When You Write About the Super Bowl and Realize There’s No More Nuance in the World

I fear we’re seeing the end of intelligent debate…many would rather just end the conversation

I didn’t want to write about Travis Kelce yelling at his coach during the Super Bowl. I know you might not believe that, but it’s true. I knew my take would be misunderstood or ignored by many, and that my intentions would likely be misinterpreted.

I’m only writing this because I’m a “bandwagon fan” of Taylor Swift, right? I’m a woman, so I can’t possibly have anything intelligent to say — I’m just here for my girl. (Never mind that I’m the rare kind of fan who loves a lot of her songs, but is less interested in the woman behind them. No offense, Tay.)

Or maybe I wrote it because I’m a feminist, which means I hate men, therefore I was salivating at the opportunity to take Travis Kelce down. (Couldn’t be possible that maybe someone who writes about current events might take any incident currently making the rounds on social media as an opportunity to talk about an important issue…)

Or perhaps it’s just because I’m a woman, and therefore inherently stupid and don’t understand that this is what men’s sports is like. Honey. Baby. Darling. Sweet little ditzy know-nothing, don’t you get it? This is how men play together. (Never mind that I already addressed that in the article — we can’t go around acknowledging that women might be able to offer critical commentary on subjects once reserved only for men.)

I have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised — for about a minute — that there were actually a handful of people who seemed to understand my point. Including men. (And even some men out there who are way bigger Swift fans than I am.)

Ultimately, however, the comments proved what I already know: We are failing at the important conversations. And for one very important reason.

Why did I write about the Super Bowl incident in which Travis Kelce yelled at and pushed his coach? Based on some of the comments I saw, there were only a few possibilities: to protect Taylor Swift, to trash football, or to destroy Travis Kelce’s reputation.

In fact, I was quite surprised by the amount of people who believed the point of the entire essay was to call out Kelce as a domestic abuser.

Now let’s be real here and acknowledge that a lot of people — sometimes, I suspect most people — only read the title of an essay and then head to the comment section to sound off. Or they skim it and allow their biases to make inferences about my meaning that aren’t supported by my words.

For instance, I did not once mention domestic violence in the essay, nor did I even make any subtle references to it.

I expected women to make that leap in the comment section — because women know. Women know that domestic violence increases during and after big sporting events — especially the Super Bowl. Women know that the culture of men’s sports is based on domination, aggression, and violence, which normalizes that kind of behavior off the field, as well. And we know there are rampant problems with domestic violence within the NFL and that the billion-dollar institution works very hard to protect its players who commit abuse.

And I know men must know this, too, which is why so many of them went there even though I never mentioned it. Some of them understood, like women do, that people who can’t control their rage in public are less likely to control it in private.

But others brought it up to charge me with making false allegations against Kelce (which I’ll remind you, I didn’t do). This is a classic tactic to shut down the conversation.

But men should want to discuss this issue, too. It should raise a red flag when you read something that points out how our culture normalizes violent behavior, especially when demonstrated by white men, and then turn around and argue that yes, violence is normal.

But it’s too scary to actually talk about it. We have to keep things black and white in order to maintain the cultural norms that we’re used to.

So what happens? When we see an essay that is critical of the normalization of violence in our culture, we read into it an extremism that isn’t there.

She must be arguing that football is bad. All football players are bad. All men are bad. And damn that Travis Kelce; he’s the worst of them all.

There is no nuance. No discussion. Just wild assumptions that make for a really great way to end any chance at an intelligent conversation.

Do you remember when we used to be able to have real discussions? When participants demonstrated curiosity, intelligence, critical thinking skills, and maybe a dash of wit?

Now you have to get through a cross-examination, first, in which you’re treated as a hostile witness.

“Ms. Wolfe, did you not call Mr. Kelce a domestic abuser? Didn’t you accuse him of relentlessly beating his girlfriend, without evidence, just to influence the audience to support your claim that he’s a dangerous person?

“In fact, isn’t it true, Ms. Wolfe, that you think football, itself, is dangerous and that you believe anyone who participates in it, whether player, coach, or spectator, should be penalized? Isn’t it true that you would like to see the entire institution abolished?

“Which leads us to the real point, Ms. Wolfe: Isn’t your beef with Kelce and football a smokescreen to divert attention from your true vendetta? Aren’t you here because you hate all men and everything they stand for? Isn’t it your goal, as a Taylor Swift-loving feminist, to destroy all men and demonize masculinity?”

Instead of going through the dozens of comments like these, what would a nuanced take and further debate actually look like?

• Wouldn’t it be interesting to compare this incident with the backlash that Colin Kaepernick received just for taking a knee as a protest against police brutality? I mentioned how race and gender affect social perception of athletes — let’s dig into that.
• Maybe we could look more closely at the culture of men’s sports, as suggested in the essay, and make some connections about how it mirrors our white supremacist patriarchal dominance hierarchy and what methods might be used to deconstruct — not destroy — this microcosm.
• Let’s talk about how this is affecting our children. One of the reasons this incident is on our radar is that more little girls, Swift fans, are watching, and a whole lot of parents just had to explain to them why Swift’s boyfriend was screaming at an older man. Do we really want to tell them that this is just how men talk to one another? That it’s okay? And how do we justify normalizing that to our kids who play sports?
• How about we take that dive into domestic violence. Women know all too well that this kind of behavior is problematic. Some of us have been dating long enough to know that we would have to leave a relationship with a man who behaved like that because we have experienced what tends to happen next. Let’s talk about women making healthy choices in romance that protect our safety. Let’s talk about addressing this kind of behavior in men as a culture. Let’s talk about how we can heal, as a society (people of all genders), from the horrors of domestic violence.
• And how about this: Let’s talk about consequences. Accountability. What does it mean? What does it look like? How do we create a culture in which men are held to higher standards?

Remember this? Nuance? Curiosity? Healthy debate?

God, I miss it.

Since nuance seems to be missing from the world these days, let me be clear about a few things. I don’t think Travis Kelce is a bad person. I’m not arguing that he should be fired or alleging that he has abused or will abuse his girlfriends.

I don’t think Taylor Swift is a god who can do no wrong. I’m not speaking on this matter because I worship her, or because I’m worried about her. I’m not arguing she should break up with Kelce, nor do I particularly care.

I’m not condemning football, or sports in general. And no, I don’t hate men.

I chose to write an essay about Kelce’s Super Bowl outburst because I realized something magical happened: feminism collided with football and all of America took notice. It doesn’t matter if you think it was worth noticing or not. We all noticed.

Isn’t that incredible? A critical mass of people actually noticed something that once was considered a non-issue (hence the problem) and now we want to talk about it. We’re heading into brand new territory.

We want to talk about accountability. We want to talk about our culture’s normalization of violence. We want to talk about the price women have paid for that normalization.

This is juicy. This is exciting. You’re damn right I want to dive into this conversation.

It’s a shame, though, that so many people can’t see beyond the black and white. Beyond the precedents set. Beyond the biases of the status quo.

Without nuance, we have nothing to talk about.

Author’s note: Thanks to all the people who did engage in really thoughtful debate on that essay!

© Y.L. Wolfe 2024

Y.L. Wolfe is a gender-curious, solosexual, perimenopausal, childless crone-in-training, exploring these experiences through writing, photography, and art. You can find more of her work at yaelwolfe.com. If you love her writing, leave her a tip over at Ko-fi.

More on this subject: