Just A Little Bit Of Chivalry

When I started playing coed softball a few years back, it took me a while to earn the respect of my male teammates. After flat out refusing to catch because my dental work is the most expensive thing I wear every day, I was stationed in the other “girl” position at 2nd. I had played all four infield positions during my career, so 2nd was fine by me and afforded me the opportunity to go after that rush of the double play… if, that is, my teammates trusted me enough to A) catch, and B) throw. It didn’t come right away, but little by little, they realized that I could hold my own right next to them.

And other teams figured it out too. I’d knock a grounder down here and there, make a clean cut-off catch from the outfield, and they knew that I might be a factor.

But there is a downside to being “one of the guys.” I’m a scrappy athlete who enjoys testing my mettle with the boys, but even I’m intimidated when I see a 210-lb. brute barreling towards me, cocking one leg behind the other and dropping low with spikes high. I mean, really... what jerk slides into a girl?

Therein lies the double-standard that I’m woman enough to admit. I want to be treated as an equal by my male counterparts when I’m playing sports, but deep down inside, I still expect just a little bit of chivalry. I don’t want them to go easy because I’m a girl, but I don't want them to ignore the fact that I’m not a linebacker who can bench press a Buick.

Don’t get me wrong... I know plenty of guys who are equal parts respect and chivalry on the diamond, the court, the field, you name it. But when I run into an opponent like the one my dodgeball team faced last night, I’m reminded that at times the relationship between a female athlete’s abilities and the level of chivalry is inversely proportional. The more skills she has, the less likely they are to treat her like a woman.

I was just minding my own business outside the dodgeball court when I heard the nails-on-a-chalkboard voice of one of our opponents and couldn’t help but take note of this charmer who closely resembled Screech from Saved By The Bell. When my teammates arrived, one of them said that she knew Screech from another team and that he was a bit intense about his rec sports. One of those… excellent.

The games flew merrily by, one after the other, the score see-sawing back and forth. When the fifth game rolled around, the score was 2-2, but it wasn’t like the air of sudden death was hanging over us. There was still much dodgeball to be played, so the mood was light.

But then the tide turned.

The game hadn’t been underway more than two minutes when I was startled by a throw that hit me squarely in the mouth. Knowing the rule that if you’re hit in the head, no one is out because it’s supposedly accidental, I just shrugged it off. But then I saw Screech across the court. He wagged his scrawny finger at me and yelled the yell of a 13-year-old boy on the verge of puberty, “You’re out! You’re out!” I shouted back incredulously that I had been hit in the face. Now there are times when a hit to the head is subject to interpretation based on how close it lands to your shoulder, but there was no question that this hit me above the neck. But no sooner had the words left my mouth when I was pelted in the gut with another ball while a third whizzed past me. I was incensed, not because I was out, but because this team didn’t even have the courtesy to wait a split second to allow me to regroup. I was a sitting duck after an illegal hit, and they took the shot.

In that instant, I was both proud that my opponents saw me as an equal who was capable of giving as good as I got and bitter that Screech and his teammates had unleashed such fury on me as a woman. Once they saw that I had a decent throwing arm, all bets were off and there was no going easy on me.

It’s not fair for me to want it both ways. When I play against a guy, I want him to forget that I’m a woman; if he hurts me while playing, he better remember that I’m a woman. It’s a double-standard that is a part of coed sports, but I still don’t think it’s wrong to want a little bit of chivalry, especially since Dictionary.com defines “chivalry” as the following: the sum of the ideal qualifications of a knight, including courtesy, generosity, valor.

Tradition has taught us that chivalry is displayed by men towards women, but no where in the definition does it say that displaying the qualities of a knight is decidedly male. Courtesy, generosity, and valor can be displayed by any athlete, male or female, towards any other athlete, male or female. It’s called sportsmanship.

I didn’t care that Screech pegged me in the kisser; I was more upset that he got downright ugly after doing so. There was no apology, no remorse, just pure competitiveness, and his teammates were no better for taking advantage of the situation.

I don’t live in a glass house; I haven’t always been chivalrous on the field or the court, but that doesn’t mean I don’t expect more out of myself just as I expect a lot out of those I’m playing with and against.

After the match ended, our team grumbled about having to shake hands with our opponents. All niceties had disintegrated, and we didn’t much feeling like telling the other team, “Good game.” But we knew the code of conduct and lined up to slap hands with them just as they had started to do for us. Funny enough, I think both sides felt better afterwards because we had all put the battle and the words behind us.

All except for Screech though. He was the only person who didn’t go through the line, and just when he had the chance to redeem himself, he made his least chivalrous move of all.