Jennifer Welter is pretty yoked up for a chick. Evidently, she is very committed to a rigorous work out program. Surely one could not be blamed for wondering what means of strength training she’s employed to get where she’s at: men’s professional football. Although her train wreck of a debut performance was impressive in a tortured way, she is no man.
Watch her three plays. She gets walloped: a rag doll, each touch of the ball. Welter stands only 5’ 2” and weighs a mere 130 pounds. She insists, “I’m an athlete, I’m competitive.” She may be an athlete of sorts, but she is not competitive in men’s football.
Welter states in her bio: “I came to the gridiron with a Mutiny.” She refers here to a woman’s football team, but surely she plays on words a bit, denoting the mutiny against nature entailed by her very entrance into the league. The roots of her mutiny can be traced to the Enlightenment: specifically, its attempt to shed both the formal and final causes of nature. The results have been manifold, but in the arena of gender politics, such results have paved the catastrophic way for the feminists and the sexual revolutionaries to deny both the form and the telos—that is, both the meaning and the goal—of natural gender roles.
Society seems drunk on estrogen (or apple-tinis). The die has been cast: the majority of the people in the West have committed themselves to a program of seeing identicality between the genders where none exists in nature or reality. Thus, as is common with most truth seen through the distorted lenses of modernity, I risk profound personal scorn and misogyny-branding on account of my claim—now and for all time—that men and women are not equal in size, strength, form or function.
However, I do happily profess a more important equality amongst the genders, beginning and ending with the intrinsic value of each human soul in the eyes of God. All humans are of incalculable worth and accordingly, deserve dignity and respect. Notwithstanding their souls—on account of them, perhaps—women are women and do not belong on the gridiron with men. To the self-billed “progressives” out there, who see a brighter sunrise in each day’s forecast: they never will, either.
Jennifer Welter made headlines: Running Back Jennifer Welter Makes History By Playing In Pro Football Game. She got the ball three times and took a beating for her trouble, incurring a net loss of yardage for her team. Though it will not be mentioned much, she is the source of unspoken discomfort on both sides of the field. In her first handoff, the line of scrimmage was two yards from the goal line, and yet she was mowed down by 6’4” defensive lineman Cedric Hearvey for a loss of one yard. In the stylings of delusional imitation-bravado now expected from feminists, she replied, “is that all you got?” Later she told reporters “I had to say something. I didn’t want them to think I was intimidated.”
A loss of a yard at a crucial down in the “red zone”—this is plenty enough, Jennifer, whether you’re intimidated or not. And it ought to be enough to send you a message…from nature.
Following upon the farce of the first play, things worsened. Just like all those little boys who have had to endure the humiliation of wrestling a “groundbreaking” little girl—every neighborhood has got one—the 245-pound defensive lineman Hearvey turned to Welter’s sideline and asked her coaches to take her out.
Why? “Because this doesn’t feel right,” Hearvey frankly admitted. “Honestly, it was very weird,” the poor lineman claimed after the game. He continued, “part of me wanted to let her score, but part of me had a job. So I was like, ‘Can y’all please take her out?’”
One would scarcely expect Hearvey to be able to give 100 percent in tackling the diminutive opponent. Even as Welter told him that she “in no way wanted him or any of the [opposing team’s] players to go easy on her,” the effect is lessened little or none. Hearvey chose to go easy on her out of a feeling of understandable “weirdness” and concluded in utter confusion, “honestly, I really have a lot of respect for that lady over there.”
So what is it that he respects about Welter’s interloping (“encroachment,” if you will) into men’s football? Does he respect that her presence wrenched him out of his comfort zone? The psychotherapeutic lobby and the mass media would applaud that. Or does he respect the rashness of a tiny woman putting herself squarely and deliberately in harm’s way? Or perhaps, the happy fact that she survived relatively unscathed? One can gawk and even wonder at the tenacity of the little lady, but the idea of respect is subverted by the quixotic nature of Welter’s quest. In any less deluded an age, Welter would surely have been mocked—not respected—for the incongruity of her form and intent. Her goal is one doomed to discomfiture.
Welter is the poster girl for the chimerical exhortation of Enlightenment thinkers like Francis Bacon (all those who sought to strip nature of form and telos) to “conquer nature.” She has carried the feminist ball as far as it can be carried, which is to say, to a loss of a yard or two. Thus far, the war cry has been: “men and women are equal; it is only social constructs that say otherwise.” No, Sister Soldier, nature dictates so. And your football team, Ms. Welter—since you’re supposedly “all about the football”—is worse off, on your account.
Amid a dysfunctional society willing to call a “loss” a “gain” just to embrace as “possible” such athletic impossibility, she still comes up short. And she knows it. We all do. In bitterly real terms, she loses actual yardage. In a sham which could well be tagged, The Empress’s New Football Jersey, Jennifer Welter has lowered the depths to which deluded humans will descend in pursuance of idols of the mind. No matter how averse to natural law they may be.
Indeed, we can ape and mock God and Nature. But to no avail. How far we take these ersatz endeavors remains to be seen. Science, technology, trans-human philosophy and human fashion will press on and pursue the false goal, but the true end will never be realized: a thing, after all, cannot be something it was not intended to be.
Much to the approbation of the licentious public which seeks after stranger and ever stranger amalgams, Welter admits her true premise: “the bigger thing for me is obviously for little girls to see they can do everything just like little boys can.” Nonsense. No matter how feminine we make our boys, or how masculine we try to make our girls, they will never be commensurate. The manly virtues remain the sole purposeful traits of rightly cultivated men—just as the feminine virtues, no matter how covetously imitated by confused men, remain the uniquely ordained traits of real women.
How long will the fathers of the West let this madness pass as progress? Until our daughters and sons all think themselves interchangeable? And our daughters are fighting on the front lines, and our sons are homemakers? The Brave New World is upon us, let us not forfeit the birthright and building block of all civilizations that thrive: the well-ordered family. The easy lie appeals to the intellectual laziness of our age, but the hard truth is that all will be lost within a few short generations if we do not pull away from this abyss of gender-transposable narcissism.
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