If you were an obedient news watcher, your opinion of the Ray Rice scandal would be that he is a sinner who has every punishment coming to him, and that domestic violence against women is a silent scourge ravaging loyal girlfriends, fiancés, baby mamas, and wives across the nation. You would be eager to have a dialogue in this important conversation about what’s happening to all these innocent princesses.
But if you’re reading this blog chances are you’re not part of that mass of feel-good sheep who go along with the USA Today surface version of events, so let me dive right into some nuanced ideas that could have a powerful effect on how to approach relationships with women moving forward.
I think that deep down even a tough guy like Ray Rice has that same weakness all of us feel, the deathly fear that the woman we’re with will reject us. This fear causes us to put up with levels of disrespect and abuse that we would never take from friends, relatives, or strangers. I suspect that early on Rice didn’t establish with Miss Janay Palmer that he deserved to be treated with respect, so that later on in their relationship she felt she had license to walk all over him. In the hotel surveillance video that launched this whole firestorm, we see how she thinks nothing of casually smacking his face while drunkenly gliding toward the elevator.
[Here I must rush to make a disclaimer because every Beyond Leftist’s binary logic brain jumps to the conclusion that in saying this, it means that I think it’s all Palmer’s fault. Just keep reading and hear me out.]
Having seen Rice punch the woman—regardless of whether the punch or conking her head on the elevator railing actually knocked her out—and all of the terrible fallout, I am struck by this idea: He should have said to himself, “I am one of the best athletes in the world. I am wealthy, young, and handsome. I deserve better than to have to babysit a gold-digging drama queen. I’ll try to find a higher quality woman who will treat me like a king.”
He should have calmly taken her to their room and put her to bed, then gone down to the front desk to arrange for another room on a different floor of the hotel for himself. But instead the frustrated rage of not being respected by this woman got the better of him and it may cost him his NFL career.
And when I heard that NFL commissioner Roger Goodell might lose his job because of how the investigation was handled, the spreading carnage reminded me what happens in the Jim Jarmusch movie “Ghost Dog.” In this darkly comical “Goodfellas” meets philosophical Japanese samurai film, nearly the entire cast of male characters butchers one another after the mafia boss’s waify dumb-dumb of a daughter sleeps with one of his lackeys. In the end she lives and they all die.
The same thing also happens in the Sam Peckinpah tour-de-force “Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia.” Here a handsome player has gotten the daughter of a rich Mexican landowner pregnant and in pursuit of the million dollar bounty for his head over 20 men bump each other off. I’m not saying that the guys in either movie are the most upstanding citizens, but the women whose actions start the chain of events leading to their deaths are nothing more than young and horny. They are not virtuous or noble or even imbued with a strong personality that someone like Elizabeth Taylor would play—and any honor which the men die defending is no more than the same illusion that we all desperately want to believe in.
If we men don’t have the courage to say no to females when they misbehave, can we at least stop throwing each other under the bus? Believe me, I feel the cosmic gravitational pull that pussy holds—even a gay 1960s hippie who used to work at the frame shop next door to my office once lamented to me about “that wet hole”—but not being able to control ourselves is ruining our damn lives. When we buy a woman that first drink we need to put retaining our dignity first and foremost, otherwise we end up willingly knocking our agendas off track and having their whims dictate our lives.
I think this affliction spreads beyond just how we deal with women too. If you don’t have the courage to dump an inconsiderate girlfriend and your life revolves around placating the petulant child living inside a Barbie doll’s body, surely the wool is being pulled over your eyes by even smarter people than her. Look at all the stock market swindlers on CNBC making you feel like you’re missing out on the excitement of the trading room floor. The mortgage ads on AM radio shame you into seizing the latest refi “no brainer” opportunity—never mind the drain of property taxes and the potential threat of eminent domain, you’ve got to own a house to be a real American living that dream.
And before a man knows it, he’s locked into all kinds of long-term contracts that keep him so busy working that he doesn’t have any time to examine what’s really going on out there. By the time he’s parsed his paycheck into pieces for the IRS, 401K, investment portfolio, luxury car lease, and mortgage bill, he’s barely got enough money left over to treat himself to the jersey of his favorite football player. If the wife even lets him have a few hours on Sunday to tune out from the grind, now he finds himself being lectured to by alleged sportscasters about gun control, gay rights, and domestic violence. And his team is wearing pink uniforms to boot!
Do any of you look around at it all and think, I’m over it? I don’t know if I’m just entering the mid-life crisis or if it really is a bigger problem affecting us all. After years chasing success and women, winning some and losing some, I might finally have enough life experience under my belt to aggregate the data into a little sliver of wisdom. And my gut is telling me that life in America today consists of so much bullshit that it might be a lot less stressful and possibly more fulfilling on a personal level to sit on the sidelines as much as possible.
Besides, how much of what keeps our economy running is due to the labor of divorced men working jobs they’d otherwise quit were it not for the alimony and child support they have to pay under threat of imprisonment? What percentage of GDP retail spending actually comes from these ex-wives using their welfare payments on shopping sprees? What would our country look like if males were taught not to “get their mind set” on impressing an unworthy goddess but instead live for themselves? How much time and money do we waste on the front end wooing pretty women only to get roped into a decades-long, court-enforced yoke after they leave us?
Never in my whole life have I not been repulsed by the concept of prostitution, but after seeing the Antietam-like wasteland that the divorce industry has left in its wake I’m seriously beginning to reconsider. If men were quickly, legally, and relatively speaking, inexpensively able to get their sexual needs met, this train wreck of a system would change real fast. So is it any wonder that prostitution remains illegal? They need us dupes to keep plowing away in frustration, doing all the real work and sending checks to all those “independent” single mothers out there “courageously doing it on their own.”
Guys, the deck is stacked against us in every direction. While we try to claw our way back to some semblance of sanity and balance in our society, I say again, at least stop throwing each other under the bus.