Mr. Diaz(s)+

It should have never been your story Mr. White.

Last night I got to see McFarland USA with a few running friends from local run groups here in LA. All of us were not white. In fact, one friend noted we were all Mexican expect for Jerone. Not true. I’m not. I’m Guatemalan. Full Guatemalan. Instead of politely correcting her. The 6th grader within me gave her two middle fingers. Don’t worry we are still friends.

With an incredible trailer, we all had high hopes for McFarland USA and had been talking about it for months via Fauxbook. The film opened with Mr. White entering a locker room full of  white high school football team. And just like that it was over. We were set up to see how Mr. White was fated to meet a group of marginalized students from McFarland, CA that needed saving. Which is fine. Because there could be truth in that. I grew up in the Central Valley. I played sports. I had male saviors. White and Mexican. Coaches that gave their entire selves financially and otherwise to inspire me and my teammates to glory. Based on a true story, Disney showed us Mr. White was the only possible vehicle to present a story of a hard working and dedicated Mexican high school cross-country team.

There is one particular moment that solidifies the entire film for me. That beautiful moment when Mr. White points directly at the camera isn’t what you think it is. You are made to feel that he is pointing at you? His team? But he’s pointing at the scoreboard. A quantified representation of defying the odds and rising above. Such a let down. We aren’t worthy unless we are on the scoreboard. We aren’t worthy until the White man says. Or in this case, points.

As for casting, Kevin Costner was the only able person to portray Mr. White. Because Kevin Costner is from the Central Valley! Not true. In the 7th grade, Matthew Cheney told me his dad went to Mt. Whitney High School with Kevin Costner. Costner attended for less than a year. And I trust my source.

At the end of the day, I’m glad this story was told. A story of the American Dream, unfortunately told through blue eyes. Not brown.

Why I can't support the US Women's Soccer Team

Now that the Summer Oympics are "so last year", I feel that it is safe enough or rather the right time to discuss why I can't support US Women's Soccer.

Yet before I begin I'd like to preference with a bit more of who I am.

Raised in the Central Valley of California, being a soccer player was my identity since I discovered what the word meant. My first team was an all-girls AYSO team. We were the only girls team in our age division. I was placed as a forward because I was the smallest on the team. The taller girls got to play defense.  Our jersey colors were pink. I hated pink. The best year of my life concluded with a phone call to join the All-Star Team. Some other girl declined the offer. And I was called next. A last resort.

The next few seasons I refused to play on the all-girl team during the regular season. On the Purple People Eaters we won the championship. For the Pumas, I learned how to play defense because my machismo coach didn't know where else to place the only girl. I still silently thank him everyday. And I eventually looked forward to the winter All-Star Team tournaments.

Our All-Star Team out grew AYSO and became a CYSA team. We felt naked without AYSO on our jerseys, but soon forgot those days. We had bigger problems to focus on. We had to ban together. We could no longer ignore it. We didn't have uniform soccer balls. We didn't have uniform water bottles. Our warm-ups before each game were shit because we were too afraid to reveal our talent. The element of surprise was on our side. Our coaches hated our strategy. We were the Beaners.

Meanwhile, some of my teammates looked up to Mia Hamm. I didn't.
I couldn't. The 1999 Women's Soccer inspired the nation to take a second glance at women's soccer. At girls soccer. But not at beaner soccer. Sure, Mia Hamm was a brunette. But I knew she wasn't one of us.

It's been over ten years since Brandi Chastian ripped off her shirt in triumph. US Women's Soccer is still a White sport. A White sport with one Black player.

This isn't a jealous rant. At the age of 8 my mother made me chose between gymnastics and soccer. I happily chose soccer. At the age of 18, I chose a normal college life. I wanted a different identity.

This is rant on behalf of the raw talent I had the honor of playing with: Angella Vallin. CJ Gonzalez. Ida Rodriguez. Lizeth Cardenas. Big Liz Cardenas. Paula Alamillo. Jessica Carnero. And many more.

I'm not calling on diversity for the sake of diversity. I know what's out there. I've played with them. I've played against them. I couldn't unconditionally support Mia Hamm when I was 8. And I can't unconditionally support the US Women's Soccer Team then or now. I wish I could. As beautiful as Alex Morgan is and as strong as Abby Wambach is, these women as a unit are the present example of the teams who named us the "Beaner Team". Our oppressors are alive and well. Nothing has changed.