Final Score
Another week in the life of women in sports media, watching Maria Taylor's career and body forced into the misogynistic sports spotlight, presented another opportunity to examine what we win and lose as women in the industry.
When Maria Taylor declared herself deserving of respect in a tweet, she unleashed a wave of pride and, of course, criticism.
Pride came mostly from women in the sports industry and fans, but also from men who don’t understand why other men need to make a sports disagreement so deeply personal, while also questioning our qualifications.
The criticism also mostly came from men. The week was revealotory and not in a good way. We received a reminder that, yes sexism and misogny remain powerful in sports. Sports, an industry that only evolves when absolutely forced and still puts up a fight, is as much entertainment as it is a reflection of our society, and what we believe.
Taylor was subjected to intensely personal criticism twice in a few days. Both times by men, both colleagues-- men with such confidence in their job security, they didn't worry about backlash or possibly being fired. They tweeted with abandon, as if it was their place to question Taylor as a professional and woman.
On Monday, Chicago sports radio host, Dan McNeil, host of 'The Score,' tweeted about Taylor's attire on the sidelines, with a photo of her in an outfit working a game.
"NFL sideline reporter or a host for the AVN annual awards presentation?"
I didn't know that the AVN awards were for "adult entertainment," so at first I didn't know what was going on. But I Googled. First of all, F**K you Dan. Second...no that's it. He was later fired.
Then came the ballot. Taylor's All-NBA selections received a whirlwind of confusion and frustration, after she ommitted Anthony Davis name. I confess, I know almost nothing about basketball players or current teams, so this isn't something I can analyze. But people were pissed. There's also nothing wrong with that. Taylor later admitted she was mistaken in leaving him out of her final choices. Readers and viewers are allowed to disagree and be extremely mad about what we write, report or decide. But that's it. They don't have permission to tear us down as people, as women, or...do THIS:
"Why does Maria Taylor have a vote? Real question. She is a studio host/sideline reporter in her first year covering the NBA. She works a ton, not just on the league. No reason to have her vote."
G
That tweet by Doug Gottlieb, a Fox Sports Radio host, was immediately met with anger as well. Taylor stepped to the plate herself, responding, "Because I PLAYED basketball...I COVER the league. And I DESERVE everything I've worked hard for."
I would like to create an award for this tweet, especially her choice to put all those words in caps. My favorite was "DESERVE." Too often, men in this industry, men like Gottlieb and McNeil, exude such undeserved confidence in stating their opinions. They talk too loud and too much, they say whatever they want to us, in any setting, with astonishing arrogance, as if they fear nothing. Women in the industry walking around fearing everything we do is under such scrutiny, we can't screw up, or do something that people just disagree with.
We’re enraged by those men because we should be. Men in this business, who are our equals, have no business questioning how we got where we are, and why we’re there. Gottlieb’s nerve is purse entitlement, a confidence that men are taught, whether they’re sports professionals or sports fans. He likely didn’t think twice about questioning a woman who is his professional equal. He’s not her boss, he’s not her 8th grade teacher. Yet men in the sports industry think nothing of asking a woman at the table why she has a seat. How many men in sports or sports fans have women turned the tables on? How many women in sports media have glanced around the press box, or front office, full of men, and wondered how that many men could be so deeply qualified, but a singular woman must always prove she should be there?
The point isn’t that Gottlieb disagreed with Taylor’s ballot. It’s that he actually saw it fit to ask why she had a ballot. He couldn’t leave it at disagreeing with her. To deny the sexism, is to remove such a large part of our experience as women. You might not see it, or know what it looks like, but even what looks like a compliment-- “She knows her stuff!”, “She’s earned respect!” “There are a lot of women who don’t know what they’re talking about, but she does!”-- is a twisted way of telling us we’re lucky to be invited into a boys club.
A few years ago, while covering a Phillies game, a colleague approached me while I was sitting on the bench in the dugout for a man to ask me why I don’t dress differently in order to gain more respect. He rushed over, with a kind of aggressive smirk, his body language full of intention. I smiled warmly, thinking we were going to connect as colleagues, or just have a friendly chat. In other words, I expected him to be a normal person. But no, that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to offer me some sort of deformed thing he thought was advice, and expected me to be open to receiving whatever he had to say. He went on to tell me that players talked about me in a vulgar manner, as if I didn’t know that, told me that the Phillies front office didn’t respect me, and that just like “someone we know” (he was referring to Erin Andrews, who’d recently been sexually violated by way of a stalker filming her in her hotel room, while she was nude), if I wasn’t “careful,” “You could be next.” The point of all of it, was to assign blame to me (and Erin Andrews) for anything bad that happened to us, and for anyone questioning our qualifications and presence, to the point that if someone stalked and sexually violated me, well, hey, at least he tried to warn me. As my equal, he was not only out of line, he was sexually harassing me. He was making a creepy insinuation that I might be sexually harmed in some way if I didn’t shape up. He was informing me that no one thought I belonged, and that was my fault. That if I made a mistake, I would not get away with it. If I did something perceived as proof that I was not a good reporter, I’d be without defense, because of what I wore, or what people believed about me. He believed he had a right to walk up to me, in our professional setting, and question my professionalism. And he thought it appropriate to brandish me unacceptable, and totally at fault for that assessment. I smiled obligingly, trying to remain focused on the job I needed to get done that day.
Again and again, this shame returns to me. The gross memory of a person in the industry telling me that players joked I was there to service them, that people in the business found me unacceptable. I went home that day with a fire in my heart, but sometimes I was wrong about what that fire represented. Often ,I used it as a defense to cover exhaustion and sadness. Make no mistake, it was also often the opposite-- instead, a light that lifted me and gave me the truth, without distraction of others opinion. I cherish those moments in my career, and I recall them whenever I need another boost.
I've needed that boost many times in the last few years. When faced with a mob of women in baseball who similarly questioned me because of the name "heels" in my own blog name, and in "All Heels on Deck,' who saw nothing wrong with demeaning me and my work, rather than have a disagreement and discussion as equals and colleagues. They called me out on Twitter, delighting in every person who joined in and tore me down, even in the most petty, traditionally catty manner (a former friend jumped in to add something weirdly personal, and one of those very serious feminist women in baseball favorited those tweets, and resonded with cutesy "lol's," in response to grade school trash gossip that had zero to do with the seriousness of our discussion). But they didn't think about their form of slut shaming, and how it was impacting me, or others who didn't understand what their mission was meant to accomplish. As depressing as those times were, as depressing as many moments in my career have been when faced with hatred and questions about my integrity, I called on that fire that has done me good in many situations in this business. And when Taylor stood so firmly, and "spoke" so loudly, I wanted to hug her, fight for her, and possilbly write some poetry for her.
...but for now, I'll just commend her courage. I'll thank her for giving me a boost, and for rallying so many women and men who would not stand for the misogyny and utter disrespect. We got yet another reminder that we face an uphill battle in the industry, that men can still get away with directing the conversation about us, rather than having a conversation with us, that is driven by equal respect. McNeil and Gottlieb, and the baseball writer who harassed me, are examples of men in the business who refuse to relinquish that power. How would men in their position move around the industry, if we really were equals?
As for me, reshaping my life and career came to pass. After so many years of using that proverbial fire to withstand sexist humilation from players, coaches and colleagues, I realized I needed to find the light instead. I've chosen new areas of focus, new projects, reigniting my passion, while also being mindful of how I'm feeling, unlike before, when I was mostly comfortably numb, and on autopilot.
Yes, that also meant I was giving up a bit. I was saying, "I've had enough." That was not what I dreamed I would do, and it hurt to grow up and be willing to say that to the world. But I, like so many women in sports media, continue to walk the path, lighting it as needed along the way, or asking for light when we most need that boost. Hopefully, Taylor felt the power of the support around her. There's no doubt we DESERVE it.