trying to pretend i don’t care
you see several issues i have with you
can boil down to the damage you
you are not a shattered urn
you are not a townshend guitar
to brad pitt
you are not your fucking khakis
you are a person
the torture and distrust that clings to your clothing
never has fazed me
why should it now
as my feelings evaporate one after the other
my lack of responses
messages from you
as i kneel at your altar for the final time
trying to grasp your star as it
never to be
Dear Mr. Goodell.
First of all, how are things? You run the most popular athletic league in the world. Your hair is fantastic. You make millions a year to have others work for you. You have a great name.
Yes, Roger, things are probably going swimmingly for you. As a man, leading a league with thirty-two male head coaches, seeing over fifty-three men each, the issues and trials of the modern woman probably give you little to no pause each day.
I’ll spare you the sanctimony, Roger. I’m not exactly the world’s foremost attorney on gender issues. But I am aware.
I’m aware that by not addressing the Ray Rice situation in a more ironclad manner, you not only communicated the message that your NFL would not be harsh in the punishment of domestic abusers, but you may as well have come out in support of the perpetrator himself.
Ray Rice did a terrible thing. Is he a terrible man? I don’t know. I tend to like to give people the benefit of the doubt. He’s never killed anyone. He’s never committed genocide or sold a pregnant woman cocaine. However, he needed to be punished. Punished in a manner that would give future players pause before they raised a closed fist to strike their loved one.
Two games? You suspended him two games? Come on, Roger. You saw the video. We all know you saw it, and thus, you can cut your dog and pony show. The bread, circuses, and tweets to the contrary are over.
You watched one of your employees knock his fiancee unconscious and failed to act.
There are men these days who cry foul at the notion that hitting a woman is unbecoming. If she hits you, they say, she has it coming. She has it coming.
Janay Palmer did not have it coming. She, while in the midst of a lover’s spat or what-have-you, was knocked to the ground of the elevator unsuspectingly, and dragged out into the lobby like a sack of flour. No woman deserves that.
No human deserves that.
You failed to act. The blood of Janay Palmer stains your hands. You keep your job, house, and cushy salary, but try your conscience next time. Try it, and see if deep down, you still have a semblance of one.
- A fan
They came to the protest handcuffed to each other. “If he’s going down, I’m going down