Measuring the blast radius of a man in women's sports
Numbers don't lie: A single male on a women's team directly affects thousands of people (some of whom vote).
Someone I've known for a long time surprised me recently by proclaiming, in earshot of family and passers-by, "When it comes to that, I'm a TERF. I'm right with J. K. Rowling." When I had a chance to speak to her one-on-one a bit later, I said "So, we're on the same team for once." I told her a bit about my writing on and experience with males in women's sports, and we had a few minutes of concordance. As I got more animated on our common ground, she went for the record scratch: "But it affects so few people it shouldn't be a topic of national media and debate. It's a tiny niche issue that's being exploited and exaggerated to stir up anger and distract people from 'more important issues.”
If only she had John Oliver's accent or Jen Psaki's sycophancy. Instead, she just had a few minutes of talking to me.
Our conversation left me thinking about how we can better convey the blast radius of a male on a women's team.
William Thomas' 15 minutes being over, the most talked about male on a women's sports team right now is Blaire Fleming of San Jose State's women's volleyball.
Having recently analyzed some in-game data on Fleming's performances in light of allegations of point shaving, targeting, and conspiracy, I had a jump start on quantifying the "blast radius" of a single male on a women's team.
The Spartans have 16 female players on their squad. That's 16 women who have to share a locker room, bathrooms, and travel accommodations with a male, and who may go into practice thinking "Am I going to be defending against him in this next kill drill?"
Four opponents have now forfeited against San Jose State: Boise State, Wyoming, Utah State, and Nevada. They have a combined 60 athletes. Those 60 athletes have an underserved "L" (two, in some cases) on their scoresheet for the year. A principled "L," but an "L" nonetheless. Sixty athletes who had decide whether to forgo doing the thing they love - not just playing volleyball, but competing - in order to preserve their individual safety and the integrity of the game.
San Jose State played 14 other teams this season, with a total of 168 athletes. Most of those athletes, too, have an undeserved "L" on their scoresheet for the year. Let me acknowledge the cultural or psychological gap that some of our readers may be treading right now: if you're not an athlete or of a certain personality type, you might not relate to just how much those Ls, any Ls, really hurt, grate, and stick deep under your skin.
Moreover, some of those athletes now may be wondering how much risk they unknowingly undertook in their game against the Spartans. They may be asking themselves, "Was I an inch or an angle or a lucky substitution away from being the next Peyton McNabb?" They may also be wondering who kept the truth from them, who denied them the opportunity to give informed consent before assuming the additional risk of squaring off against a male athlete.
The two-line exchange that altered my career may be being repeated furtively or angrily across the Mountain West:
"Did anyone say anything?" "What can you say?"
Which brings us to the coaches. San Jose State's opponents were led by 69 coaches. Some of them were lied to, and they are now feeling the resentment and anger of unknowingly exposing their players to harm. Others knew, and had to ask themselves: Do I say anything? What do I say? And if I say anything, will I garner silent appreciation from my athletes or will I be the next Kim Russell or Melissa Batie-Smoose? I have a family and a mortgage. Will I be profiled in an article about cancellations in the sports industry, or will I manage to just stay in the background of a genderwang article?
Some of them may be carrying guilt from that decision right now. Some of them may be replaying on their iPads and in their dreams moments from the game that, in retrospect, were terrifying near misses.
And coaches don't like those Ls any more than athletes. Aside from competitiveness and professional pride, a couple too many of them and - regardless of circumstance - you're in the sack race.
The 313 people referenced above - 16 San Jose State players, 60 forfeited opponent players, 168 opponents from games, 69 coaches - have been placed directly in physical, social, or professional jeopardy by a single male on a women's team. They don't experience those pressures or anxieties alone, nor just in the context of their teams. They take it home with them, where it is shared by the people close to them.
Let's say each athlete and coach have five people in their life that care truly and deeply for them as humans and as sportspeople, who have a significant interest in their physical, social, and professional well-being, in addition to their competitive success. Five people: some combination of family members, significant others, and maybe a high school coach or mentor.
That's 313 * 5 = 1,565 people who are indirectly affected by one male on a women's team. A team in a sport that has relatively small rosters. Re-run the math for a soccer team, which normally have about 25 players, or lacrosse, which averages 30 players per team.
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Multiply that by the American entries currently at SheWon.org or HeCheated.org, which track, respectively, women who have lost out to men in their competitions and men who have stolen success in women's sports.
Then you can do a bit of electoral math.
Feel free to tweet the results, and tag a few talking heads and politicians (and that closet TERF you otherwise rarely agree with) when you do.
Thank you George! This is exactly how we have felt going through this at San Jose State. You described it perfectly! One man destroyed this volleyball season and so much more for the players, families, coaches and friends!
This is an excellent post. Thank you for that important perspective.