Two Sides to Every Story

I’m not much of a sports fan (OK, I’m not a sports fan at all), so I confess that when I woke to the news of Richard Sherman’s purportedly unsportsmanlike conduct after the Seattle-San Francisco game last night, I had no idea who Richard Sherman was.  [My college roommate, a die-hard sports fan, is cringing right now].  I also admit that I really wasn't interested in finding out until I was greeted with a slew of Facebook postings denouncing Sherman’s comments and pledging support for the Broncos in the Super Bowl because of those comments.  Now the story seemed more interesting to me.  So I went to the videotape to see for myself what happened.  Well, Sherman’s unfortunate rant against Michael Crabtree (I didn't know who he was either) was pretty clear.  Then I saw a replay of the last play of the game.  Did I just see Richard Sherman extend a handshake to Michael Crabtree?  Did Michael Crabtree just grab Sherman’s helmet (with Sherman’s head still in it) and shove him away?  Did I just unfairly judge Richard Sherman?  It seems like there may be two sides to this story.

There always are.  One of the first things we learned in law school was that there are two sides to every story, and the truth lies somewhere in between.  That’s why lawyers ask lots of questions.  That’s why parents do too.  You learn pretty quickly as a parent that when one child comes to complain about a sibling’s offenses against God and man, the complainant typically has no right to cast the first stone.  So I avoid taking sides in squabbles that don’t involve me.  When friends have a disagreement, I try to just listen to what they have to say and tell them that I am Switzerland.  When my daughters are at each other’s throats (figuratively), I try to let them work it out unless it becomes “literally.”

 

This approach really ticks people off.  I've been told that I’m not supportive; I've been called disloyal; and I've heard that my failure to side with one combatant weakened his argument against the other.  Go figure.  But none of these comments bother me much because I see them for what they really are:  attempts to guilt me into taking sides.  I've used them myself for that very reason.  We all want justice; we all want vindication; we all want the world to acknowledge that we’re right and the other is wrong.  But the truth of the matter is, there are two sides to every story, and accepting that fact isn't easy.  Accepting that there are two sides to every story means that we occasionally might have to admit that we’re in the wrong (even if only a little bit); we might have to acknowledge that the one who wronged us deserves our mercy (heaven forfend!); and we might see justice meted out in ways that aren't wholly satisfying to us.

 

Justice means giving a person his due.  So justice will rarely be served by a categorical determination of who’s right and who’s wrong.  Justice is bigger than that.  Would Richard Sherman’s post-game rant merit unreserved condemnation if it were preceded by a helmet shove by Michael Crabtree?  A helmet shove doesn't justify Sherman’s on-air invective, and it doesn't free Sherman’s behavior from judgment and possible punishment.  But it does put Sherman’s comments in context, and it does suggest that Sherman is not the only one in the wrong.  It even suggests that Sherman might be due a little mercy.  It seems like there’s been some spat between Sherman and Crabtree for some time.  To be honest, it doesn't interest me enough to look into it any further.  But I can’t deny that I rushed to judgment against Richard Sherman when I first saw the videotape, and that was wrong.  If I’m going to judge, I need to make sure that justice is served – that every person is given his due.  So before I judge, I have to remember that there are two sides to every story.