stereotypes in sports

people always talk about the extreme no homo mentality in guys sports teams but don’t talk about the severe lesphobia in girls sports teams. growing up playing team sports really fucked me up as a kid. straight girls i’ve played with were always scared of being perceived as gay for being athletic and because of the stereotypes of lesbians in certain sports. this was universal in the 3 sports i played: volleyball, softball, and basketball. 

there were always strict unwritten rules about how you presented yourself while playing. for instance the ribbon in the hair for softball and a bow in your ponytail for volleyball. if you didn’t prove your femininity while playing you were a lesbian. there was so much effort in not being seen as a lesbian and proving that you /weren’t/ a lesbian was really important. 

girls would always talk shit about girls with short hair on opposing teams. “we’re playing the team with the d*ke” was something i heard often as a kid. something i still heard in high school. being a lesbian in girls sports teams is predominantly what made me feel trapped in the closet in high school. I only felt comfortable coming out after i quit sports altogether

so if we could stop acting like straight girls have less of a stake in homophobia that’d be great 

Another 5 Random Facts about Germany

* Germany is known for its rich forest cover. The Zugspitze, at 2,962 m, is its highest mountain. There are more than 400 registered parks and zoos in the country, the Berlin Zoo being the oldest zoo in the world.

* German is the 3rd-most commonly taught language worldwide and it is the official language of 5 countries: Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Luxembourg, and Liechtenstein.

* German people are the world’s 3rd-largest beer consumers after the Czechs and Austrians. (2012

* Germany has a highway or autobahn network of about 8,000 miles. In many places there are no speed limits, although it is “advisable” not to exceed 130 km/h or go below 60 km/h. If you run out of gas on an Autobahn, you could get fined. You cannot stop, turn, or park your vehicle on the highway unless it’s an emergency. It’s against the law to overtake another vehicle from the right side. If you want to go slow, stay in the slow right lane. 

* Football/soccer is Germany’s most popular sport - the German Football Association is the largest association of its kind in the world. 

More facts here. 

In PE we discussed the female stereotypes surrounding sport and exercise. It made me realise how much more effort women have to put in to go for a run or to the gym than men. Even in now in 2017, women still feel self-conscious about their image during exercise. We feel the need to buy the latest designer sportswear and refuse to go for a run if we look “fat” or “unattractive”. Well, I have one thing to say ladies; let them stare. Because while they’re judging how you look in that moment, you’re the one who’s making the positive difference. Exercise should be about mental and emotional improvement, and not because you want to look “hot”. So called “bikini bodies” are just a by-product of improvement. Do it for yourself. Not for anyone else who may be looking at you.

How to Meet LGBT People in College (or somewhere else)

The gay/straight alliance                        

Almost every school has some sort of LGBT organization. Gay Student Union. Gay/Straight Alliance. Queers United. Queers and Allies. Look around for groups with names like this. Check out their meetings and social hours. Don’t give up after only one visit. If the group seems small or not involved in activities that interest you, then offer to get involved. Try hosting a lesbian movie night, book discussion group or coffee house

 In Your Dorm                        

As you’re wandering the halls of your dorm, look for telltale signs of other LGBT students. Does someone have a rainbow sticker, and equality sign or a “No H8” sign on their door? This is a sure sign of someone who is out and proud. Why not knock on their door and introduce yourself? Or slip a note under their door and tell them you noticed their stickers and were interested in meeting other open-minded people.

In Your Classes                        

Take a look around. Do you have a feeling about someone in your class? Does the girl who sits up front and takes vigorous notes seem like the type who might just possibly like women? Is there someone in your chemistry lab who seems to try to make eye contact with you every time the TA makes a corny joke? If you’ve got a feeling about someone, it could be your gaydar. Try to find a way to strike up a conversation with that person

Sports Teams or Clubs                        

You don’t have to be a varsity athlete to partake in campus sports. If you’re into softball, basketball, rugby or any other team sport, chances are there is a club team that you can join. Sure it’s a stereotype that lesbians play sports, but chances are you might meet another LGBT person playing ultimate Frisbee or working out in the gym.

Online                        

If you’re looking to meet someone to date, try taking out a personal ad. You usually have to be 18 to take out an ad. Online dating can be a good way to make friends too. You’re probably going to meet a lot of people you don’t develop romantic feelings for, but they could end up being good friends ( or try tumblr :D )

Join a Group                        

Don’t mean a gay group either. Get involved in an extra curricular activity that interests you. Take a self-defense class. Write for the college newspaper. Join an environmental organization. If you’re interested, chances are other LGBT students will be too.

Through Friends                        

Once you’ve made at least one friend you can trust, come out to him or her. Everyone knows someone gay these days. You can be clear you’re not looking for a hook-up (if you’re not), but just want to meet other LGBT people for friendship. The fact is, LGBT people do tend to hang out with other LGBT people. Once you meet one friend, you’re bound to be introduced to others, be invited to LGBT friendly parties and dance 

2

Old Kanye tried to warn us, “Even if you in a Benz…”

Good reminder: even LeBron James, the most notbable black athlete in the world, ain’t escaping racism. This is systemic not a few bad eggs. Wearing a jersey, making sneakers, becoming an icon cannot save you from the ferocity of racism.  Remember that, all you “it’s really class” clowns.

I LOVE THAT HINATA AND YAMAGUCHI ARE FRIENDS

Ok so don’t get me wrong here, I love the Kageyama-Hinata, Tsukishima-Yamaguchi dynamic

Kageyama and Hinata are like night and day, completely different and meant to be foils for each other

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were initially somewhat of background-antagonist characters, meant to fire up KageHina. Obviously there’s been a lot of character development and now we know their story but y’know, they’re known as the snarky pair

Hinata and Yamaguchi hangin out is like… so nice… LIKE DUDE LOOK AT THESE GENERALLY HAPPY/OPTIMISTIC PPL BEING FRIENDS N SHIT 

Hinata is even characterized as like being the sun and has all the determination of a stereotypical sports protag. Yamaguchi has shown us that he’s a generally good person. 

Yama likes dogs, he reaches out to people, he’s encouraged them (WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED THAN PRIDE-), and I love that he’s best friends with this sarcastic sassy tall fry but that kid needs TO CHILL, bc it always seems like a sarcastic quip with Yamaguchi giggling in the back, I’m not calling Tsukki a bad influence, it’s just nice to see Yamaguchi get along with someone so bright and happy to the point where they literally??? hang out during new years while Kageyama was out running and training n shit to just simply going down the bleachers to cheer for Bokuto side by side!! 

((also not to mention that I’m p sure when they had their exams and KageHina were asking to be tutored, it was Yamaguchi? who pushed Tsukki to tutor them. He’s shown exasperated when tutoring them too but hey, he gave them the chance)) 

I feel like there’s a lot more going on behind the scenes and I just want to see them hang out more!! Acting like friends!!! Let me see more of Yamaguchi and Hinata!!!     

I live for Trimberly fanart and fics where the both of them are in workout clothes, because these two training, exercising, being athletic and breaking the stereotype that girls don’t do sports, bonding what is obviously a big part of their lives (cheerleading is brutal and requires years of training, folks), and then having hot, sweaty make-out sessions afterward is good shit, my friends, good shit.

There’s this stereotype thst guys in sports are super uptight and more likely to be assholes than other guys and I think that’s not just untrue but the exact opposite of the case. Men involved in sports communities in my experience online and offline, are already prone to sharing that interest with other people and are generally excited when someone shares the interest, not judgemental. I’ve had a guy literally just give me, a stranger, some of his favorite new lures while fishing beside each other because he wanted someone else to try them out, I’ve had someone walk up at the range and ask what pistol I’m shootint, etc. One of my favorite gun channels and one of my favorite fishing channels both feature guys who are almost definitely autistic and nobody leaves rude comments about it because theyre impressed by the depth of their knowledge. And most message boards related to sports are super informative because people who go online specifically to find community are generally happy to see beginners and pass on knowledge rather than ready to make fun of them.


I think that having an interest you want to share just makes you a nicer person generally.

Distraction

Summer explodes.  The heat, the sun.  The green on the trees.  And in its aftermath, things slow down some.   After winter’s cold, dark hand bosses everyone down the streets, people want to stop and take in the warmth.  It’s no longer necessary to hurry or scuttle through the wind and snow, coats tugged tight against faces - now there are long, luxurious strides, more skin bared with the passage of every June day.

And with it, comes the inevitable douchebags.  Showing up and showing off, right down Main Street, chests proud and arms swinging, lats spread beneath the thin white strings of tank tops.  Basketball shorts.   Somehow brand new looking sneakers, no matter the day, or maybe slide sandals.  They do it to be seen, to be watched.

On the outside, Ethan watches, sees.  He is scornful, in passing conversation.  Sometimes laughs at a meme he sees online, scrolling through Facebook, with a close approximation of that type.  Let’s be honest, he thinks.  It’s the jock stereotype.  The dumbass, muscle-obsessed, sports-ardent jock.  And the jocks are on parade.  Behind the wheel of shiny, glinting cars with music hammering the air.  In uniforms, sometimes, black eye-paint streaked and pants muddy, cleats half-unlaced.  Their fresh, aquatic colognes painting the air with invisible, heavy brushstrokes. 

And yet, for all his disdain, Ethan watches them.  He didn’t always.  And in the winter, it almost feels like he gets a bit of a reprieve - but still, his eyes travel, involuntarily, towards them, whenever he sees a Jock.  At work, stocking shelves, he sees a Jock go by, and there goes his attention.  He sees the baseball cap - Red Sox! - fitted, dark gray, bright red B, flat-brim, over short, dark hair and dark eyes that sort of suck light into them.  Red tank-top, showing off smooth, taut biceps and deltoids rounding slowly higher, still works in progress, but growing.  Basketball shorts - gray with a bright Nike swoosh like a blinding white grin down the thigh.  His calves lead down in tight diamonds to his Nike Roshes, also flame-red, the outsoles nearly sparkling, clearly well-maintained

Ethan’s face matches the Jock’s sneakers as he rips his gaze away from the bro.  Fuck, he thinks to himself.  It happened again.  How long this time?  He shakes his head back and forth to clear it of cobwebs and sets back to the task at hand.  

But still, he thinks to himself, how fucking cool would it be to have a body like that?  Being a Jock aside - he’d never dress like that, no way - just being fit, being in shape.  Being in tune with the body, being agile, being corded with muscle.  It makes a sort of practical sense, really.  He wonders why he doesn’t go to the gym, actually. 

(The Jock bro is crossing the parking lot, his shadow thrown back behind him like a long, thick sword.  A brief smile dusts the corner of his mouth, and then he reaches up to curl the earbuds into his ears.  Music swells up, the same thud and shout that accompanied his lifts not 30 minutes earlier.  He stops at the edge of the parking lot, hikes himself up onto the top of the picnic table, head bowed, knees spread, nodding to the music.  The Jock bro checks his G-Force watch, chunky and black against his tanned forearm.)

The Jock was wearing a lot of cologne, Ethan notes idly to himself.  He doesn’t hate it.  It doesn’t smell expensive, but it doesn’t smell cheap, either.  The only words that come to Ethan’s mind are swimming pool, locker room, weight room, high school, mall.  A splash of color and sound.  The cologne is fresh, sharp, clean.  That’s it, he thinks.  It smells clean.  Transparent, almost, like fresh glass.  Like … like a mirror.

Ethan blinks and looks around.  He’s in the bathroom.  Must’ve wandered in here, he thinks to himself.  And there in front of him is the mirror over the sink.  “Gonna have to get these blackouts checked,” he says to himself, murmuring, chuckling.  Ethan blinks at himself.  Not scrawny.  Wiry.  Dark hair, a little curly, a little fluffy.  Time for a cut.  Long legs, long arms.  Squat torso.  Size 10 sneaker, currently a battered, low-top Chuck Taylor, the laces variegated with years.  Black-rim glasses and a well-maintained goatee. 

He flexes, then, pulls a double bi, right there in front of the mirror.  He holds it.  He puffs his chest out, he sucks his stomach in.  He tenses all of his muscles in the vain, pathetic attempt to somehow envision his biceps inflating, suddenly popping out like found baseballs - or softballs, even! - seeing the veins fill and surge and rise out of his skin like fleshy worms …

The disappointment is nearly intoxicating, along with the rush of vertigo that hits directly after Ethan relaxes the flex.  No, he isn’t fit, muscled.  He’s got some wire under the skin, but so little mass. 

Need to eat more, Ethan muses, the smallest trickle of a stream of consciousness beginning to flow beneath his thoughts.  Protein would help the muscles grow.  But because those thoughts are so foreign - they almost don’t seem to belong to him - his brain rejects them as important on a surface level.

Ethan shakes his head.  Work, that’s what he was doing.  And life outside of work, well, that’s going okay, isn’t it?  Nothing too crazy.  School, with its accompanying homework, all the flipping of textbook pages and the quick pace of keyboard fingering, face lit by the screen, crafting essays.  Of course, sometimes it isn’t as quick a pace.  Sometimes, it’s an argument with speed.  He struggles.  Everyone struggles from time to time.  Just need more coffee.  And he always has coffee after a good, hard workout.  And that’s why he’s tired, of course.  Balancing school and work and his workout routine is exhausting, sometimes.

Ethan feels himself slump a little as he turns to exit the bathroom, feeling a dull ache in his shoulderblades, in his neck.  He reaches up to rub at them, digging in with his fingers, and issues an involuntary moan, a deep, throaty sound that verges on indecent.

(The sun is setting.  The Jock bro cracks his neck from side to side, feeling the pull in his lats, his traps.  He tilts his head to look up at the rapidly darkening sky.  The first hot breath of night-wind skirls across his face.  He tilts to one side, digs in the pocket of his shorts, and pulls out his phone.  His fingers tap over the number pad, and he lifts it to his face, skin bathed in the eldritch, electronic blue)

“Fffffuuuuuck,” Ethan judders out, his upper teeth clenching against the lower, his lips pressed tightly together in order to stifle the noise he makes as he bucks back & forth in the bathroom stall.  One hand has flung out against the tiles to keep himself steady as the other one jerks himself off, pumping wildly as his seven-inch cock, engorged in his hand, becomes like steel.  Ropes of saliva spray from his mouth, his head flung back in the crescendo of the orgasm.  It doesn’t once occur to him that he is fucking jerking off in the bathroom at work.

Ethan’s phone rings.  At least, he thinks its his phone.  Who else would have Turn Down For What as a fuckin ringtone?  Well, him and Justin.  Shit. 

“Yo.”  His voice sounds so far away as he picks up the phone.

“Bro!  What the fuck, you get lost?”

“Uhhhh …”

(The Jock bro is laughing silently, knee-slapping.  He fuckin loves the first Uhhh.)

“Well, hurry the fuck up.  I’m waitin out in the parking lot.  Pick me up some eggs, wouldja?  I forgot em.  Oh, and chocolate milk.”

“Uhhhh … okay.”

Ethan takes the phone off the side of his face and adjusts his backwards-facing hat.  The bathroom is filled with the smell of his cologne, which - even though he’s been told that one spray is enough - he has sprayed on at least five times this morning before leaving the house, and another before work started.  Now, of course, it mixes liberally with the strong, earthy musk of his cum, which has splattered all over the toilet and the floor.  Ethan stares at it, confused, and then remembers, and a horking, jerking laugh spills up out of his throat and into the air.  He turns on an immaculate, white and gray, Nike AirMax Wright, and leaves the bathroom without either cleaning up or washing his hands. 

The night air is cool around Ethan’s bare arms.  Still too skinny, he thinks to himself.  The trickle of his stream of consciousness has suddenly become a whitewater rapid.  A constant rising static, flooding out his other thoughts.  Need more mass

“Yo!”

It carries from across the parking lot.  The dark has fully descended now, like an eyelid shutting on the world.  Ethan feels his Nike Elite basketball shorts swishing around his knees.  “Yo!”  He cries back, and the sound carries a lot further than he thought it would, surprising even him - but only for a moment.

“Ready, bro?” 

“Fuckin course I’m ready.” 

“Gonna fuckin hit it tonight.”

The world is breaking up into kaleidoscopic colors.  Ethan rubs at his eyes, lifting his Ray-Bans to do it.  Something feels wrong.  Like two super-imposed images have become suddenly unmounted, and he is looking looking through through a haze of exhaust smoke.  “Uh, hang on …” 

Deep down, in the dark miasma of his brain, sullen red Klaxons have surged to life, and the alarm is cranked up to full volume.  The clothes on his frame feel suddenly alien, the hat feels too large, the sneakers, too big.  He feels like a kid, playing dress-up in an older brother’s clothes.  His heart rate surges, and his eyes dart from shadow to shadow.

“Sup, bro?”  The Jock bro is looking back at him, vacant eyes slightly curious, mostly bored. 

“I’m not your … bro.  Bro.”

The Jock bro moves closer.  Ethan would, instinctively, move back, but he doesn’t, not quite, he doesn’t think he does, anyway.  The Jock bro is standing so close now, so close that he can smell the entirely unnecessary aftershave under the cologne, so close that he can smell the residue of iron on his fingers, the rasp of slightly fruity pre-workout on his breath.  His hand comes up, grasps Ethan’s bicep.  His eyes fix, anchoring on something far down inside. 

“Bro.”

The anchor is being reeled back in, up through Ethan’s body.  He feels giddy, dizzy.  It is not an entirely unpleasant sensation, Ethan would reflect later - if he were able to reflect, later, beyond flexing in the mirror … and well, let’s be honest, every reflective surface …

“Come on, bro.  Let’s go.”

An invisible cloud grows around Ethan as he nods, just once, and then grins, slightly vacantly. “Hey bro.” 

“Yeah bro?”

Ethan flexes, as hard as possible, his muscles standing out in relief against his short, broad frame.  The night flees from their laughter as they throw arms around each other’s shoulders and head towards the gym.  And behind them, trailing a sweet, fresh, clean scent; mildly intoxicating, definitely distracting.

anonymous asked:

Ok I know we're maybe not talking abt this anymore, but I'm flabbergasted at the inconsistencies in the solo Liam rollout? Is he responsible diaper-changing father or is he grinding in clubs fun guy? Does he not "understand" Zayn or does he like Zayn's solo stuff the best? Who do you think is to blame for this disconnect? Is it true that his management company had never had a musician client before and maybe are in over their heads? Also, feel better xo

hiiii!

The short answer to your question is,  a lot of that dumpster fire for sure belongs to Simon Oliveira and Doyen Global, and some of that belongs to Capitol/Republic. Its kind of an equal opportunity dumpster fire. 

Its true that Loammy is the first client in Doyen Global’s music division. That has the potential to be a great thing, especially if they’re building an entire division around him and dedicating the resources to that. Previous to that, Doyen Global had been exclusively a sports management and branding/marketing company (and a hugely lucrative one to be fair). 

Sports and music are very different (duh), and while  the music industry is a very dude dominated industry unto itself, sports is  much (MUCH) more of a Bro Down Frat environment, not just in its Business Hoe structure,  but also where its general thinking, marketing, and fandom are concerned. 

Enter Loammy, who has a built-in fanbase that’s compromised of mostly women, who’s target demo is mostly women, but has a core management  team structured of men who’s experience lies in sports. I will say there have been moments during this 2 week promo tour from hell where I’ve thought “Ok, the only people these stories would resonate with are stereotypical sports bros” (like the Graham Norton story where 14 year old Loammy’s wink was ultimately the seducer of 24 year old Cheryl, then years later trotting Cheryl out like a show pony at his 23rd birthday party, and finishing off the story with “And now we have a baby”), but meanwhile, Loammy’s fanbase was more like

Simon Oliveira is a smart and successful dude, and there is 100% chance he gives zero fucks what I have to say, but my general ho(e)pe is that after seeing the brutal feedback they got from the fandom and GP over the last two weeks, they make a decision re: his image, fine tune it and stick to it.