Hey, here’s an image of a couple twisting in an athletic clinch . . .
Image: Tango painting / Theresa Bernstein, (photographed by Peter A. Juley & Son). Source: Smithsonian American Art Museum and its Renwick Gallery.
Now, if you’re ready for a sporting conversation, Let’s Review...
At the beginning of a semester, I like to ask my classes “how is society possible?”
Among the answers that return include: “ ’cause it takes two to tango” – which, actually, is approximately an excellent response. And here’s why . . .
By definition, society is a social thing. It can’t exist without others being involved. It is maintained through collective effort at every given moment (even if that effort amounts to refraining from extricating oneself from a dance partner’s embrace); and, conversely, it risks dissolution of the enterprise once a number larger than one demurs from dancing along.
We can explore the implications of quittal in another round. That’s existential and engages philosophical conversations regarding freedom, economic questions about survivability, and psychological concerns such as dependency—a different dance, a (much) more strenuous exercise—so, not a discussion for this occasion.
For the moment, let’s stipulate that a second answer to my query could be a variation on the first, but it goes by the name “social construction,” which, if you aren’t familiar, is a kind of onomatopoeia (the sound suggesting the sense) or perhaps a res ipsa loquitur (a thing that speaks for itself)1—in this case, intended to mean: “stuff that people build together.”
Society, for instance.
Or, at a more modest remove—and recalling our discussion in Round 1—something like The High Five—a form of greeting that required two people (in that case, Glenn Burke, the sender of the signal, and Dusty Baker, the receiver of the message) to “make meaning” together.
Communication researchers refer to this process as “encoding” and “decoding.” Sociologists, however, wish to emphasize the outcome—what folks who are party to the interaction actually create. For instance, together Burke and Baker constructed a form of celebration—which then became transformed from a one-off engagement between two fellows, into a meme that was replicated by many other interactive pairs, and in this way, was transmitted widely, across society. A large number of folks sending, receiving and re-creating (or, as sociologists say, “reproducing”) this (originally singular, isolated) social act—thereby transforming it into a collective phenomenon.
A form of communication that, today, is understood and shared by many (if not all) in society.
For constructionists, the claim goes, this same process of interaction, reproduction and transmission is involved in just about everything social—from political ideology to sexuality to driving on the roads to . . . hm . . .
the concept of status in particular societies . . . and
rock (or jazz or classical) music . . . and
religious rituals . . . and
ideas about cleanliness or perceptions of body odor . . .
and on and on.
Together folks “make society” (and its subsidiary values, behaviors, artifacts, structures, institutions). Continually. And (necessarily) over and over again.
The downside is that it is like the proverbial shark: if it stops moving, reproduction stops occurring, and the entity will die.
For, the moment that people stop agreeing on what a gesture (or an odor or a word or a profession or a good or an event or a subgroup, etcetera) means, then there is no longer mutuality—meanings shared—and adjustments must be made—either to redefine, reinterpret or depart completely from past definitions.
This is a different sort of construction, I suppose—one in which no one can agree and the entity in question just sits there: all potential, but socially void.
Yeah but . . . hold up a second. I thought this was a newsletter about sport. Why aren’t we talking about sport?
Okay then.
How about this:
Image Source: The Big Lead.
So, this happened last Sunday night during the end of a little game that folks agree is called “The Super Bowl.”
In some ways (and before the moment recedes into memory—fond or reviled), this provides a perfect opportunity to work through the concept of social construction.
Because, after all, what is football if not an activity that humans have created in concert?
Its premises, conceits, rules of operation, funky system of four downs, strange metrics of seven, three, two and one points, its determination of how offensive series are sustained or ended, its play clock and allotment of times out, its team names, mascots, colors and uniforms (etcetera)—have all been crafted, maintained, enforced, acted on and reacted to, by social agreement.
Everything—from the placement of the ball by the officials, to the huddles, audibles, and penalties—are fictions created and consented to, by humans. That said, once there is agreement, the fictions cease—or, at least they are then transformed into “reality” (as in: something accepted, acted on and reacted to as an actual thing).
In communal assent—for instance, “I’m trudging down field to the spot where the ref has placed the ball because that is where the receiver’s knee touched the ground and, by rule, after a defender touched him he was down”—is the act that not only validates the reality of the previous play; it helps “reproduce” the particular rule which governed it—AND the game, itself.
All of it, but especially the social reproduction—is an essential part of social construction. The consecration of human acts into actual facts by those who are party to the endeavor, with related consequences and subsequent steps.
Which brings us back to the situation depicted above.
What did you see?
What actually happened?
What did it mean?
According to who?
Why?
What was the reaction—both on the field and off?
What happened next?
And then after that?
The answers to those questions also tell us about social construction. Not only its nature, but the strength of its grip on the human community, as well as its possible limits, too.
Just setting the table a bit for those who may have missed it or have already forgotten: there’s 1:54 remaining on the clock in the fourth quarter; the game is tied 35-35.
Exciting, nail-biting stuff. We’re heading for one of the most thrilling finishes in the fifty-seven year history of the event.
Kansas City is on Philadelphia’s fifteen yard-line; it’s third down and they need eight yards on this up-coming play or else they’ll probably have to settle for a field goal. The three points would be swell, but will also give Philly an excellent chance to either tie or win the game outright with a last-minute, come-from-behind touchdown.
JuJu Smith-Schuster, the Kansas City receiver, executes a whip route—the same pass pattern the Chiefs have scored on twice in this final quarter. In a variation on the pattern, rather than run the whip portion shallow into the flat, Smith-Schuster seeks to deepen the route, aiming for the end zone.
It’s a small, but important thing that the play is designed to bait the defender into construing this route in relation to the previous two touchdown routes—that is, the offense is betting that the defense’s prior decoding acts will prime it to respond by (fatally) misinterpreting this communication.
Ah, the sublime art of play-calling. All predicated on communication theory and (wait for it . . . ) social construction.
Smith-Schuster’s initial route is: a slant, a hard stop and a whip—just as the previous two TD routes have been. Armed with previous, similar-looking data, will the defender anticipate a flat whip pattern? Indeed he does. Rather than seek to maintain a downfield cushion, James Bradley (the defensive back) seeks to stay parallel with Smith-Schuster’s shoulder. It makes some sense. The offense needs eight yards. Anything short of that and the Chiefs will likely have to kick a field goal. The game will still be winnable. And besides, if Bradley stays level with the receiver, he has an opportunity to “jump the route” and deflect the ball or make an interception.
However, (just like life) things are not (at all) as they seem.
Once Bradley adopts his flatter line, the offense has won. The Flat-Whip transforms into a Fly Route, designed for the receiver to meet the ball in the end zone. As Smith-Schuster turns his body up-field, Bradley realizes he is now positioned to lose the footrace. Recognizing his interpretive error (“Oh, $#^%, this is a Go-route!”), Bradley does what he’s been trained to do . . . his only true option: “Stop JuJu, by whatever means possible, from leaving me in the dust.”
Or, in more succinct parlance: grab that dude! And not just once, but twice, as Smith-Schuster breaks toward the Eagle secondary.
This presents us with the interesting case—and, it happens—where social construction works to the benefit of one party in the interaction, but the detriment of the other.
Penalty? Well, of course it was. Bradley admitted as much after the game. And one need only consult with the rule book to verify that an actual code violation had transpired.
To wit: Rule 8, Section 4 of the Official Playing Rules of the National Football League concerns Legal and Illegal Contact with Eligible Receivers. Article 1 states: “Within the area five yards beyond the line of scrimmage, a defensive player may chuck an eligible receiver in front of him,” as long as he “maintain(s) continuous and unbroken contact within the five-yard zone…”
In the rules. By agreement. Social construction.
And so, on that reading, maybe Bradley hasn’t done anything wrong. Ah . . . except that Article 1 also stipulates “so long as the receiver has not moved beyond a point that is even with the defender.”
Again: by agreement; social construction.
Which also means that, according to the letter of the law, judging from the angle depicted in the photo, we appear to have a penalty. With consequences and next steps:
a new set of downs, and
from there, a clock milked of nearly every second,
leading to a game-deciding field goal,
leading to a squibbed kick off, and
one ineffectual game-ending Hail Mary by the Eagles.
Championship trophy awarded to the Chiefs.
Moreover, there’s a further entry (Section 4, Article 2) which stipulates that “If a defender contacts a receiver within the five-yard zone of the line of scrimmage, loses contact, and then contacts him again within the five-yard zone, it is a foul for illegal contact.”
More rules. More collective accord. More social construction that is hard to ignore or wriggle out of.
Thus, however one views it, as socially constructed, a penalty was warranted.
But should it have been called?
Well, that’s where the conversation gets interesting. Because, depending on who you ask . . . perhaps not.
According to some, one of the “unwritten rules” of professional sports is that no penalty should determine the outcome of a contest. Especially a championship game. It’s not a formal rule, mind you; but it is an informal rule of thumb that, without open recognition, often seems to exist invisibly; pervading sporting contests, and even piquing ire when violated.
On that view, despite being trained to enforce the rules of the sport and hired to protect them, referees ought to look the other way and let potentially game-deciding infractions go.
Say what? Ignore established, formalized social construction and supplant it with an alternate, unwritten, informal construction?
We all saw it . . . Smith-Schuster was held. But, in this alternative version of social commerce, why award his team a new set of downs? Let them kick the field goal—no harm done; they get something, right? Three points. And a chance to defend their lead—no matter how precarious it may be—for the final, frenzied ninety seconds.
Well, okay . . . I guess?
Although to some that sounds like an entirely different sport. One in which objectivity rules until it doesn’t; where technical standards installed by prior agreement outside of any given moment of application, in order to help deliver neutrality and fairness, yield to value-based determination, in the eyes of the particular judge present in that particular moment, beginning at some indeterminate moment as the contest draws to a close.
On this version, even if by social agreement, rules will be applied situationally—possibly even arbitrarily—rather than neutrally, evenly, uniformly. And that will be okay (I guess) because it will be by social agreement.
Right?
Okay then. But let me ask you this: who is to say when the moment tolls where a contest may possibly turn? Is that the last two minutes? The final play? Or might it be all the way back at the end of the first half? Might it be a moment buried in the middle of the third quarter?2
Humans are not clairvoyant. And any infraction, in theory, might possess the power to alter the ultimate outcome. So, if we are going to say that game-determining calls should not be made by officials, since they may arise at any point in a game, perhaps no infractions should be called at all.
Hm.
Are we really laying the foundation to assert that officials should be removed entirely? To allow the players to decide by whatever means at their disposal.
Grab that dude—he’s getting away!
And, what I then want you to ask is . . . what sort of a game is that?
And then ask: what sort of a society is that?
Which leads us back to our initial (and also concluding question): “how, if a society is like that, is society possible?”
Before we get there, let’s return to our alternative sporting reality. Assume the referees turn a blind eye; ignore the foul; declare an incomplete pass. The ball is spotted back at the fifteen yard-line. Kansas City still has options. They can opt to go for it fourth and eight or else kick a field goal. They still have agency to determine their own fate.
Okay. But now, what if they opt to kick—as most coaches would? Further assume that the snap sails awry or the hold is muffed or the kicker slips on the slick, newly-painted grass? Instead of:
the illegal contact penalty resulting in a new set of downs, with the teams still tied, but Kansas City in control of the ball, we now have
Philadelphia in possession on their own fifteen, with a hundred seconds left on the clock, trying to maneuver the ball at least fifty yards downfield in order to kick a decisive field goal of their own.
In this alternative scenario—where informal social construction has trumped its formal kin—are both conditions equal?
Not in a sport that abides by the invention in which all penalties should be called everywhere on the field, any time during a contest. Fair square and for the past ninety-seven years that is how the game has always (supposed to have) been played.
Social construction.
Not an alternate accord in which consensual rules are in place until they are then disregarded. Where the official keeps his flag pocketed in the final two minutes and opts to leave it up to a set of future plays. Not this particular third and eight, whip route one, but an indeterminate number of subsequent others, in which both teams will have further opportunities to influence the result.
To be clear: not necessarily biased against any one team; simply no longer adhering to the previously agreed-upon construction in which the letter of the law dictates social outcomes.
This is social construction of a different sort. An off-the-books agreement. But one that may not be so uncommon, as it turns out—at least when it comes to sports.
Consider the brouhaha a couple weeks ago that arose during the nationally-televised clash between the Boston Celtics and Los Angeles Lakers. Historical rivals and, on that night, authors of a tight, competitive game, with stars excelling in a lively back-and-forth contest.
Cut to the final possession. 4.1 seconds on the clock; game knotted at 105. LeBron James slashes to the hoop with the ball and is clearly fouled as he rises for a lefty lay-up.
Image Source: ThisICannotForgive.
A sure two free throws for LeBron with little time left on the clock. And yet, despite the referee staring directly at the arm-grab, no foul is called, no free throws awarded. No game decided at the free throw line. The teams go to overtime and Boston wins by four.
Following the game, the NBA crew chief admitted that a foul had occurred on the play, and the NBA later acknowledged that a call should have been made.
To which Celtics fans might say: “gee. Tough times. Must be sad to be a Laker.”
Others, however, might (and did) opine: “why bother having a rule written in the rule book if it isn’t going to be enforced?”
It is at this point that the sociologist chimes in and asks: “is that how society should operate? Ignore the rules? Pass out the mulligans and see what eventuates in an unmoderated world?”
What sort of society would it be if we told the players: “you had your chance—and, hey, nice try there, bud. But let’s forget what happened that time—because the result strikes us as somehow inelegant or inappropriate or unfair. In any event, excusable. But, we’ll give you another shot. See what you might be able to make with that one.”
What message does that send? And what sort of social outcome would result?
Here we come face to face with the limits of social construction. Or better: the deficiencies of a social undertaking comprised of humans.
For, if, in the normal flow or practice, prior agreements are overlooked, then how can society, itself, maintain order? And without order, how can it be possible?
Because if the enforcement of our collective agreements is situational or sporadic, then why would anyone bother recognizing their legitimacy and adhering to them at all? It would only subjugate the honest and advantage the transgressors.
At that point, society is rendered less tenable—even as we continue to accede to its supremacy and live within it.
On the other hand, isn’t this the way so much of our everyday lives operates?
Ever jaywalked or sped up to 45 in a 30-mph zone?3
Of course you have. And have you been caught each time? No? And why?
Well, any number of (human) factors.
Austere budgets that have resulted in a dearth of CCTV around town.
Or possibly because not all illegal conduct is equally prioritized—even if it IS written in the damn criminal code;
And even if a cop happens to be present when you speed by, she might be on her lunch break and simply cares to focus on masticating her Dunkin Donut in peace.
And even if she’s in the mood to hit the siren and give pursuit, there are also cases where, despite her exertions, she then decides—based on whatever profile she has floating around in her head, or possibly due to the awesome mood the donut has put her in—that a stern warning will suffice.
Unlikely as it may sound, it’s happened to me a few times. And it provides fodder for further thoughts about social construction—and, by extension, society itself.
For one, official rules are in place, by agreement, to maintain social order. Written by who? Generally not us directly; rather by proxy. Folks we’ve elected who, in writing the rules, carry our tacit consent. We are complicit in the formulation because we (The People!) have entrusted them with the duty to do so—as well as selecting and empowering their (and our) proxies to enforce such collective agreements.
Which means that rule creation and enforcement transpire with our consent. Which, in turn, means that we are complicit in the production and continued reproduction of social order—even if we aren’t taking an active hand in the minute, moment-to-moment, unfolding.
This is precisely how society exists—and also how it persists.
Herein lies the answer to the opening query: “how is society possible?”
But now we return to our examples of the no-call against LeBron and the post-Super Bowl agitation for the ref to have pocketed his flag against DB Bradley.
Which is to say, we return to this riddle . . .
If society is possible due to the on-going process of rule affirmation, why isn’t it rendered impossible by the intermittent failure to enforce the rules?
One answer is “because it’s sports—not society. And sports is its own special space—not some reflection or faithful representation of society, at all.”
And there is some merit to that claim, which I anticipate we’ll have occasion to address in a later round.
For now, though, let’s return to you, in your car; on the wrong side of the infraction.
There you are, suddenly appealing to the cop with the trace of chocolate flake on her chin, beseeching her to break the social contract and look the other way.
“Officer, please?”
“I mean, I know I was going a tad fast, but I’m just trying to get home to medicate to my cancerous cockatoo.”
“I’ll be more careful from here on.”
“I promise.”
And sometimes it works. Our collective agreement for justice is temporary suspended and, because it is a random one-off, doesn’t put much of a dent in the social order.
Or does it? . . .
Is it possible that my gushing exclamations of gratitude (“oh thank you, thank you, thank you, officer! I appreciate you! You’re just the best! The greatest!”) might serve to validate and possibly encourage continuing transgressions by this cop against the pre-existing construction? Might they work as the seed for a burgeoning set of social accords?
A departure, a break, a possible new convention. Incipient, but now socially sanctioned.
. . . here is where we can end . . .
The fact that the cop often employs discretion to depart from the rules—the same way that NBA referees do (on a nightly basis)—is not revelatory. But it does lead me to scratch my head. As a sociologist I am left wondering—honestly, without surety: is a society where unwritten rules routinely supplant the formal, agreed upon constructions truly sustainable? Does a social construction which violates other established, prevailing constructions pose a threat to society, itself?
Or, simply, as with many social phenomena, is this evidence of the many paradoxes that characterize human organization and behavior? And which, despite their disruptiveness, generate conditions that can’t ever be fully be reconciled (but as long as they go unchallenged or over-scrutinized) will not topple what we’ve built.
As such paradoxes accrue, I am moved to wonder: is possible that their existence is both an endemic and accepted feature of human nature? Quirks that, in their routine, yet unpredictable appearance, somehow work to ensure society’s persistence (since we all possess them and wouldn’t want to legislate our peccadillos out of existence).
Another sort of social accord, I suppose, based on tolerance and intentional ignorance.
If so, might such paradox be a feature of society, itself?
A different sort of social construction—the quotidian deviation from normality, the consistently inconsistent—that somehow, magically, mysteriously—in its ineffable, irrational unpredictability—we humans embrace. A state which, via collective construction, we welcome.
An act of agreement that, in turn, binds members together . . . thereby enabling society to remain possible.
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This is a familiar occurrence in sociology, for, as clever as practitioners may be, when it comes to coining terms, they tend to be a bit dull. Hence, technical terms often mean precisely how they sound.
When I was coaching, I used to tell my teams (and experience tended to confirm it) that a game could be lost in the last five minutes of the first half, the opening five minutes and the final five minutes of the second half. I also believed—and experience tended to confirm—that any one play or referee’s whistle could influence the trajectory of the game. In the most extreme cases, an entire season could be determined by an official’s call.
I could add: “or fudged your tax return? Or failed to scan the bananas in the self-check line?” But, as for myself, I draw the ethical lines at speeding. No chancing incurring the wrath of an officious store manager or an enterprising IRS agent for me!