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Frame control is a funny thing. Often times it’s so conceptually fundamental that it eludes palpability, but any non-superficial understanding of social dynamics provides a simple truth: frame control is the singular source of social power. In general terms, frame is purely an individualistic interpretation of reality as a whole, and implicit therein is the existence of an objective reality. Meaning: things are what they are, but a given frame is the particular manner in which that reality (or subset of reality) is perceived. Take, for example, global warming. In objective terms, either the earth is progressively witnessing an increase in surface temperature, or it’s not. That’s it. The politics of it, from corporate energy taxes to school recycling programs to oil prices, are borne out of a frame that perceives global warming as either an imminent threat to human civilization or a farcical cultural concoction. All of that, at the end of the day, remains frivolous. To really examine the issue requires grasping the underlying objective reality.

As I’ve grown to dissect modern human social dynamics layer by painstaking layer, the lone certainty I’ve discovered is the simultaneous universality and invisibility of frame. That is, frame does not identify itself nor does it preface an argument; it simply assumes. One of the most frustrating aspects of Western feminism, for example, is the blanket assumption that men (really speaking, boys ages 5 and up) exist solely and exclusively for the service of the females that surround them. It is upon this frame that the tower of modern female psychology rests–and any man who dares to question it finds himself the victim of the screeching hordes.

Imagine my surprise, then, at the treatment of the Brittney Griner story by the mainstream cultural behemoth. We have a male NBA owner who finds himself genuinely impressed with the physical talents of a female college basketball player–and, indeed, at 6’8″ and 208 pounds, its not outlandish to imagine that she may very well have what it takes. Now, given what we know of a starkly feminist media that jumps on any opportunity to propagate an anti-male frame, we expect this story to absolutely blow up. A woman invading male professional sports? This is socially and culturally revolutionary, mind you. When an eight year old girl beats her male peers at kiddie football, it goes to far as to make the news ticker on CNN, ABC, ESPN and NFL Network. So you can understand my shock at the relatively quick dissolution of the Britney Griner story. Where were the screeching cunts forcing Griner to be drafted with the No. 1 overall pick in the 2013 NBA draft? Where were the old spinsters who repeated the story day after day, week after week, until it was pounded into our collective heads and Griner finally put on an official NBA jersey?

Ewwww, you smell!

Are Baylor’s female athletes secretly jealous of us?

Not only were nearly all feminist vaginas taped shut on this issue, but lo and behold they yelled angrily in protest of it! Watch how carefully Jemele Hill re-frames the argument: “What I don’t like about Cuban’s comments is that it perpetuates the dangerous idea that great female athletes need to validate themselves by competing against men.” My jaw dropped in abject disbelief at the magnitude of this re-frame*. It is a pure, utterly shameless 180 degree turn. The decade long cries for egalitarianism between male and female athletics, the very same cultural ideologies behind Title IX and the banning of wrestling from the Olympics, are abruptly defenestrated, only to be replaced by the notion that ‘women must be appreciated within their own sphere’. Note that the fact that such an idea contradicts the very foundations of feminist doctrine is unimportant–what’s important is the only the desired result. And in Britney Griner’s case, what is  the outcome our feminist cunt-masses secretly and desperately yearn for? That Griner not come close to the playing in the NBA.

Women like Jemele Hill re-frame the issue to accuse men yet again, only this time from the standpoint that we fail to appreciate women unless they happen to be competing at the same standards as men. What she really wants, like all feminists, is the secret to be kept under wraps. Listen. I know this as well as you, my readers, do. Professional sports is not a game. They involve men, primarily from 25 to 35 years of age, competing in grueling physical wars to earn a livelihood. It is a cutthroat business, where a single injury can mean the loss of years of future earnings, or a single failure to perform can result in the end of the a career. Were Griner to play in the NBA (and she certainly is enthusiastic about it), these men would not treat her differently. She is an opponent, an on-court enemy that stands in the way of victory, financial security, children’s college funds, and the whole she-bang. But even that fails to cover the real crux of the situation.

You see, I played Division I college ball, in pursuit of a boyhood dream to one-day play in the NBA. [Personal Disclaimer: even at my best I was relegated to the bench: at 6’4″ and 190 pounds, I was too slow to play the point, and too small to play shooting guard. In the offseason prior to my junior year, I suffered a knee injury that effectively ended my playing days.] What feminists secretly witness is that when men are on the court playing, the inner alpha male is inevitable unleashed. What do I mean? The world goes blank–you don’t see the stands, you don’t think about your friends and family, scholarships and prizes, or even the consequences of winning and losing. You just want to dominate the men standing across from you. You want to win yes, but more importantly you want to beat them. It’s an animalistic fire, fueled by rage, brotherhood, and an almost primal do-or-die attitude. The rules go out the window. In the heat of the game, you don’t care about integrity or playing fair or respecting the opposition. You want to win, bad. And find yourself willing and eager to do whatever the hell is necessary to beat the other guy into submission and walk away victorious–a defeat isn’t just an L on the record, but in big way a hit to your pride. This is an environment which no women can ever comprehend, let alone function within. It is a fire in which the most mild-mannered men metamorphose into competitive killers, fouling, shoving, hitting, elbowing, bleeding–all to get a single W.

This precisely is the unspoken reason why women’s sports, at whatever level, are banal, uninteresting and tedious. There is simply no life-or-death investment, both emotionally and physically. Brittney Griner, irrespective of her supposedly freakish body and athleticism, would be eaten alive. Does anyone seriously think feminists want Griner to suffer an old-school hard foul, and for the whole bag of lies to be laid bare? Do you doubt that once men realize en masse that the emperor indeed has no clothes on, they will tolerate the oppressive bullshit behind Title IX? Behind Olympic sports banned for failing to be effectively involve both genders? For tennis players of both genders to be paid the same? The lie must be kept under-wraps, and in order to do that the frame must be shifted. The fact that is involves a serious contradiction to everything else feminism has preached in the past is superfluous.

* Even the manginas and strap-on takers, the male counterparts to seventy-year old cat hording spinsters desperately trying to justify their failed lives to themselves,  spread their sans-testicle groins and scream “Let Brittney play!”. So yes, imagine my disbelief.


For those who may not know, I’m a huge NBA fan (call it genes — I honestly haven’t found a single black or partially black guy who isn’t) and have been for as long as I can remember. I watched Jordan win his last few rings, make a fool of himself with the Wizards, and go on to manage a playoff franchise into the ground (see: Charlotte Bobcats). I saw Kobe falsely accused of rape, try to beg his wife not to commit divorce theft with a two million dollar bribe ring, and play out an entire season with the speculation of divorce and lifetime alimony on his head.

Suffice to say I’ve never really been a fan of any of the star players the NBA has to offer; my love affair has always been with the game itself and with my hometown team (Golden State Warriors, for the curious). Indeed, I’ve had much more fun laughing at the utter stupidity of players both on and off the court than I ever spent admiring or respecting their athletic talent. And if any of you are fans of any major American sport yourselves, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Athlete behavior vacillates between, “that was a terrible lapse of judgement” to “this man is straight retarded,” usually leaning heavily on the latter end of the spectrum. It is difficult to admire men who, whether through the supposed weight of celebrity or ridiculous amount of earnings, appear notably dumber than the viewer.

Which takes me to the case of one Mr. Lebron James.

When Lebron entered the league as an eighteen-year-old prodigy extraordinaire in 2003, he was purported to be the next Magic, the next Jordan, the next Bird, and, to be completely frank, rightfully so. The kid was ridiculously athletic (see: Bo Jackson), highly coach-able, and had a sort of on-court intuition that I’d never seen before. Unfortunately  though he spent the next seven years of his career dominating the sport at higher and higher levels, I saw the same boring athletic persona I always had: same nice-guy-to-the-media attitude, fake-tough-guy arrogance on the court, and lavish but unoriginal party plus alcohol lifestyle off the court. Nothing interesting. Indeed, I imagined I would never respect him for anything beyond his athletic feats, that Lebron James The Personality would fall into the landfill along with most of the other all-stars that preceded him. That all changed one fateful Thursday evening on July 8, 2010.

For those who may live in a cave, take a minute to catch up. A quick summary of what Lebron did in so called “Decision” special: The dude bought out an hour of national television (airing his own shoe commercials during the breaks, lest you naive kiddos think otherwise), held out double middle fingers to his hometown of Akron, home state of Ohio, and essentially yelled “I’m out bitches! Fuck Cleveland! South Beach hoes, get ready to spread your legs!” In the course of the five seconds it took him to utter his “Decision”, Lebron James went from the most beloved, hyped, and lauded athlete in American sports, to its most hated embodiment of everything wrong with civilization itself. It was in this moment that I, for the first time ever, became a fan — not just of Lebron, but of any single professional athlete ever…(to be continued)