Monday
For many Americans, the women’s World Cup victory was a refreshing break from our Trumpian nightmare. The win itself is wonderful enough, but in the context of our misogynist president it takes on special meaning.
For instance, the back-to-back titles can in part be chalked up to Title IX, the anti-gender discrimination law that emerged from the 1970s feminist movement and that led to an explosion in women’s sports. I also liked that the team was agitating to be paid comparably to the men’s team and had the finals crowd chanting, “Equal pay!”
And then there’s the fact that Trump began sparring with American star Megan Rapinoe after she said she would not be visiting the anti-LBGTQ White House if they won. In response to Trump’s subsequent attack, teammate Wendy Krieger tweeted, “I know women who you cannot control or grope anger you, but I stand by (Rapinoe) & will sit this one out as well.” As someone observed, Rapinoe served up a great ball and Krieger headed it home.
America’s tournament began with a victory over Thailand so dominant (13-0) that at one point I thought of how Sam Spade humiliates Gutman’s bodyguard in The Maltese Falcon. After disarming the man, Spade delivers him to his boss:
Gutman opened the door. A glad smile lighted his fat face. He held out a hand and said: “Ah, come in, sir! Thank you for coming. Come in.”
Spade shook the hand and entered. The boy went in behind him. The fat man shut the door. Spade took the boy’s pistols from his pockets and held them out to Gutman. “Here. You shouldn’t let him run around with these. He’ll get himself hurt.”
The fat man laughed merrily and took the pistols. “Well, well,” he said, “what’s this?” He looked from Spade to the boy.
Spade said: “A crippled newsie took them away from him, but I made him give them back.”
Thailand was America’s only opponent that seemed entirely outclassed, however, and a string of competitive games followed, especially against Sweden, Spain, France, and England. In the finals, however, the United States were back to being their dominant self. Only a sterling performance by the Dutch goalkeeper kept the score from being more lopsided than it was.
As the U.S. sent shot after shot on goal, the poetic line that came to me was from Byron: “The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold,/ And his cohort was gleaming in purple and gold.” Only in this case, the colors were red, white and blue.
Or pink. The image we will probably carry away from this World Cup is the pink-haired Rapinoe striking her classic pose following her cold-blooded penalty kick. Trump told her to win the championship before she talked about visiting the White House so, as if in response, Rapinoe (1) kicked the championship-winning goal, (2) won the Golden Boot for most goals, and (3) won the Golden Ball as the tournament’s most valuable player.
Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise,” therefore, may be the poem that fits best. Angelou is writing as a black woman but much of what she says applies to an out and proud lesbian like Rapinoe. And also to a team that came in with swagger and went out on top:
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
