No need for viewers to give 2nd chances after domestic abuse
This is what happens when you assault a woman in the classic western film “Unforgiven”: Some guys show up. These are not exactly the good guys, but even vigilantes-forprofit can hold their heads higher than you. You end up shot dead in an outhouse by the time the whole morality play kicks into high gear.
And this is what should happen in a modern civilization: The rule of law steps in first, determining your guilt and punishment. Just as importantly, when the evidence of your actions becomes clear, you are shunned and shamed. Your peers, your friends and your neighbors want nothing to do with you.
But this is what happens when you assault a woman and you play in a major sports league: Pretty much nothing.
In the long annals of professional athletic entitlement, physically assaulting wives and girlfriends has started writing a prominent new chapter. This time, though, the shame is on us.
We keep watching as the violence grows more brutal. We keep watching
as video evidence makes a clean conscience impossible. We keep watching and cheering and wearing the numbers of these despicable men and the logos of their callous employers on expensive jerseys.
The chapter of our complicity famously began with the Baltimore Ravens running back Ray Rice, who knocked his fiancée unconscious in full view of elevator cameras. An NFL inquiry and two-game suspension prompted an outcry for their brevity, until the league mishandled subsequent efforts to make good with a lifetime ejection so poorly that a court granted Rice the right to play again.
Now the big sports leagues are scrambling to set up domestic violence “policies.” When Colorado Rockies shortstop Jose Reyes was arrested on charges of battering his wife, Major League Baseball announced a parallel investigation this month as a test of a new policy negotiated with its players’ union. The options include suspensions and counseling.
“Obviously,” MLB commissioner Rob Manfred told reporters, “it’s a concern to us.”
But policies are notoriously difficult to enforce across loose organizations with power dispersed among an array of farflung team owners. Baseball, basketball and hockey have their own work cut out for them, but all eyes will follow the dominant sport of the land.
So the best evidence of how ineffective these policies will turn out has started to emerge from the epicenter of arrogant, brazen and selfish team ownership, the Dallas Cowboys.
Down this alley, perhaps it should be no surprise to run into Jerry Jones — who has for years employed wide receiver Dez Bryant, even after his mother accused him of hitting her. (Bryant later sought to leave that complaint behind by telling reporters: “Here’s all you need to know. I’m done with domestic abuse.”)
Now Jones has hired defensive lineman Greg Hardy, whose domestic violence conviction was overturned when his victim settled for civil damages and declined to testify in criminal court. When Deadspin published graphic photos of her injuries and her terrifying description of the attack from police reports, Jones said in a statement: “We have given Greg a second chance.”
By “we,” Jones means himself.
We do not have to give Hardy a second chance. And we should not. One chance is all anyone needs to not hit a woman. One chance is all anyone needs not to beat her, strangle her and throw her onto a futon covered in assault rifles.
We live in a country where people convicted of far lesser crimes on far slimmer evidence, often through impossible plea bargains, emerge from prison to find themselves banished from employment, public housing, food stamps and many other basic necessities of life. Pro athletes deserve equal protection under the law like everyone else, but we have the right to decide how we will greet their return to the field.
Ask yourself: How hard could it possibly be not to watch the Cowboys this year?