This fall I've seen a few inside-out Adrian Peterson jerseys, much like the one I've had on my closet floor since we found out about Peterson's excessive approach to disciplining a four year-old. As long as #28 was banned from the sidelines, it seemed gauche to see it in the stands. Now we're close to finding out if Peterson has served his suspension and may return to the Vikings, and I'm really not sure what I want to see happen. Thanks to the national attention on Ray Rice, the NFL has been exploring new territory in terms of domestic violence and it's not clear if players like Rice and Peterson could be suspended indefinitely by a powerful commissioner or if they might return to active duty with the league.
Like many, my first instinct was horror. I used to love watching Peterson play. I've seen powerful runningbacks, I've seen speedy running backs, and I've seen crafty guys who kept their feet moving, but it's amazing to see him be all things at once, making contact, bouncing away from it then dragging tacklers a a few more yards. I even like his nickname ("All Day") and his Sportscenter commercial. But I don't want to get excited about the brutal, punishing force inflicted on other men with the thought in the back of my head of Peterson applying the same determined, explosive force to his son. From what I hear it's worse if you saw the pictures of the marks he left on the boy.
So I was ready to write him off until someone reminded me of the upbringing of abusers, and the finality of our judgements on these men. Everybody has a right to earn a living, and what might serve us the best would be to reach out and educate them about what the consequences of what they did, and stop this cycle from continuing. Or do we cast somebody out of society entirely when they break the boundaries, no rehabilitation or redemption possible? I don't think it's a coincidence that this was brought up to me by somebody from one of America's remaining African-American theater companies, considering that running back is a position that chews up and spits out so many black bodies. One of the comments made frequently about Ray Rice was that the Ravens and the NFL were right to dump him since at 27 he is on the downslope of his career, used up, no longer of any use to us, and certainly not worth investing in. Admittedly Rice and Peterson have both been paid well for their time in the league, and are not being tossed back into a squalid poverty like all the orphan boys Daddy Warbucks grew tired of, but how many blow their one opportunity before reaching a payday?
It's also interesting to consider a couple of other public figures who I became disillusioned with in the last year: Hope Solo and Orson Scott Card. Others have briefly brought up Solo's name in conjunction with Peterson and Rice, after she was arrested this summer following a violent altercation with her teenage nephew. The comparison breaks down in several ways, since there is not the same mismatch of physical power between a teenage boy and an adult woman, and we'd already seen Solo on the other side: her husband (former NFL tight end Jerramy Stevens) was arrested for a domestic violence incident that was dropped when Solo wouldn't cooperate with police. The odd thing is Solo has kept her position with the US National Team, so this is who we're sending to Canada under an American flag to tell the world who we are. She gets a second chance, but I truly doubt a black NBA player would make the Olympic team with a reputation for beating up children.
Peterson did explain away taking a switch to his son as being no different from the way he was raised, the classic "I turned out okay" argument, but not everybody feels the need to continue the pattern. Cris Carter, former Vikings star and also a father, talked honestly about his own upbringing with a mother who in frustration and desperation resorted to violence with her children. It's moving to hear Carter say his mother was doing the best she could and the best she knew how. Carter clearly understood what his mother did, he loved and forgave, but knows his mother was still wrong. And that's part of what's been missing from Peterson's case so far: any sense that he deserves what has befallen him.
Peterson avoided most major consequences, getting probation, a fine, and community service which is not as much of an imposition for somebody whose job gives him more than half the year off. He said the bare minimum of appropriate things, that he "regrets the incident" and "accepts responsibility", both of which I think could be safely assumed of anyone who gets caught, but also added that he just wants to put the incident behind him. Which would be great for him, if we could all now just forget about him whipping a small boy so hard he leftbruises and cuts on his buttocks, legs and testicles. But I really just can't. Peterson is not just going back to pumping gas, minding his own business, he's trying to be an entertainer and a public figure. Just stopping is not enough, if he wants to be a public figure we need him to publicly do better. Michael Vick even said as much, advising Peterson to consider how he, Vick, has dealt with his own horrific foray into dog-fighting by becoming an activist for animal rights, doing something to make amends and prevent further abuse, even though by doing so he constantly reminds everyone about what he did. Instead of putting it behind him, Vick got out in front of it.
Is that fair of me to expect Peterson to embrace one of the worst things we know about him, brandishing it like a scarlet A? Can't I appreciate his game, his accomplishments, like we often separate historical figures and artists from their work? The Declaration of Independence was written and ratified by slave owners, and countless prima donnas and dictatorial directors have produced amazing films and music. It's easier to do when the work is separate from the person, which is not always possible when you're contributing financially or psychologically to someone's ability to do the wrong thing. This is why I finally dumped all the Orson Scott Card books I had in my house. I was disappointed to find he held awful views on homosexuality, but I appreciated the words he put on paper, his stories which were not full of anti-gay proselytizing, but when it turned out he was still actively campaigning against gay rights, taking every dollar we pay him for his work and putting it towards making strangers miserable. I can't pay him, and I can't look at his name on my shelf anymore, no matter how much I feel like I learned from just reading his notes on Maps in a Mirror.
When it comes to athletes it's more complicated. Kobe Bryant has successfully put the alleged rape of an 18-year old girl behind him by not talking about it, settling with the victim who stopped talking as well, giving people nothing to keep it alive until everyone got bored enough to drop a ten-year old story. So it doesn't really change anything: I disliked Kobe before and I can't stand him now. But that doesn't work for Peterson, because I have to root for him: I wore his damn shirt. I can boo Kobe, Peterson I have to actively cheer on and possibly contribute to a vision of himself as a misunderstood good person, on his side in a "him against the world" scenario. Wearing purple he would also be representing me, representing an entire state in our eternal struggle against Wisconsin.
So what am I asking him to do? Prostrate himself and apologize to me? If I made a laundry list of things I'm ashamed to have done to people I think it would be clear I don't have a right to judge. But let me tell you about my two favorite Vikings. #80, Cris Carter, came to the Vikings after being waived by the Eagles, completely out of control with his substance abuse. When anyone comments on the man he became as a Viking, a leader, a legend, a minister, a winner of the NFL's humanitarian award, he reminds them he's also a former crackhead. To Carter, screwing up and hitting rock bottom was part of the journey that made him a man who could be proud of himself. Carter was also proud of the Vikings for taking a stand and refusing to put Peterson in a Vikings uniform until his case was settled. If I met Cris Carter I wouldn't ask him about his drug abuse, like being a fan of his gives me some claim to that part of his life experience: I know that he owns it, and that has always been enough for me to resepct Cris Carter and be glad to see #80 in the Ring of Honor.
So until Peterson is able to own his mistake and try to rise above it rather than slyly burying it beneath him, I will be saddened by his presence on the sidelines and hope the Vikings trade him. And I will be in the stands, rooting for our runningbacks Matt Asiata and Jerrick McKinnon, wearing a faded #93 jersey. Because it turns out there is no curse (or offensive lineman) strong enough to bring down the immortal John Randle. (Big Dog gotta eat.)
