Chapter 5 #2
“I’m sorry,” I say seriously.
He waves a hand. “It’s fine. They are actually proud of me, but I think they tell their friends I play professional tennis or something.”
We’ve gotten way off track, and the more depth this man shows me, the worse my crush on him gets. I need to refocus.
“Anyway,” I say, “that doesn’t apply to you either. The part of the study most relevant to you found that men experienced shame in reaction to trash talk, and that, in turn, made them angry. They had the opposite experience as women.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“The data doesn’t really tell us why,” I say, “but we can posit a few theories based on the literature. Basically, we experience shame when our ideal image of ourselves is challenged or shattered. For men, that image often involves success in competition, so most likely their experiences in the study somehow made them question that image. In short, they were affected by the trash talk enough that their performance suffered and they felt shame. This, in turn, led to anger-”
“Then anger led to hate, and that led to suffering?” he asks, paraphrasing Yoda from one of the Star Wars movies.
“That was outside the scope of the study,” I quip with a grin.
“Sorry,” he says. “I couldn’t resist.”
“Technically you’re not far off,” I say. “A few researchers have suggested the shame-rage cycle is a large part of what drives misogynistic groups like incels.”
He looks surprised, but I don’t want to go down a research rabbit hole or I’ll be here all night.
“Your issue with trash talk, then,” I hurry on, “could be that you’ve let your opponents make you question your ideal image. That makes you ashamed, which makes you angry, and that makes it harder to focus.”
He raises his brows. “You think I’m ashamed of myself?”
I open my mouth, but realize my mistake. Fuck.
“Shame is a harsh word,” I say, trying to backtrack. “It’s more about undermining your ideal image. Let me give you an example.”
He nods at me to go on.
“In 1997, Scottie Pippen told Karl ‘The Mailman’ Malone that the mailman doesn’t deliver on Sundays in an NBA finals game, and that line is widely credited with helping the Chicago Bulls win the game. Are you familiar with it?”
“I know the line, but I’m not sure of the details around it,” he says.
“Picture this, then,” I say. “There are 9.2 seconds left on the clock in the game, and the score is tied at 82. Malone, normally a really good free throw shooter, is awarded two free throws. In most cases, Malone will make those shots, and then the best the Bulls can do is tie to send the game into overtime. As it happens, though, it’s a Sunday night, and Scottie Pippen leans over to Malone, who’s known as ‘The Mailman’ because he always delivers, and says to him, ‘The mailman doesn’t deliver on Sundays. ’”
Ash smiles. “It’s a great line.”
“It is,” I say, “and so appropriate you can’t help but marvel at the cleverness. In fact, the best lines of trash talk are often the ones that are exceptionally bold, brutal, or clever, and this one is exceptionally clever.”
“The line worked?” he asks.
I nod. “Malone missed both free throws, the Bulls rebounded, and Michael Jordan hit a jump shot at the buzzer to win the game.”
“And it worked because Pippen undermined Malone’s ideal image?”
“Theoretically, yes,” I say. “We’ll never know for sure what was going through Malone’s head during those shots. Maybe he just cracked under pressure and would’ve missed those shots regardless, but the story that he missed because of the trash talk is just too good not to consider.”
I take a sip of my water and lean forward.
“Think about it. Malone has a reputation as a player that always delivers, so he’s been given the nickname The Mailman.
That’s his ideal image. But there’s one time mailmen don’t deliver mail, and that’s on Sundays.
It’s a Sunday. At the very least, Pippen created doubt in Malone’s mind.
The line was too clever to ignore, and chances are that it at least made Malone pause.
It presented him with a flaw in his ideal image, and he missed the first shot. ”
“And now Malone is really doubting himself,” Ash says.
“Exactly,” I say, not surprised he’s caught on so quickly.
“Missing the second shot is almost a self-fulfilling prophesy at that point. Pippen created the doubt, and Malone’s own miss anchored it.
Prior to the first free throw, the line was just a clever piece of trash talk.
After it, the idea that The Mailman might not deliver on a Sunday is becoming a reality.
Malone’s ideal image of himself has been shaken. ”
“And then he misses the second shot,” Ash says.
“Yes,” I confirm. “And it’s not hard to envision that after that first shot, Malone might feel ashamed of himself for buying into Pippen’s trash talk. He’s angry at himself for missing.”
Ash nods along, and I dare to think I’ve salvaged this lesson.
“I understand,” Ash says.
“So…what do you feel when opposing players are trash talking, uh, chirping at you?” I learned earlier today that chirping is the common term used in hockey for trash talking.
“You mean, do I feel ashamed or angry?” he asks.
I realize my mistake. I shouldn’t have told him the results of the study. Now he’s going to try to shoehorn his emotions in to fit them.
“Not necessarily,” I say. “Those are the two I looked into, but there could be others. I want you to tell me what you were feeling, even if it doesn’t fit my results.”
He leans back and extends his long arms across the back of the loveseat. I try not to be impressed by his arm span and fail.
“I guess I did feel a little ashamed the other night,” he says. “Lapointe made sure I was bleeding, then he stuck a tampon down my jersey. I know it shouldn’t have upset me, but it did.”
My eyes flare. “Someone shoved a tampon in your jersey?”
He nods.
“So you felt…emasculated?” I venture.
He shrugs noncommittally. “Maybe.”
“Trash talk often includes gender or sexuality-based comments. Implying someone is womanish or gay is common in trash talk, even though leagues often have rules against it.” I pause. “What did you do when this guy shoved the tampon in your jersey?”
His look turns distinctly deer-in-headlights. “I…don’t want to say.”
I cock my head at him and give him my best ‘Out with it’ look.
He sighs. “I went after him and shoved the tampon in his mouth. Then we tried to beat the shit out of each other.”
My jaw drops open before I can think of how to respond. “Alright. Well, the good news is that your reaction suggests you’re within the bounds of the shame-rage dynamic.”
“And that’s good?”
“Actually, yes. If we know what we’re dealing with, it should be easier to come up with some strategies to help you. If you were experiencing different emotions, we’d have to pinpoint those first before proceeding.”
“Alright,” he says, leaning forward and interlacing his fingers. “For once I’m just like everyone else. So what do we do now?”
Good question.