Yes, I’m a little late to the game, or match in this case, but I finally got around to watching HBO's Surviving Ohio State, and if you are a survivor of sexual abuse like I am, you come away with tremendous sympathy for the athletes who came forward and intense anger at U.S. Rep. Jim Jordan, who abandoned his wrestlers when they needed him most.
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Jordan is a liar, a coward, and about as pathetic a human being as there is; however, that’s been my opinion for years. In 2023, when he was being considered for House speaker, I compared him to former Republican House Speaker Dennis Hastert, who held the post from 1999 to 2007 and later admitted to sexually abusing underage wrestlers he coached.
I wrote that if Jordan ascended to the speakership, he could face a scandal reminiscent of Hastert’s, calling into question whether power might again shield or topple a prominent Republican through a hidden legacy of misconduct .
The raw bravery of the Ohio State University wrestlers interviewed in the documentary is profound.
Surviving Ohio State chronicles the decades-long sexual abuse scandal at Ohio State University involving team physician Dr. Richard Strauss. According to Ohio State’s own investigation, from 1978 to 1998, Strauss sexually assaulted at least 177 male students during medical exams, a scope, the film points out, now believed to be a gross underestimate of actual abuses
Despite warnings as far back as 1979 and internal awareness by some 50 athletic and health department staff (including 22 coaches), Ohio State failed to intervene until 1996, when Strauss was finally suspended, though he worked off-campus until his 1998 retirement and then died by suicide in 2005.
Survivor testimony reveals a campus culture steeped in silence, and athletes in the film hauntingly describe feeling powerless under the care (would hardly call it care) of “Dr. Jellypaws” — one of the nicknames the athletes gave Strauss. The victims endured unwanted genital exams and other deplorable acts dismissed under the guise of medical necessity.
It is really tough to watch because you never forget the words and actions of the abuser that follow you for the rest of your life. My heart ached for these guys.
When the wrestlers came forward with their accusations, they were mocked, and that’s what really rankles me. People can’t fathom why tough-guy wrestlers would allow someone to abuse them, but the eloquence of the wrestlers in the film demonstrates all they were up against.
Survivors allege Jordan, who was an assistant coach, and Russ Hellickson, who was head coach, were not only aware of Strauss’s misconduct but actively discouraged athletes from speaking out. The documentary quotes a referee who reported Strauss masturbating in showers, only to be met with dismissive remarks. “It’s Strauss. You know what he does,” Jordan reportedly said.
The lying, sleazy, and smug Jordan denies all knowledge. The film stresses that Ohio State’s apology and $60 million in settlements hardly equate to justice, especially when other institutions offered far more to survivors, like Michigan State with gymnastics physician Larry Nassar. These wrestlers make a good point about this and why they deserve equal compensation.
But it’s their disgust and shock at Jordan's severe lack of a moral compass that really sticks in your craw. The evidence that he knew what was happening is overwhelming, and yet he obfuscates, denies, gets snide, runs away, gets snarky, gets irritated, and accepts no responsibility whatsoever.
Jordan is a jackass and jerk, and anyone who comes to any other conclusion after watching the film is surely just a blinded MAGA enthusiast who accepts all manner of this Trump bootlicker’s cravenness. What he did and what he’s doing by continuing to evade the truth is repugnant, and it’s extraordinarily hurtful to the victims.
Similarly, the scars of priestly abuse go far beyond the moment of violation; they fracture faith, silence victims, and stain entire communities with betrayal. It wasn’t just about individual crimes but rather about a church that protected its own while generations were left to suffer in the shadows.
The same holds true for the OSU wrestlers. You can’t imagine how horribly hard it is to come forward and then not to be believed or to be shunned. These reactions just compound the pain. Jordan is no different than the Catholic bishops and cardinals who turned their backs on the abused and who went to great lengths, like Jordan, to deny and deflect.
In the film, the former wrestlers recall Jordan as the kind of coach who once seemed honest, decent, and grounded. One of the guys mentions Jordan’s faith, something the sanctimonious Jordan continually harps about. The wrestlers admired his work ethic and sense of fairness.
But as the documentary unfolds, that image starts to unravel. Wrestlers say Jordan knew about the abuse by Strauss. One even describes a tearful, self-serving phone call in which Jordan begged him to publicly shift blame. The gall of Jordan in that moment is nauseating..
That same instinct to protect himself in spite of others is a result of Jordan devolving into a full-blown Donald Trump sycophant. Jordan didn’t just toe the MAGA line, he became its enforcer, trading honesty for outrage and justice for loyalty to a wanna-be dictator.
The good guy from the wrestling room didn’t just disappear. He got swallowed by ambition, by ego, by a need to be close to power, and by an inflated and insidious ego.
In my 2023 column, I wrote, “Now, ask yourself this question. Knowing what you know about Jordan, a man who has, more than once, been called a liar, who would you believe? The university's numerous wrestlers who all agree that they told Jordan about Strauss, or Jordan?”
The film resoundingly answers that question, and then some. The documentary is also a devastating portrait of courage and truth, but not from Jordan, rather from the survivors who show far more dignity, honesty, and forthrightness than the congressman ever has or will ever hope to have.
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