My name is Amy. I am a feminist and a Bob Knight fan.
My life is a world of contradictions. How can a woman who makes snide comments at baseball player pile-ups defend Robert Montgomery Knight? I usually answer that question with a shrug of my shoulders and a “that’s just how I am,” and leave it at that. Occasionally, I’ll throw in some stories about growing up in Hoosierville, where Basketball is almost religion.
I have faced these last Bob Knight scandals as a new person though. I am now a mother. As I watched Neil Reed’s mother being interviewed on CNN, I questioned whether I would want my son exposed to Knight’s style of coaching. While pondering this question, I struggled to understand my own devotion to Indiana Basketball and its leader, the General.
Hoosiers
(or, “There’s no crying in baseball.”)
The easiest defense of Knight is that of heritage. I believe that
through Indiana Basketball, young Hoosiers learn about fair play, hard work, loyalty and character. They learn that hot shots don’t win, and teamwork triumphs. The basketball game taught in Bloomington, to me, is about working together, even at the cost of individual glory. From the time I was old enough to know what basketball is, basketball has been Bob Knight. He has taught these qualities to class after class of young men.
Gene Hackman plays a coach from a similar mold in the movie Hoosiers. He screams at his players, he gets ejected. He embarrasses and offends the small town citizens with his foul language and temper. He kicks everyone out of practice. He is willing to sacrifice a win to make a point to a player who doesn’t value teamwork. The movie glorifies a coach who has been run out of college coaching because he hit a player, but the audience gets to feel good because Coach finds his redemption in Indiana Basketball.
Galaxy Quest
(or, “I want to believe.”)
Heroes rarely live up to their PR. I have long since learned to avoid interviews with the actors from Star Trek casts, as they almost always let me down. Kate Mulgrew announced she is not a feminist. Malcom McDowell belittled Star Trek fans. I want to believe that these people understand the mythology of our generation, even as they perpetuate it. Sadly, a lot of them do not.
I have avoided Coach Knight in a similar manner. I don’t listen to ESPN coverage of the games unless Dick Vitale is on. I don’t read the Indianapolis Star. When my dad starts talking about some new rumor about the Coach, I change the subject. Knight represents the Good Guys to me, and I want to believe the best about him. He is misunderstood. The press picks on him. Neil Reed is a big baby. When asked if I believe Knight touched Reed or screamed at other IU employees, I usually deflect with a shrug and repeat, “that’s just how he is.”
Thelma and Louise
(or, “You talkin’ to me?”)
Truck drivers treating you like a sexual object? Blow up his cargo. Husband acting too controlling? Tell him what you really think, emphasizing the point with armed robbery and sex with a hunky Brad Pitt. Part of the beauty of Thelma and Louise is the freedom that allows them to communicate their beefs with clarity.
The Knight investigation has struck a chord with me, and I’m not altogether comfortable with it. That is, the desire to throw potted plants.
Upon hearing the story in which Knight threw a fit after a secretary deigned to ask the question, “May I tell him to what this is pertaining?” my mind flashed to encounters I have had with, well, a bossy secretary. Images of knuckle sandwiches danced before my eyes with every demanding post-it I found on my computer screen.
How many times have I quietly walked away when I should have confronted the situation? How often have I smiled politely when faced with a sexist joke instead of confronting the offender? How often have I abused the treadmill instead of standing up for myself? Knight represents all those times. His overreactions balance out my passive attempts at keeping the waters calm.
Nobody’s Fool
(or, “I love him for the man he almost is.”)
Over the past few years I have been afforded a few glimpses into what makes me tick. The same part of me that loves working with adults with severe mental illness admires Knight, (and, no, it is not that I believe Knight has Schizophrenia.) It is the struggle I respect. What I love about humans is our capacity to continue trying. We all muddle through life, but it is the awareness of the human struggle that touches me.
The Herald-Times printed an article from the Washington Post by William Gildea. In it, Myles Brand discussed the last-minute plea from Knight to save his job. “This is the first time he expressed understanding of the problem, what was wrong, and most especially, his own accountability and responsibility.” No excuses, no rationalizing, just plain truth.
Can Knight manage his anger and still be an effective coach? Can he be civil to the Pat Fordes and Jay Mariottis of the press and still act with integrity? I believe it can be done. I don’t know if Coach Knight will be successful, but I know in my heart that he is struggling with it, and that he is aware of the pitfalls that await him.
Safe Passage
(or, “Hey Dad? Wanna have a catch?”)
In “Safe Passage,” Susan Sarandon makes a wish for her son. It is not to avoid the disaster with which he is faced, it is to be present, to truly experience life, so that he can continue to live fully.
I love my son, and always will. I want to protect him from any pain that might come along, although I know I won’t always be able to. I hope to support him in whatever choices he makes as he grows up. I hope that Kevin and I will have provided a strong foundation from which he can make those tough decisions. How would I feel if he were to decide to play for Coach Knight?
Proud. I would want to make sure he knows the program he is joining, negatives and positives. I would want to be certain that his self-esteem is solid enough that he could take Coach’s criticism without beating himself up. Most importantly, if the program wasn’t right for him, I would want him to be able to walk away with some dignity. IU has lost players who became aware that the program here was not the one for them. Some players thrive under Knight, others don’t. Carter can learn a lot from a man who is aware of his own problems and who is struggling to grow.
“You’ve got to do what you believe in. Sure,” his son Pat Knight told ESPN, “it’s gotten him in trouble. But I’d rather live that way than as a phony.”
Me too. It isn’t a popular stance to take these days, but I believe in Bob Knight. Not just as a Hoosier, or a feminist, or even a mother. As another human, full of my own battles, I support Bob Knight, and I wish him success in his personal, and now public, struggle. May he be present, and as a result, continue to live fully.