The Massive Head Speaks: Response From A ‘Little Bitch’

To the editors:

Re: “‘Little Bitch’ Manifesto” by David Weinfeld (Column, Feb. 24):

I’m now going to tell you something about myself that you probably already knew. I’m a varsity football player.

I bet you’re surprised I even took the initiative to write this piece. You might even be surprised that I have the manual dexterity necessary to type, given these grotesquely gnarled nubs I call fingers attached to the ends of my hands. Well, I’ll tell you how. I’ve got a nerd in a headlock typing furiously as I dictate. Well, I shouldn’t say “furiously.” He has plenty of time to catch up while I’m taking regular gulps of the chocolate milk I stole from him at lunch today. Rrrrrrrrrr!

I’m a varsity football player. You can probably tell that after one look at my 18-inch neck or my barrel chest, complete with matching gut. Or maybe you recognize me from the football game (probably not) or walking out of The Magic of Numbers final exam (probably so). Either way, I’m a varsity football player. And also, I’m a little bitch.

I address the football player who was the subject of David’s wrath. Your mother would be ashamed. Less importantly, I am ashamed. More importantly, I’m guessing a majority of the varsity football team is ashamed. I hope so anyway. I replay this incident in my big, giant head, and I’m baffled. What is it within you that pushes you to act with such hostility in response to actions of pure amity? Does an act of good will merit such response?

Well, I’ve grappled with it for the last ten seconds or so, and I’ve come up with three possible causes for these needless actions.

One: Like the male silverback gorilla, you were protecting your mate from competing males. In this case, you should have just beat your chest for a while and I’m sure David and his friends would have vacated your stomping ground. Plus, although seemingly strange, they wouldn’t have thought you were half as idiotic as they do now.

Two: Like the male silverback gorilla, you have a two-inch penis, and you’re perpetually angry about it. In case you folks didn’t know, on average, the average football player has a member of below-average size. I’ve seen them all (and myself) in the shower. No, seriously. Noted philosopher Andrew Dice Clay, referring to meatheads in general, once said, “They’re 220 pounds of dynamite with a quarter-inch [expletive] fuse.” Tell me football player, did David’s friendly remark and your 15 beers at the Kong not mix well and spark the fire that lit that fuse? Oh, what an explosion ensued!

Three: Like David suggested, you arbitrarily use aggression fueled by immaturity (and perhaps feeling of inferiority) to establish your dominance in this school. O’Doyle rules!

I’ll choose answer (D), a combination of all of the above. Football player, you bother me. What bothers me more, I’m guilty by association. What bothers me even more is you’ve dragged your friends’ names through the dirt. You keep the stigma surrounding the phrase “Harvard Football” alive.

The majority of football players are good, stand-up guys that deserve to be here. Some of them even could have gotten into Harvard without the coaches (not me). Golly, some of them are even friendly (like me, or so I like to think). If friendliness or even simple non-aggression toward others are attributes of the “little bitch,” by all means I will continually strive to be a “little bitch.” Little bitches, unite.

Although I know that a good number of Harvard students know football players personally and don’t define them by the sport they play or the stigma associated with players of that sport, some do exactly that. To ya’ll, I’d ask that you not allow highly visible, yet rare, incidents like these shape your relations with an entire population.

DOUGLAS D. BENNETT ’05

February 25, 2005