for Napoli – any individual can legally view or purchase a magazine regardless of said magazine’s intended audience. That creepy guy on the bus can glare all he wants at the CR9 short shorts centerfold.

Thus, this leaves two possibilities.

First – guilt by association, emphasis on the first three letters of association. Datolo is associated with Napoli, and because Romeo Mag is affiliated with gay Italians, the indirect linkage irretrievably smears Napoli’s good name. What’s next, a Datolo fundraiser for homes along the underground railroad? Or even worse, a speech in favor of women suffrage? Somebody put a pair of pants on this footballer and lock him in a hotel room closet!

Second – possibly, the Napoli CEO is friends with Bromeo Mag, the rival queer publication to Romeo Mag. Thus, Datolo’s transgressions has damaged the blossoming corporate bromance between Napoli and Bromeo Mag, so the fine is the equivalent of damages for lost revenue.

Either way, good for Datolo, bad for Napoli, great for those who want to dismantle gender identity barriers the world over.

Just as women burned bras in the sixties, the time has come for men the world over to unite and take off the oppressive shackles of baggy pants and boxer briefs. Only when we examine our own solidarity with one another in the shape of shape fitting shorts which could squeeze a dime out of a dollar, will we realize and appreciate…

So, you brushed off your espanol with last week’s thievery post, but now I have a bit of hazy-maze-puzzle for you. A feminist friend sent me a link lamenting that a women footy club in Naquera, Spain, faced with severe financial difficulties, did the unthinkable – they pulled off a Brandi Chastain…in calendar form.

Allegedly, the ladies posed for a scandalous soccer calendar to raise funds. Yes, Simone De Beauvoir rolls in her grave and my postmodern-liberal-radical feminist mind races in circles and circles. Is this a good thing? Do we problematize sexuality by ironically portraying the gender roles? Or is this master-servant with one whip firmly in one party’s hand? (And we assume that’s a bad thing)…

Then comes the skeptical aspect and a regional linguistic element – the concept of a town named “Naquera” to my Mexican ears elicits a laugh. Why? Well, because “naco” is the word used to describe somebody who, ahem, lacks culture. Think redneck, but without intellectual stalwarts Jeff Foxworthy and Larry the Cable Guy defending the cause. It is an even worse (and homophobic) perjorative in Nicaraguan Spanish.

And thus I began my search for the truth from the comfort of my desk but in a surreal state of disbelief and suspicion. And then things got interesting…

I begin with the most astounding revelation: Naquera is indeed a Spanish town. Granted, this is no Madrid or San Sebastian, but confirmed existence is the first step towards greatness for any entity, be it person or place.

Still, things fall apart after that. The UD Naquera website is in the 404 twilight zone. Could that be due to financial difficulties? Maybe in Spain the clubs don’t focus as much on the online stuff; I recalled it impossible to find a Jozy Altidore jersey at the Villareal website last year. But a quick search showed even they had improved the tiendita online. And the second division,-Real Madrid beating-Acorn State site was totally money.

The most credible citation in the original article, to Superdeporte, led to another dead end. A search for the term “calendario” bore no fruit. The unoffical UD Naquera website has only existed since this December. The email on the “unofficial site” also oddly makes reference to the calendar and is udnaquera (at) hotmail. I am afraid to send an email….

And then another turn out of a dead end. I am not a member of fotolog, but the pics of young children when looking for “UD Naquera” makes me think this is way too poorly put together to be an elaborate hoax. I also found some old recaps of UD Naquera games. Additionally, Spain has had a pro women’s league since 1988, although the mighty Naqueras have been absent from the primera. But maybe it’s because they never made it to the lucrative topflight, instead trading charter flights for hitchhiking via semi-trucks?

I know what you are thinking – this wreaks of an elaborate internet hoax so it must be the work of…my younger brother. But there’s just one problem – Wikipedia remains un-scarred. The only entry on the Valencia region in Wikipedia mentions Naquera once in a segment on the Moorish conquest. This is either a poorly trained copycat, my little brother is losing his edge, or maybe, just maybe, this calendar exists and the “women + suffrage = non-stop perpetual linear advancement” equation is out of serious whack.

I have decided to let Susan B. Anthony rest in peace for now, be content that a real world town exists called “Naquera,” and hope that the calendar concept is some sort of hoax or a radical brand of postmodern feminism inspired by Judith Butler but beyond my liberal comprehension. And when me and the lady rock the Camino de Santiago in a few months time, rest assured we may first head southeast to visit this mythical town where Mexican and Nicaraguan pejoratives meet the harsh practicalities of a sport in recession.