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Dist. 47J v. Acton.1 James Acton, a seventh-grade student who wanted to play football in 1991, was not allowed to participate in interscholastic athletics because he and his parents refused to sign a consent form for random, urinalysis drug testing and filed a lawsuit alleging it violated his rights under the Fourth and Fourteenth Amendments of the U.S. Constitution.3 The random drug testing policy4 was instituted by the northwest Oregon community because during the 1980's, the school district noticed a sharp increase in the amount of drug use coupled with an increase in disciplinary issues as well.5 The district also noticed that student-athletes were often the leaders of the drug problem.6 The Honorable Malcolm F. Marsh, authoring for the federal District Court for the District of Oregon, had ruled in favor of the drug testing policy and the school district, 7 but the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals reversed.8 The U.S. Supreme Court granted certiorari and subsequently vacated the Ninth Circuit's decision and, instead, upheld the constitutionality of the district's random drug testing program for student-athletes.9 The U.S. Supreme Court opined that although the drug tests constituted a Fourth Amendment search, they were reasonable. \"11 Thus, Vernonia's drug testing policy withstood constitutional scrutiny in this 1995 decision.11 The 1990's Acton case was significant, and it remains one of the three major Supreme Court decisions involving drug-related searches of interscholastic students. The PGA Tour, a private organization, required all golfers to walk between shots during the third stage of its qualifying tournament.20 Casey Martin, a Eugene, Oregon native whose circulatory condition impaired his ability to walk, sued the PGA Tour under the ADA, asserting that it must accommodate his disability by allowing him to use a golf cart.21 The Supreme Court ruled for Martin in this 7-2 decision in 2001 thereby affirming the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals.22 The Supreme Court affirmed both the District Court and the Ninth Circuit's decisions that the ADA requires that a reasonable accommodation23 be provided to an athlete with a disability unless the requested modification would fundamentally alter the nature of the competition.24 The Court noted that the PGA Tour's stated reason for requiring golfers to walk the course was to \"inject the element of fatigue into the skill of shot-making,\"25 but that Martin's leg condition was so severe that that the fatigue he suffers from coping with his disability is \"undeniably greater\" than the fatigue his able-bodied competitors endure from walking the course.26 In sum, to the Supreme court-just as the lower courts-using the cart in this instance would not fundamentally alter the nature of the sport of golf. [...]of such rules, a public battle was waged by University of Oregon student-athlete Steve Prefontaine, the U.S. middle and long-distance runner from Coos Bay, Oregon, who competed in the 1972 Olympics and a year later accepted sponsorship from Nike.31 Prefontaine represented the U.S. in the 1972 Munich Olympics finishing fourth overall in his first and only Games.32 Unfortunately, Prefontaine died on May 30, 1975 (age 24) in an auto accident.33 Still, Prefontaine's public protest, along with others who were discontent with AAU's strict amateurism rules in track and field were not held in vain.34 Just three years after his death, Congress passed the Amateur Sports Act of 1978 (ASA) giving a voice to amateur and Olympic athletes as never had been available before.35 Twenty years later, Congress modified the Act again and renamed it the Ted Stevens Olympic and Amateur Sports Act of 1998 (TSOASA).36 The TSOASA expanded USOC's role in promoting the Paralympic Games as well as enhancing due process rights for athletes by creating an ombudsman position.37 The public battles that the Oregonian and his peers waged in the early 1970s brought attention to the plight of the amateur Olympic athlete's relationship to the AAU which ultimately led to change for the better for all involved in the Olympic Movement.38 B.Tonya Harding Portland-area figure skater Tonya Harding was implicated in an off-the-ice-arena attack on rival U.S. skater Nancy Kerrigan on January 6, 1994 at the United States Figure Skating Championships at Detroit's Cobo Arena during a practice session.39 Harding won the U.S. Championships a few days later on January 8, and she and Kerrigan were selected to represent the U.S. at the upcoming Olympics despite Kerrigan being unable to participate in the event due to the knee injury she suffered from the attack.40 Turmoil ensued after the attack on Kerrigan, and Harding sought legal recourse to ensure that she would not be banned from the upcoming 1994 Lillehammer, Norway Olympic Games, just days away, and she succeeded as her lawyers and the USOC reached a deal to allow her to compete if gave up her $20 million lawsuit against the USOC.41 Also, recognizing that the United States Figure Skating Association (USFSA) was not following its own bylaws, and that such failure could cause irreparable harm to Harding, the U.S. District Court for the District of Oregon granted Harding an injunction.42 At the Olympics, the women's singles were held February 23-25, 1994, and Harding finished eighth place while Kerrigan finished second, winning the silver medal.43 Harding later pled guilty to criminal conspiracy charges-a felony-and resigned from the USFSA.44 In her plea, Harding admitted only that she learned of the plot to assault Kerrigan after returning home and that she took part in covering it up.45 In the end, the USFSA voided Harding's 1994 national championship title and banned her from the sport for life.46 Harding's situation resulted in chaos and legal action.

Le présent article analyse le film Moi, Tonya (Craig Gillespie, 2018) en se penchant particulièrement sur la technique théâtrale d’adresse directe à la caméra. Cette méthode crée un mode d’agitation qui fluctue entre l’effet de distanciation de Brecht et l’empathie. L’utilisation de gros plans faciaux, de zooms et de travellings dans des espaces intimes suscite des émotions chez l’auditoire à travers un récit alternatif de Tonya Harding. Cependant, les scènes sapent continuellement la confiance ainsi développée à travers le témoignage contradictoire et la figure de Tonya désignant le téléspectateur comme étant son « agresseur ». Moi, Tonya s’attaque de façon agressive aux répercussions sociales et politiques à plus grande échelle de la violence conjugale dans les ménages de faible statut socioéconomique aux États-Unis, la consommation médiatique dénuée de toute critique et les structures capitalistes. This article analyses the film I, Tonya (Craig Gillespie, 2018) by focusing particularly on the theatrical technique of direct address to the camera. This method creates a mode of agitation which fluctuates between Brechtian Verfremdungseffekt (distanciation) and empathy. The use of facial close-ups, zooms, and tracking shots into intimate spaces develop audience emotion through an alternative narrative of Tonya Harding. However, scenes perpetually undermine the developed trust through contradictory testimony and the figure of Tonya calling the viewer her “attacker.” The film I, Tonya aggressively deals with larger social and political implications regarding domestic violence in lower socio­economic households in the US, uncritical media consumption, and capitalist structures.

This essay critically analyzes Tonya Harding's defense of her image in Eye-to-Eye with Connie Chung, applying the theory of image restoration discourse (Benoit, 1994). The principle strategies employed on her behalf are bolstering, denial, and attacking her accuser (defeasibility plays a relatively minor role). While these strategies are generally appropriate, they were not developed very effectively in this instance. The discourse portrayed Harding in a fashion that was inconsistent with the audience's probable impression of her. Her lie about when she first learned of the attack severely undermined her credibility, and the discourse did not remedy this obstacle. Several others contradicted her assertions, and she did not challenge apparently incriminating evidence. Accordingly, we evaluate this as ineffective, and public opinion polls confirm our judgment. Finally, we discuss implications of our analysis.

Le présent article analyse le film Moi, Tonya (Craig Gillespie, 2018) en se penchant particulièrement sur la technique théâtrale d’adresse directe à la caméra. Cette méthode crée un mode d’agitation qui fluctue entre l’effet de distanciation de Brecht et l’empathie. L’utilisation de gros plans faciaux, de zooms et de travellings dans des espaces intimes suscite des émotions chez l’auditoire à travers un récit alternatif de Tonya Harding. Cependant, les scènes sapent continuellement la confiance ainsi développée à travers le témoignage contradictoire et la figure de Tonya désignant le téléspectateur comme étant son « agresseur ». Moi, Tonya s’attaque de façon agressive aux répercussions sociales et politiques à plus grande échelle de la violence conjugale dans les ménages de faible statut socioéconomique aux États-Unis, la consommation médiatique dénuée de toute critique et les structures capitalistes.

Creative Space The Tiny Beautiful Things showrunner on the writers room that wouldn't have her, embracing actor notes and the real reason her Tonya Harding passion project imploded When writer Liz Tigelaar isn't on set, in her Fox lot bungalow office or at the Venice home she shares with her wife, their 7-year-old son and two French bulldogs, she occasionally relaxes (and, yes, works) from one of the tonier trailer parks on the planet: Since creating her first series, The CW's Life Unexpected, back in 2009, Connecticut native Tigelaar has become one of the most sought-after scribes in the adaptation business - shepherding spins on Celeste Ng's Little Fires Everywhere, Cheryl Strayed's Tiny Beautiful Things (out April 7 on Hulu), the upcoming Under the Bridge from the late Rebecca Godfrey and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo from Taylor Jenkins Reid. Why did you leave? I was so obsessed with that book [Brian Stelter's Top of the Morning].