Jock. Lunk. Wannabe frat boy–I’ve heard it all. And while you might think your words have no impact, remember that underneath all the muscle, we still have a heart. Just like all other Haverford students, we also want six-figure jobs at Goldman Sachs, just like our dads–and their dads before them.

Lacrosse players have been an important part of the Haverford community ever since 1971, contributing to liquor purchase, liquor consumption, and other things, too, I think. But the average lacrosse player still feels unaccepted at a public level.

During our weekly Jane Austen book club meeting, I interrupted our discussion of the text’s Critical Feminist Pedagogy to talk about our exclusion on campus. One of my teammates shared his thoughts: 

“Yeah man, like, it’s really tough bro. It’s just like Sylvia Plath said: And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself/ The vivid tulips eat my oxygen, and shit.”

It was an emotional moment for him–he even had to set down his tea saucer to dab at the single tear trickling down his face. We decided right then to have a weekly feelings circle: starting with the Lenape land acknowledgement, of course, before stating our Sports Betting Serenity Affirmation:

God, grant me the serenity to not throw chairs when I lose $1500 after my March Madness bracket busts
The courage to place more parlays
And the wisdom to know the difference between over and under
Fuck Clemson
Amen

So just remember–your words can hurt. I want to fight for a future where my children and grandchildren can go to Lacrosse camp without feeling ashamed–and it starts with us.