Dobbs decision – Feminism and Religion

Some new terms in our language have been after people. Both the terms sadism and masochism were so named according to etymologyonline.

Here is what the site says about sadism: “love of cruelty,” especially as evidence of a subconscious lust that the cruelty satisfies, 1888, from French sadisme, from the name of Count Donatien A.F. de Sade (1740-1815). Not a marquis, though usually now called one, he was notorious for the cruel sexual practices described in his novels.”

And here is what the site says about masochism: “The word masochism originates from the name of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, an Austrian novelist best known for his 1869 novel Venus in Furs, which explored themes of submissive sexuality and domination.”

I have a new term to add that I would like to add to our vocabulary: Robertism to be named after John Roberts. Here is my definition: love of cruelty, not just cruelty by itself but by spreading cruel acts as widely and far as possible while giving them the authority of legality. Robertism encourages the most base and ugly parts of human behavior, brings them to the surface to be expressed in actions that are given permission through legal cover.

During my grade school years, I was a passionate fan of the Belles, the Racine, Wisconsin team in the All-American Girls Baseball League. My aunt and I would travel across town to Horlick Field to cheer them on—an experience that took place during the challenging times of World War II. Racine proudly carried the nickname “Belle of the Lake.” I don’t remember the players fitting the conventional idea of “Belles”; what stood out was their competitiveness and the exciting baseball they played.

Later in life, the movie *A League of Their Own* became a cultural touchstone for me, although I formed my connection to it years after its first showing. I first watched it during a twelve-hour flight across the Pacific Ocean in 2023. Expecting only nostalgia, I was surprised to uncover a profound connection to my past as I watched it two or three times during the journey.

The scenes reminded me of the evening games played just a few blocks from Lake Michigan. The cool breezes from the lake enveloped me, and I recalled how the ballpark served as an oasis, providing a blissful escape from the harsh realities of the war effort. There were no distractions—just baseball—a stark contrast to the Brewers games I attended later with my grandson, which were filled with Jumbotrons and entertainment gimmicks. Back then, the focus was solely on the game itself, although I must admit I secretly looked forward to the Brewers’ sausage race.