soccer, venus, & feminist grunting

In June, I spent some time watching pick up soccer games. It was fascinating for me to watch people who love the game so much running, jumping, kicking, bickering with each other, and laughing on the field. Besides my short-lived basketball career in seventh grade, I have never been involved in team sports. When I used to practice muay thai, it felt like a very personal commitment to me that was ultimately about my body, confidence, and mental strength. It was also a way for me to belong to a community of people who loved the sport and trained hard. I have had a glimpse of the deeply personal and communal nature of sports, but as someone who has never followed any sport on television nor attended many sporting events, I was still very intrigued by the pick up soccer game. Here are some photographs I would like to share from that day in the park. I shot these pictures using a Canon EOS Digital Rebel XT.

Watching soccer that day in Fort Greene park was not just a window into the world of team sports; for me, it was also a window into the secret world of men. The ways the men interacted with each other felt so foreign to me: the aggression (two fights nearly broke out during the game), easy camaraderie, competition, and modes of communication felt so far from anything I have ever been a part of.

Recently, I was fortunate enough to attend the U.S. Open. I saw Venus Williams play and she was awesome. She seemed to win easily and have fun while doing it. She was gracious during the on-court interview after the match and the crowd was crazy for her.

I must confess that there was one small thing about her performance that made me a tad uncomfortable. Each time she served or returned a ball, she screamed or grunted. If I were serving a ball at upwards of 100 mph, surely I would grunt or scream too. Yet, I found myself cringing and embarrassed that a stadium full of people (many white, many male, many affluent) were watching her grunt and scream. The sounds seemed so sexual, so guttural and embodied.

At the time, I was very aware that my response was problematic. My embarrassment was due to my own internalized sexism. I was embarrassed for her and I was embarrassed for me. Each time she cried out, I, too, felt exposed. I felt like my physicality - strength, sex, body, presence - was being publicly articulated.

By the end of the match, I was making noise myself. Screaming and cheering and jumping up and down for Venus. I am not proud of my initial reaction during the match. Her grunts were the cries of ecstasy and exertion that must come from playing so spectacularly.

What would I have preferred? Neat silence? Control? Holding it in or holding back? Of course not.

Perhaps what I felt is the same shame that causes women to clap their hands over their mouths when they speak too loudly or out of turn, or when they make too much noise during sex, or when they say something unladylike.

One of my favorite zines about consent includes the following quote:

"Analysis does not equal immunity."

I am a feminist, but that doesn't change that I've got to work to decolonize my mind. Sometimes my thoughts are racist and antifeminist and perpetuate all of things that hate and hurt me. I'm a work in progress. For now, my goal is to be a little more like Venus. It was an honor to see her play. She is powerful and a supreme athlete. I did not take the above photograph of Venus, but I like it. It seems as if she is singing or dancing, as well as winning whatever match this is from. Cause that is what she does. And she is good at it.