Secondhand Sun

I've been visiting family; it's good. But this morning, when I was sitting on the couch bouncing with excitement over the news of John Edwards' announcement of his presidential candidacy, my brother and my cousins started discussing Hillary Clinton. "Is Hillary running?" A. (female) asked. "She hasn't officially announced yet, but she's raised a ton of money," I answered. "She's running, all right," one of the guys said, making it sound almost as ominous as, "It looks like cancer."

"Good," said A., causing general surprise - she's not a Democrat, at least not publicly.

"Why do you want her to run?" asked C., her sister's boyfriend.

"Because!" A. answered. "We need a woman in charge of things."

"Not /that/ woman," came the immediate response from another of the guys, but C. was eyeing A. with a poisonous look. "Are you a lesbian or something?" he demanded.

A. was offended. "No. Why?" she shot back.

C. shrugged. "I'm just wondering what your big attraction is to women."

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This is the problem I have, and probably will continue to have, with this upcoming presidential primary season. So much of the opposition to Hillary Clinton is rooted in outright hatred of women that I feel dirty just thinking about supporting someone else. (And I think about it a lot. I like John Edwards.) A lot of feminist bloggers oppose Hillary Clinton, but that doesn't help me out, because when their commenters agree, it's always with the same misogynist undertones.

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The AP has called the Virginia Senate race for Jim Webb.

In November 1994 I was seventeen years old; I was a senior in high school. I woke up the morning after the election and ran to get the paper. My father was at the kitchen table drinking his coffee. I picked up the paper, took one look at the headline, and threw it across the room. I don't remember the exact words I used, but they were foul enough to draw a rebuke from my father. "It's not going to matter," he told me. "This isn't something that's going to make a difference in our everyday lives."

It's been a long twelve years.

During that time I've learned what it's like to be poor, to have to search through cushions for bus money to get to work - and on getting there to find that you didn't have a job anymore, so sorry, we did call you this morning to tell you, why are you here? I've been paid less than minimum wage and stuffed myself at events that offered free food so that I wouldn't need supper later. I've learned what it's like to have pneumonia and be turned away at the doctor's office because you don't have $90 cash to give them up front. I've seen bigotry against women, minorities, and gays enshrined in law and enforced through public policy.

It's been a long twelve years.

Politics is a ripe breeding ground for cheesy rhetorical imagery. I'm sure it's the emotion of the day and not the power of the words that burned Tom Daschle's concession speech of November 3rd, 2004 into my memory. He said that he'd seen the sun set over the mall in Washington, DC (I have too, and from a plane no less - a breathtaking sight) and that he'd seen the sun rise over Mount Rushmore - and that he liked sunrises better than sunsets. As I was telling a friend the other day, I like sunsets best: they're pretty, and you have to get up far, far too early to see the sun rise, unless it's winter, and in the winter it's too cold.

There is no sunset I've ever been gladder to see than the metaphorical one that marks the end of the rule of these Republicans who launched themselves to power by stomping on our best hope to bring healthcare to everyone, and whose latest electoral push has been based on the idea that people with accents and brown skin should be automatically denied the opportunity to participate fully in society. And yet I'm uncertain - it's hard to imagine what this new day will look like. It's been such a very long twelve years.

I'm daring to let myself hope that it's over now. But I know too that my work has not yet ended. This victory is a tool not an end; we will have to use it to further fight for justice and create the world we want. I'm ready to begin.

Oh, and thanks, D.C. United - I'd definitely rather have this than the MLS Cup.

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DC United lost to New England in the Eastern Conference Final last night, and I'm far more disappointed - crushed, even - than I ever expected to be. I woke up this morning too miserable even to give Anna a game report the way I usually do first thing. She's got a lot of empathy for a five-year-old; I think she caught on pretty quickly that I was upset about the loss, and left it be. She's a good kid. I gave her the report at bedtime, with full props to Twellman for his goal (and leaving out the saltier editorial comments; she is only five) and the tale of how the stunned crowd came alive again, in fits and starts; how Ben Olsen, as always, never ever quit; how Freddy almost scored. Over and over again someone almost scored, but it never happened. "That's really sad!" Anna said. Yes, yes, I agreed; I told her how much I'd wanted to see us play for the MLS Cup. That wasn't what she meant, though: "Now there won't be any more games until spring!" A child after my own heart. No, there won't, and that's sad too - but, I explained, we do get to start earlier than the other teams because we're playing in the CONCACAF tournament. Apparently "CONCACAF" is a funny enough sounding word to cheer up a five-year-old. Would that it worked on me.

But tomorrow is Election Day. In a way, it's like that scene from the movie Fever Pitch, when the Hornby character consoles one of the students on the soccer team he coaches after the kid just missed a PK that lost the game for his team.

Paul Ashworth: If you had to choose between winning this afternoon and Arsenal winning tomorrow night, what would you go for?
Robert: Tomorrow night of course!
Paul Ashworth: There you go then.
Robert: What, you're telling me, Arsenal are gonna win two nil at Anfield?
Paul Ashworth: I can't promise, can I? Well, there's a chance isn't there? You've done your bit, you've missed the penalty. If that's what it takes then it'll be worth it.
Robert: Yeah, course.

If I had to choose between DC United winning the MLS Cup and the Democrats taking back Congress tomorrow, my answer would come just as easily - tomorrow, of course! And, United's done their bit; they got knocked out of the final, so...

So I'm going to go to bed, because I'll be up at 4:30 am tomorrow, if I sleep at all. My volunteers are all confirmed, the car is packed with all my supplies, and I'm jumpier than... something very, very jumpy. The jumpiest thing you can think of. I'm jumpier than that.

Election Day is tomorrow! And tomorrow, we shall see.

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Standing in the Screaming Eagles' Nest is everything people say it is and more. It was something I wanted to try, but I didn't think I'd like it much - I didn't think I'd be able to see, and I thought my feet would hurt. Well, Nicole, the ever-so-helpful guru of tickets, was able to get me a spot in the third row, so I could have seen Ben Olsen's toe lint if he'd taken off his shoes. In fact, if I'd walked down four steps, hopped a wall, run twelve yards, dodged half a dozen cops, shoved some VIPs in folding chairs out of the way, and hopped another wall, well, I'd have been right there on the field. It felt a lot more immediate than that description sounds, because when you've got a phalanx of jumping, singing, cursing fans behind you, a half dozen cops are no obstacle. My feet did hurt, but when the bouncing and singing started I didn't really care.

It's like Mardi Gras, or an Election Night party. At a Mardi Gras parade, you've got hundreds, maybe thousands of drunk people brought together in solidarity over the principle of having a good time. And they all care very much about beads and plastic cups and doubloons, things that matter not one whit in the real world - kind of like soccer games, but tackier - and they're willing to make fools of themselves over these things by getting into fights, taking off their clothes, and generally ignoring social niceties in favor of drunken revelry. At an Election Night party, you've also got hundreds of drunk people, brought together after months of shared effort, hours and hours of drudgery for the purpose of this one night's result, and they're waiting, hoping, praying, holding their breath, crossing their fingers, straining their muscles to reach for the win that, since the polls closed, is now out of their control. Again, kind of like soccer games, from the fan perspective at least.

So being a fan at a soccer game is like both those things. But it's different in a few key ways. At Mardi Gras there are no winners or losers; everyone has fun and goes home happy, and takes lots of aspirin the next morning. At a soccer game it's much better if you win - if you don't, it's not really very much fun at all. But! if you lose, there are no real ramifications for the wider world. I was in a foul mood for two days after the Galaxy game. In the end, though, if your team loses a soccer game, even a championship game, it doesn't mean that prisoners will be tortured or that thousands of civilians will be slaughtered in unnecessary wars or that poor people will die because they lost their health insurance or that thousands of Americans will still be homeless a year after a major natural disaster because the government can't be arsed to lift a finger on their behalf. In soccer, you just show up for the game the next week (or the next season) and hope, pray, hold your breath, cross your fingers, strain your muscles for a better result. At an Election Night party, if your side loses... well, that's much more difficult to come back from.

So it's beginning to make sense to me, why after I attended a DC United game earlier this summer on a whim, I got hooked so quickly. I haven't missed a home game since. With one deadly serious passion, politics, taking up so much of my time and energy that I'm run ragged, what could possess me to take up in addition an utterly frivolous passion that is just as time consuming? But it's good. It's really good. Being passionate about DC United has given my life some much-needed balance, and an outlet that will keep me sane. I can do something much like what I do in politics - gather together and consume beverages with a group of like-minded people who, like me, care so much about a particular result that our heads are about to explode. Whenever our boys give us a win, it will be just like it was when Freddy Adu floated that free kick over the wall and into the right corner of the goal, with the keeper nowhere near enough to touch it even if he had Gadget Arms. I stood there with my mouth open while the crowd went berserk all around me, so happy I couldn't make a single sound. And if we were to lose a game again, I'd be miserable, of course, but without the guilt and added burden of knowing other living humans would soon pay a real and costly price for that loss and for my failure.

Posted by Joanna at 11:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

For those eagerly awaiting the continuation of the Soccer and Me series, we'll start back up next week. It's a very busy time for me - I'm organizing a canvass for Jim Webb and Andy Hurst this Saturday in my precinct, and after that, of course, is the DC United game against Real Salt Lake, for which I will be standing in the Nest for the first time. In honor of the upcoming festivities, here is a shirtless Alecko Eskandarian.

Yum!

I have a suspicion that I won't be able to see a damned thing standing, because I am 5 feet and 1 inch tall (if you spot me a half inch). But the kind woman in charge of tickets for the Nest is going to do her best for me in regard to location. Perhaps I can find something to use for a stool. Hmmm. I doubt stools are allowed so this would require some creativity. Suggestions, anyone?

P.S. Real Salt Lake is a stupid poser name for an American team!

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