Anne Helen Petersen reframes a cultural conversation about masculinity not through the lens of politics, but through the quiet, enduring rhythm of baseball. In a media landscape obsessed with aggression and spectacle, she offers a surprising thesis: the way we consume sports reveals our capacity for empathy, patience, and the ability to be a "Good Dad." This is not a sports column; it is a sociological autopsy of American fatherhood, using the diamond as a mirror to reflect who we are and who we fear becoming.
The Architecture of "Dadness"
Petersen begins by dismantling the stereotype of the aggressive, controlling father figure. She argues that baseball, with its slow pace and lack of frantic energy, cultivates a specific type of presence. "Baseball is not a sport of aggression or frenzy, and neither, at least stereotypically, are its fans," she writes. This distinction is crucial. Unlike the high-stakes, binary outcomes of football, baseball demands endurance and an appreciation for the passage of time. It invites a contemplative state where a parent can simply sit with a child and watch a storm roll in, rather than demanding a reaction.
The author defines this archetype as the "Good Dad": a figure who is caring but not controlling, concerned but not terrified. "He is often stubborn but not intractable; Good Dads have been known to change their minds, especially about social issues," Petersen notes. This framing is effective because it moves the conversation away from performative masculinity toward behavioral consistency. The Good Dad is defined by what he lacks: rigid anxiety, an obsession with self-replication, and a need to dominate. He is the person who will do the electric slide without a second thought, prioritizing connection over coolness.
"Good Dads get annoyed by things but very rarely furious. They often grew up with some sort of moral code but are no longer staunchly religious."
However, Petersen is careful to note that this behavior is not tied to biology or gender. "Women and non-binary people can be Good Dads, too, because Dadness is a behavior, not a gender." This is a vital correction to the cultural narrative, expanding the definition of fatherhood to include anyone who embodies these nurturing, steady traits. Critics might argue that linking specific sports to moral character is reductive, yet Petersen uses these associations not as absolute rules, but as cultural signifiers that reveal deeper societal anxieties.
The Shadow of the "Bad Dad"
The essay pivots sharply to define the "Good Dad" by contrasting him with his antithesis: the "Bad Dad." Here, Petersen makes her most provocative claim, suggesting a correlation between the sports one consumes and the capacity for toxic dominance. "The statistical likelihood of a Dad being a Bad Dad goes up when his primary sport is football (or golf) instead of baseball," she asserts. While not all football fans are toxic, she argues that the culture surrounding these sports often mirrors the traits of the Bad Dad: a resistance to shame, a love for the sound of one's own voice, and a conditional love that demands perfection.
The Bad Dad is characterized by a rigid adherence to power. "The Bad Dad is always right, even and especially when he is very, very wrong," Petersen writes. This figure is not just a bad parent; he is a political actor in the domestic sphere. He refuses therapy, views medication as weakness, and maintains a facade of respectability while harboring deep-seated resentment. The author points out that this archetype is almost exclusively depicted as white and upper-middle class, driven by a "performance and maintenance of dominance."
"The Bad Dad's love is conditional: he loves his wife, but only when she performs and looks a certain way. He loves his children, but only when they behave in accordance with his exacting yet somehow still vague standards of behavior."
Petersen draws a direct line from this domestic toxicity to broader political movements. She describes the "Bad Dad" as someone who finds comfort in cable news and primetime sitcoms because these formats require no self-awareness or humility. "Part of the reason they like televised sports and cable news... is because most other art asks too much of them," she explains. This analysis suggests that the refusal to engage with complex, ironic, or challenging art is a symptom of a deeper inability to confront one's own flaws.
Cinema as a Moral Compass
To illustrate these archetypes in action, Petersen turns to Paul Thomas Anderson's film One Battle After Another. She uses the characters of Sensei (Benicio del Toro) and Bob (Leonardo DiCaprio) as exemplars of the "Good Dad," even when they are flawed or destitute. "He's the Good Dad for his entire community: for his martial arts students, for a group of rag-tag skateboarders, for undocumented immigrants who he helps shelter and protect," she writes. Their goodness is not derived from their wealth or status, but from their moral compass directed toward justice.
In stark contrast, the film's antagonists are the "Christmas Adventurers Club," a secret society of white supremacists who embody the worst traits of the Bad Dad. They are described as "respectable, upstanding citizens who pay their taxes, or at least pay someone a lot of money so they pay very little taxes." Petersen highlights the irony that these villains are often the ones who look like the ideal fathers: they have immaculate dental health, mowed lawns, and sponsor Little League teams. Yet, they are "craven and heartless villains, obsessed with regenerating their own power."
"The Good Dads of One Battle After Another, by contrast, look like social problems... But those Good Dads, along with their daughters and friends and fellow travelers, are the beating, beautiful heart of this movie."
This cinematic analysis serves as a powerful metaphor for the current political moment. The "Bad Dads" in the film are not caricatures; they are the deacons in the church and the leaders in the community who hide their cruelty behind a mask of respectability. Petersen argues that these figures are not distant monsters but people who "absolutely live amongst us." The film's villainy is rooted in a refusal to forgive, a belief in their own infallibility, and a desire to control the narrative of history.
The Necessity of Knowing
The essay concludes by borrowing a concept from sociologist Tressie McMillan Cottom: "To know our whites is to understand the psychology of white people and the elasticity of whiteness." Petersen adapts this to the realm of fatherhood, urging readers to "Know your dads." This is not a call to ignore or forgive the Bad Dad, but to understand the psychology that drives him. It is a call to anticipate the fears and grievances of those who cling to dominance, not to appease them, but to survive without letting bitterness rot the soul.
"To know our whites is to survive without letting bitterness rot your soul. Know your whites. Know your dads."
This final move elevates the piece from a cultural critique to a survival guide. Petersen suggests that understanding the mechanics of the "Bad Dad" is essential for navigating a world where toxic masculinity is often rewarded with power. By recognizing the signs—the conditional love, the resistance to shame, the obsession with gear and status—readers can better protect themselves and their communities. The argument is compelling because it refuses to simplify the issue. It acknowledges that the Bad Dad is a product of a system that rewards dominance, but it also insists that the Good Dad is a choice, a daily practice of patience and presence.
Bottom Line
Petersen's most powerful contribution is her ability to link the micro-behaviors of fatherhood to the macro-dynamics of political power, using the "Good Dad" vs. "Bad Dad" framework to decode the current cultural zeitgeist. The argument's greatest strength lies in its refusal to let the "Bad Dad" off the hook with a simple label, instead dissecting the psychological mechanisms that sustain his dominance. The only vulnerability is the risk of over-generalizing sports preferences, but the essay's focus on behavior rather than biology largely mitigates this. Readers should watch for how this framework of "knowing" the dominant figure translates into broader strategies for resisting authoritarianism in their own communities.