Last week, Ben Roethlisberger was accused of raping Andrea McNulty, who claims it happened about a year ago in Lake Tahoe. Roethlisberger, of course, denies the accusation, and McNulty, for her part, has filed a civil suit, not a criminal one. This last point is crucial because ESPN has barely reported this story, and they claim it’s because of a policy that prevents them from reporting on civil suits, though the consistency with which the policy has been applied is questionable, and one has a hard time imagining that if Donovan McNabb had been the accused in this instance, ESPN would have (non)reported the story in the same way.
A couple of general rules seem undeniable:
1. Athletes are rich and involved in an inordinate amount of sexual canoodling. This means that it is absolutely possible that an athlete is vulnerable to false accusations of sexual misconduct.
2. Many women who are sexually assaulted do not report the incident. Reasons can range from fear to intimidation to embarrassment…the list could go on forever. In the case of McNulty, the fact that she’s filing a civil (not criminal) suit a year after the fact does not in itself undermine her claim. Her employer did not support her, and she says she suffered psychologically from the incident, which could very well prevent her from managing to publicly accuse Roethlisberger until now. Moreover, he’s the one with the microphone and the legion of fans, not her. Without a rock solid case, she will most likely have her private life exposed for little more than to become a hated footnote among many of Roethlisberger’s fans.
Given these two facts, it seems impossible that anyone besides Roethlisberger and McNulty know what happened. Ideally, reporters’ primary concern will be the fair treatment of McNulty. Because athletes have access to media, money, and good lawyers, they have the upper hand in all of these cases. If McNulty is ridiculed, then future victims of sexual assault by professional athletes will surely choose to remain silent instead of speaking up.
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Finally, a mildly esoteric note on fandom. I learned many years ago not to fool myself into assuming the athletes on my favorite team are quality people. Ta-Nehisi Coates, in a post following the death of Michael Jackson, related this idea quite elegantly.
Ray Lewis may well be an accessory to a man’s murder. But when I watch him run up and down field on Sunday, it sparks something in me. Woody Allen wooed his wife’s adopted daughter, and may well be a child molester. But I think Bananas makes me laugh. Mike Tyson is, among other things, a convicted rapist. But I had not lived until I saw him demolish Trevor Berbick. And so on…I guess I could peel these people out my life. I guess I could stop seperating art from men. Regrettably, I think, I wouldn’t be left with much art worth admiring. Sometimes awful people, do beautiful things. One doesn’t cancel the other. And mourning the loss of human life, does not excuse the sins of that life.
Being a fan of a sport or an art is a truly bizarre experience. We enjoy the creative output – that which we often think of as the representation of a person’s true self – of many people we would almost certainly find deplorable. In one sense, it’s blind rationalization: I’ve always cheered for the Steelers, so I’m not going to stop now, but I must find some way to explain why I can delight in the athletic exploits of a guy who may very well have raped a woman last year in Tahoe. In another sense, as TNC hints at, what art is left if we stop enjoying the creative output of profligates?
And instead of lying to ourselves and choosing to forget the uglier events, I think it’s more instructive to sit with the messy paradox. My guess is that in fully facing the horrors and wonders of our favorite artists and athletes, we come to some better understanding of ourselves. Not just as individuals, but as a collective that must depend on truly terrible people at crucial moments.