troops in the “Middle West.” Listeningnto Marge Schott talk is like openingna package you suspect might be a gagngift: the possibilities for surprise — andntheir resultant effects — are endless.nWorst of all, Marge has tried thenpatience of Reds fans everywhere bynplopping a Reds cap on her adored (bynher) dog, an unpersonable and lethargicnSt. Bernard named Schottzie, andnproclaiming the pet the team’s mascot.nI’ve found that people around thencountry assume we Cincinnatians considernall this canine business charming.nWe do not. Here in Cincy, Schottzie isnknown far and wide as “that damnndog.” (During a pregame presentationnof World Series rings last spring,nSchottzie too was awarded a “ring,”nprompting one fan, according to a localnpaper, to hang over the dugout andnscream, “You’re making fools of thenReds!” Well, tradition has its place,nespecially in Cincinnati, but I thinknthat fan missed the point. The onenbeing made a fool of was the dog.)nIn sum, Marge Schott is unabashedlynfemale — she dotes on her pets,nmothers her players, and cries in publicn— and unquestionably emancipated.nShe meets her obligations, fulfills hernresponsibilities, and then does justnabout anything she pleases. When toldnby city officials on Opening Day inn1988 that the Budweiser Clydesdalesnwould not be permitted as part of thenpregame festivities in RiverfrontnStadium •— no horses on the new artificialnturf—Marge responded, “They’rencoming. They can stay on the 45npercent of the turf that I paid for.” Shenis at home enough in her gender tonignore it or acknowledge it as it suitsnher. Usually it suits her to ignore it.nAnd when others make an issue of herngender—it happens all the time; thenwoman who owns and operates one ofnthe most successful and profitable franchisesnin Major League Baseball isnregularly patronized in print by sportswritersnwho’ve never operated anythingnmore complex than a vendingnmachine — she frustrates them by disregardingnthem. In the game of attitudinalnsexism. Marge appears to believenthat the best offense is no defense. Itntakes two to tango, and she’s too busyn— too busy doing something manynmen think they could do better andnsome would give their right arm tontry — to dance.n40/CHRONICLESnAnd if she is oblivious to sexistnsportswriters, Marge is downright blindnto dismayed feminists, who cringe everyntime she says something goofy orngets openly emotional. A woman ofnhigh accomplishment who is immunento the political implications of hernfemale persona, Marge is both irritatingnand irrelevant to feminists. A successfulnwoman with an implacablenpersonality, she is also chronically annoyingnto sexists. Maybe the feministsnand the sexists should hold a gettogethernto explore their shared feelings.nOn the other hand—and at the risknof sounding like Barbara Walters whennshe whines, “In a man they call itnaggressiveness; in a woman they call itnbitchiness” — if Marge Schott were anman, her actions, while still beingncriticized (it is the inalienable right ofnsports fans to criticize), would be consideredncharismatic rather than predictable,ninspired rather than lucky. Butnmaybe the fact that Marge’s “dizzynbroad” image bothers me — and, I assume,nBarbara Walters — a lot morenthan it bothers Marge just proves thatnshe’s way ahead of some of the rest ofnus.nAnyway, there is always more thannone way to view her behavior. If shenpinches pennies, it’s because she seesnno defense for corporate waste. If shenthrows her weight around, she comesnby the right honestly, having put outn$13 million for majority ownership ofnthe Reds. If she is unversed in the finenpoints of the game of baseball, so what?nIs Laurence Tisch expected to knownhow to anchor the news? If she rubsndog hair on the chest of Reds managernLou Piniella in a ridiculous pregamengood-luck ritual, isn’t Piniella a big boynwho could say, “Oh, Marge, let’s not”nif he chose to? And in between allnthose cigarettes she smokes down atnRiverfront, doesn’t she talk patientlynand enthusiastically to the countlessnkids who line up to meet her?nMarge Schott is a woman operatingnin two of the most male-dominatednenvironments in the country—businessnand sports. Just as significant, shenis 63 years old and belongs to an agengroup referred to by professional feminists,nin that awful combination ofncondescension and pity they save fornlost female souls, as “women of ournmother’s generation,” as if their great­nnnest embarrassment is having mothersnwho did not reject their own lives.nWell, Marge is, as more than onenCincinnatian has pointed out, invulnerablento certain forms of embarrassment.nShe is a woman, a corporatenexecutive, a community leader, and anproduct of her time and place — andnall of it contributes to her public personality,nwhich is exasperating, entertaining,nenergetic, and interesting, anpersonality that has added immeasurablynto the life of an entire city. As fornher accomplishments, I consider themnconstructive, instructive, and enlightening,nat least from the distance of onenwho doesn’t know her personally, andistance that allows me and thousandsnof others to call her by her first name.nAs a resident of Cincinnati, I love thenReds, and yes, I’m tired of that damnndog. But in the final analysis, I thinknMarge is an inspiration.nJanet Scott Barlow covers popularnculture from Cincinnati, where, onnAugust 7, after a brief and suddennillness, Schottzie the St. Bernard diednand was buried, “proudly wearing hernReds cap.”nLetter FromnGermanynby Jacob NeusnernAcademic Apathy Beyondnthe RhinenWe’re not supposed to like Germans ornGermany, but I do — a lot. I found outnjust how much when, coming back tonFrankfurt after a week of lecturing innMadrid, I found myself glad to ben”home,” and happy to babble away innmy pitiful German, after a, week ofnmisery in my primitive Spanish. I hadnmissed everything about Frankfurt: thengreen, the gardens and trees, the parks,nthe outdoor pool near my universitynoffice, the helpful people in the streetsnand stores, and above all, the Germanngood cheer; Madrid is dour.nSo what about the holocaust, andnhow can I, a faithful Jew, genuinely likenGermany and the Germans I’ve beennmeeting? Well, for one thing, the holo-n