It just isn’t.
It doesn’t matter if you catch her in bed with the cable TV installer, or if she tells you that she’s been banging a co-worker for the past several years, or if she laughs when you pull down your pants.
YOU CANNOT HIT HER.
She is a fragile creature, borne of inferior strength and muscle mass, and incapable of adequately defending herself against the stronger, more physically imposing sex.
And yes, there ARE exceptions to the latter pontifications, but IT DOESN’T MATTER.
You don’t hit a woman, period.
That’s why I’m so disappointed in Chad “Ochocinco” Johnson, who (allegedly) head-butted wife Evelyn Lozada during a domestic disturbance on Saturday night. The head-butt, strong enough to cause “severe lacerations” according to the Sun-Sentinel, came after Lozada found a receipt for a condom purchase in Johnson’s car.
This contradicts an earlier report from NFL.com that states Johnson found receipt of a condom purchase made by Lozado.
No matter WHO bought the condoms and who was running around on whom, the incident led to a squabble, which led to Johnson (again, allegedly) inflicting physical violence upon Lozado, his wife of one month.
And all of this sucks balls because Johnson was one of the good guys.
To the uninitiated, casual NFL observer, Johnson—who once legally changed his name to Chad Ochocinco and then back again—was a brash, egomaniacal ball-player with as much mouth as talent. They knew him from ridiculous celebratory touchdown dances, golden mohawks, outlandish sideline clothing and a willingness to take a fine, all in the name of furthering his brand.
The Chad Johnson who ate at IHOP every morning, so much so that the waitresses knew him by name. The same guy who invited random Twitter followers to accompany him to concerts. The same guy who defended his unspectacular wardrobe by explaining that he was too cheap to buy more than one pair of shorts at Urban Outfitters, so his tired, worn camo-cargo pants would just have to do. The same guy who explained time and time again that the necklaces and earrings that he sported—all of his “bling”—was completely fake… He wondered aloud why anyone, especially high-profile individuals would waste money on something so inconsequential.
I liked this Chad Johnson. He was personable and interesting, a refreshing respite from the clichéd athletes who normally clog ESPN headlines and fans’ Twitter feeds. Johnson felt friendly and approachable, and even for the naysayers who assume he was cultivating a persona? He was doing a fine fucking job of it.
Chad Johnson was the antithesis—believe it or not—of every cocky, arrogant, asshole athlete that you ever thought you knew. And as his ability declined, he humbled himself. He took small contracts to play for winners and pushed aside his once gargantuan pride to ensure that he could even set FOOT on the field again, eager to prove that he had something left in the tank.
Whether you realized it or not, he was a reasonable role-model for millions of kids, especially the black ones who learn through a culture of indifference that money, wealth and status are everything.
Unfortunately, Johnson may have fucked all of this up by head-butting his wife in a moment where all judgment was lost.
I really hope his explanation is true. According to blacksportsonline.com (yep), he “accidentally” head-butted her while the two were “play-fighting.”
His explanation is probably not true.
More than likely, he head-butted her, either because she found out that he’d been having sex with other women, or he found out that she’d been having sex with other men.
Regardless, he’s likely finished.
You can’t hit women, period. And in this modern digital era of instantaneous information, you DEFINITELY can’t do it and expect to live without repercussions. You’d have to be a complete imbecile not to understand this, and unfortunately, apparently, Johnson isn’t quite the intellect that I mistook him to be.
As much as I hate to say it, game over, buddy. I hope you get help and realize that anger and animalistic Chad “Ochocinco instincts are fine on the football field, but nonsense while perpetrating violence across the console of your Prius.