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Monthly Archives: January 2010

Muhammad Ali: Genius in Gloves

He came. He saw. He conquered.

Ali didn’t go to college, but would anyone claim  he was not clever?  Ali wasn’t a Christian, but who doubt that he was touched by God?    Ali was not a learned man of letters, but was he not a poet?   Ali never led a movement, but wasn’t he a leader? 

I don’t need heroes.  I need inspirations.  Men and women who live their lives in such a way that they motivate me to push a little further, dig a little deeper, try a little harder.   A man like Muhammad Ali inspires a man like me. 

The G.O.A.T. (Greatest of All Time, naturally) turns 68 today and even now remains in my mind the single greatest athlete this nation has ever produced.  That Ali left a bigger footprint than anyone ever did in boxing is beyond question.   No one comes close to being such an iconic figure who is universally recognized anywhere on the planet.   

I was born between two remarkable men: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Ali.   Odds are I will never do anything  remotely as memorable as they did, but that I am even able to aspire to their level of achievement pays homage to their greatness.  

 

As I said, I don’t have heroes.   To my mind a hero is anyone who does what needs be done when the need is greatest.  There are heroes on the ground in Haiti racing the clock to save lives and bring aid and comfort to those desperately needing it.  These nameless and faceless people will receive no championship belts and no parades will be held for them when they return home.   Yet in their own quiet way they are accomplishing great deeds that are as grand as any knockout Ali delivered in the ring. 

Do I take a certain pride in the G.O.A.T. being a Black man?  Sure I do, but not in any kind of superiority way.   If you believe the hype you’d think every Black man in America was either going to jail or coming out of it.   You’d think we were illiterate brutes good only for dunking basketballs, running from cops, making babies we won’t take responsibility for and shooting each other on Saturday night for one dumb reason or another. 

Muhammad Ali proved  it was not only possible to crossover and win the acclaim and respect of the White Man’s world, but you could do so and not lose your soul in the process.   It’s always a delicate balancing act to navigate through a society not of your own making and keep your moorings.   It is not a requirement  to sell out to get over.  Ali proved it could be done. 

Ali would play the clown but never the fool.   He fought for money but he never sold out.   He could be loud, brash and even obnoxious, but he stayed out of trouble and kept his business private.   Ali was a class act.    

On the short list of people I would be in awe of were I ever to meet them, Ali ranks high on the short list.   Sure he isn’t the Mouth That Roared any longer as Parkinson’s Disease has robbed the world of his eloquence.   Still, even to be in the presence of such greatness would be a moment to cherish. 

In this time of manufactured celebrities whose claim to fame is they appeared on a reality television show or parlayed some meager deed into major acclaim,  watching highlights of Ali fights on ESPN  is the closest my kids will get to the unmatched brilliance of a transformative figure such as Muhammad Ali.   I feel sorry for them but glad for myself that I lived in a time where I heard Dr. King’s words as they were uttered and saw the Ali Shuffle in motion.   

I wasn’t present at the creation, but I witnessed the fruition of Ali’s genius.   The list of those who inspire me grows ever shorter.    Every January 17  that rolls around that I’m here for means I can enjoy in the aftermath of my birthday the raising of a toast to a man who carried himself with such grace, poise and dignity that he dazzled everyone who saw him putting the sweetness to “the sweet science.” 

Being a fan of boxing without liking Ali would be like being a fan of rock n’ roll and disliking Jimi Hendrix or being a fan of jazz but thinking Duke Ellington is overrated.   It just makes no damn sense. 

Boxing would have been dead long ago had it not been for the power and personality of a Ali keeping it alive.  One reason why the sport is dormant and nearly dead now is because there’s no Ali to cheer for or root against.   How many kids want to be a boxer now?   Those boys that would shadowbox in the backyard now see wrestlers and ultimate fighting as the way to proving their manhood.  

The world sure could use another Muhammad Ali.   We probably won’t get that lucky again.    

 

 “I am America. I am the part you won’t recognize, but get used to me. Black, confident, cocky — my name, not yours. My religion, not yours. My goals, my own. Get used to me.”   ~ Muhammad Ali

 
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Posted by on January 18, 2010 in It's My Life

 

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Haiti Matters. Conan, Pat, Rush and Jay Don’t.

It’s no sin to seek refuge from the problems in the world of trash TV and psuedo-celebrities.  But when the earth trembles, buildings fall, people die and the world must answer the cries of the living lest they join the dead.    

The stupidity of a Pat Robertson and the selfishness of a Rush Limbaugh are deplorable and contemptible, but I refuse to let these two trolls distract me from the overwhelming acts of compassion and charity exhibited by people around the world and here at home.   Americans’ like to fuss and fight over dumb stuff. A politician’s gaffe, the egos of two talk show hosts, a billion dollar movie franchise forcing out its director and star and how will American Idol go on without Simon Cowell.  All these trivialities  fade into irrelevance in a time of crisis. 

I’m not on Team Conan or Team Jay.  I could not care less about the petty squabbles of millionaires.  I’m on Team Haiti. Not because I know anyone there. I don’t. Not because they’re Black like me. That’s got nothing to do with it. It’s because they’re human beings. Human beings who are dying, hurting, and suffering. How can I let the blathering of two clueless fools drown out the cries of people in need?

An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.

~  Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

I don’t have time to worry about people who are more interested in airing their petty little grievances than alleviating a child’s pain. That’s on them and their conscience. I’m not pointing any fingers. I don’t have to. You know who you are.

I read an excellent response from a former soldier to some guy who said he’d sooner set his money on fire than give a dime to a failed state like Haiti.   The soldier responded:

If you don’t think the situation in Haiti warrants a shred of effort from you, then just ignore it and STFU. I only hope that in some point of your miserable future, you find yourself in such dire straights, that you have to get on your hands and knees to beg for help while receiving exactly what you’ve given – nothing.

Many years ago, Haiti got hit by a devastating hurricane. While in the Marines, I got dispatched to go there for hurricane relief. We loaded 5 hueys into a C-5 and were on our way. We landed in Port-Au-Prince and met by that despicable dictator, Baby Doc whats-his-name.

At that time, I was rolling my eyes thinking we were supporting this douchebag. The next morning, we flew to the other side of the island to begin one of the most humbling experiences of my life. We had steel 5 gallon containers that got loaded until we hit our weight limit. It was 100 degrees outside with a million percent humidity, but I had to wear my full flight gear – including gloves with sleeves rolled down.

We landed in every little village we could find and I had to pour that water into the most disgusting buckets you could ever imagine. But that’s all they had. Mothers were offering up their daughters to me for a drink of water. It was not uncommon to watch one man cold cock another for getting water before him. I had never seen so much desperation from people that could care less about their government, the red cross, or whatever whiny reason someone might have to hang tight onto their 10 bucks.

We did that for 12 hours non stop for 10 days. There were some places so destitute, that we couldn’t land. I had to jump out and grab water from a helicopter hovering inches off the sandy beach. I couldn’t give them the containers to pour because I would never see it again. When I poured the last drop, we would immediately ascend to about 8,000 ft to cool down, then start all over again. I got a commendation for it, but I don’t think I’ve ever even looked at it because I didn’t deserve it. I simply did what most passionate people would have done. There’s nothing extraordinary about that.

If these people had a choice, I’m sure they would take your crappy life of bitching about charity leaders over theirs. They are poor people living in Haiti because of the luck of the draw - the same reason you get to live in the lap of luxury – luck. Some of you are punishing these people because of the actions of people who have nothing to do with this situation.

Get over yourself and pony up $10 – it won’t kill you. To the rest that have given what they could, thank you for helping the world be a better place.

My mother-in-law is old, bedridden, sick, losing her hearing and eyesight and spends most of her declining days lying flat on her back with a television on she can barely see or hear. But she can still dial a phone and she called to ask, “What can I do to help? I don’t have much, but I want to do something.”

Choices abound. All you have to do is make one.

My wife asked, “How much are we giving?” I replied, “How much today?” We chose to give to Doctors Without Borders. There are a lot of reputable charities out there who have boots on the ground and can use what you can give. Many of the charities list right on the websites how much of the contribution actually goes to those in need.

Some of us can’t give. Others won’t give. Some people see the cause and choose to punish those in need. Others see the need and that becomes their cause.   

Limbaugh could give a lot, but he’s a greedy swine who isn’t hardwired to give a damn  if  poor people live or die.  Robertson could offer spiritual comfort if he wasn’t a vulgar man who pimps religion to mask his hatred.  

As a writer, I need words. Lots of words.  For events such as the Haiti earthquake I have no words.  But even if my words are weak and meaningless that isn’t to say words don’t matter.   CNN reported the story of an 11-year-old girl who was freed from the rubble after two days only to die because there was no hospital available to treat her injuries.

A family member said her last words were, “Mother, don’t let me die.”

If a piddling amount money could make the difference between keeping a girl alive and her dying, how could any human being deserving of the title turn away?

 
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Posted by on January 16, 2010 in News & Views

 

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Teddy Pendergrass: Close the Door, Turn Off the Lights

If you don't know him by now you need to.

If there was a Mt. Rushmore of Soul, the faces of James Brown, Isaac Hayes, Marvin Gaye, Michael Jackson and Luther Vandross would already be immortalized  in stone.

Now Teddy Pendergrass belongs up there as well.   If for no other reason that when it came to the fine art of setting the sheets afire, if you couldn’t get lucky to the macho music of  the man known as “Teddy Bear,” why waste hers and yours time trying?

Long before there was Viagra, Teddy was there with the tonic for your love-making needs such as “Close the Door, “Turn Off the Lights”, and “Love TKO” .

Pendergrass  passed away at age 59  eight months after undergoing colon cancer surgery.  Relatives said he was having “difficulty recovering” from the procedure.  Pendergrass had been confined to a wheelchair since suffering a spinal cord injury in a 1982 automobile accident when the  brakes failed in his Rolls Royce and smashed into a tree.

The other passenger in Pendergrass’s car was Tenika Watson, a transsexual night club performer.   Watson became a person of mystery and her relationship with Pendergrass became an item of speculation, but writer and activist Monica Roberts wrote about Watson on her blog, TransGriot and quotes a 1982 interview with Watson saying about the accident,  “I was concerned about him (Pendergrass). I was concerned if he was really hurt. I feel about him as I do about any other human being. I thought we were both going to die.”

Pendergrass leaves behind a wife, three children, his mother and nine grandchildren.

The Teddy Bear had established his bona fides as a soul singer of the first order during his time with Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes.    Under the production of Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff,  Pendergrass went from the lead vocalist to the unquestioned force  behind the Blue Notes.   Melvin recognized he had a good thing going with Pendergrass and changed the group’s name to “Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes featuring Teddy Pendergrass.”   That’s quite a mouthful, but Pendergrass got the higher profile the hard way: by earning it.

The production by Gamble and Huff took Pendergrass and The Blue Notes turned the group into a force of nature that could do dance music (“The Love I Lost”), songs with a social conscience (“Bad Luck,” “Wake Up Everybody”) and lush love ballads (“I Miss You”).   When Pendergrass went solo in 1976, he cut back on the social uplift and went straight to the boudoir and few singers have ever navigated the line between the sacred and the sensual world as well as he did.

What I appreciate most about Teddy tunes like “Close the Door” is that you know he’s talking about sex, but he’s never explicit or vulgar about it.   When Teddy shouted, You got, you got what I want/You got, you got what I need there’s no mistaking what it is what he wants, but he’s Teddy Bear and there ain’t no need to be nasty when you can just be suggestive.   Nobody could touch  the Teddy Bear when he was in full growl. Even that boudoir barbarian, Marvin Gaye, had to back up and nod in respect toPendergrass when it came to putting together a sensual soundtrack of seduction.

If  young girls and boys think a sexy lyric today is something like  “face down, ass up,/that’s how I like to f***”,  they could learn a lot from Pendergrass who knew how steamy things can get when more is suggested than spelled out.   Probably more than a few of them were conceived while  a Teddy tune was playing in the background.

Theodore DeReese Pendergrass, Sr. was born March 26, 1950 and died January 13, 2010.    I’m grateful we had him as long as we did.  His legacy of music left behind  an impressive “body of work” and I do mean “body’ in every sense of the word.  Teddy says life is a song worth singing so you might as well get up, get down, get funky and get loose.

Close the door.  Turn off the lights.   Rest in peace Teddy.

 
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Posted by on January 14, 2010 in Music. Movies. Media. More.

 

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Oh, what a tangled web they weave…

Na-na, hey-hey. Kiss him goodbye.

I never worry about the fate of wealthy, well-connected and minimally talented White men.    They have a tendency to fall upward.  So, I’m not obsessing over  Harry Reid’s poor choice of words about light-skinned Black men with no Negro accent.  Who gives a rip about Simon Cowell leaving American Idol or if Jay and Conan both leave NBC?    Not me.   Don’t watch their shows.  Don’t give a damn about them.

But I am (kinda/sorta) interested in the announcement that Sony Pictures is parting ways with Sam Raimi, director of the billion dollar grossing Spider-Man trilogy, kicking star Tobey Maguire to the curb along with him.   Plagued by squabbles between Raimi and producers over the direction of the fourth entry, the film was targeted for a 2011 release, but was stymied by the creative differences from beginning production.

I listened to a podcast last week where a couple of movie geeks said Raimi never wanted Venom in Spider-Man 3. His choice was to have the Sandman and The Vulture played by Ben Kingsley. Sony said nope. Put Venom in the movie because the kids love Venom. Oh, and throw in Gwen Stacy as a new love interest (then don’t use her for anything but a rescue scene).

Raimi reportedly didn’t get Venom. Didn’t like Venom and had no clue why anyone did like Venom (I know I never did when he was introduced in  the comic book). Raimi threw up his hands and suggested Venom be introduced at the end to set up the next movie. Overruled again and here comes Topher Grace.

But even if you take Venom out of SM3, you still have a forgettable villian in Sandman and those god-awful musical/dance interludes with Kirsten Dunst and Tobey “Saturday Night Fever” Maguire and that one was all on Raimi.

With great power comes...unemployment?

The hang up on the fourth flick was who the villain(s) would be. Raimi wanted the Vulture again (now with John Malkovich replacing Kingsley) and maybe The Lizard. Sony wanted a romantic sub-plot with Felicia Hardy, the Black Cat and no less than four writers had produced scripts.

That was enough for Raimi and he bailed. Maguire–who always reminded me of the miscast Michael Keaton in Batman–was kicked to the curb as well and I can only hope Dunst, who was good only for her ability to whine or scream on cue,  got booted too.

So where does the franchise go from here? Nowhere good according to Devin Faraci at CHUD.

…Sony’s about to screw up the Spider-Man franchise. Their press release crows about bringing Peter Parker back to high school age in this reboot, and near as I can tell this means one thing and one thing only: Hello, Twilight fanbase. Raimi’s Spider-Man aged in real time, and Spider-Man 4 would have seen an adult Peter Parker getting ready to possibly get married. This isn’t sexy to the 14 year old girls who scream at Robert Pattinson, and frankly neither is Tobey Maguire. Starting over means the chance to get into that tween zeitgeist, and to cast a Peter Parker who will elicit long lines at Comic Con not just from the usual fanboys but also from hordes of screaming girls.

As a friend said to me on Twitter, Sony wouldn’t go chasing lower grosses, meaning the Twilight films have been outperformed by even the weakest Spider-Man film. But they would go chasing the heat of that franchise – the cultural cache and the endless free publicity. But it isn’t like Sony’s choice makes a lick of sense anyway, as the franchise remains in strong shape, with Spider-Man 3 making 330 million dollars domestic. If Sony wanted changes in the cast or tone these could be done in a Spider-Man 4. The only reason to go back to high school is to simply try for the CW audiences.

So we’ll get a dreamier Peter Parker, that’s almost for sure. And we’ll probably spend more time with his romantic life than we had previously, although Sony (probably) isn’t so dumb as to lose the action focus (anyway, girls go to action movies these days. You just can’t get the boys to go to Twilight). They are so dumb as to probably include Venom from the start. Venom, one of the worst things to happen to the Spider-Man comics (the character coarsened and cheapened everything it touched, and sent Spider-Man off into a direction that betrayed the spirit of the comic), is also incredibly popular. It seems exceptionally likely that Sony will shoehorn either Venom or Eddie Brock (saving Venom for the sequel and maybe Carnage for the third, thus making the day of every moron fan who wants comic book movies to be R-rated) into Spidey’s new origin. And yes, they’ll have a new origin because they need to get Venom in there, and to set this Spider-Man apart from Raimi’s. Maybe Mary Jane will be torn between Eddie and Peter. Are you Team Eddie?

"Well, won't be needing this anymore."

Even the flaming turd that was SM3 grossed over $330 million so Sony wasn’t going to wait indefinitely for Raimi to smell what they were cooking. The 2011 release dates were coming and going and that makes movie executives queasy not knowing when to expect the cash register to start ringing.

Raimi’s trilogy of Spidey flicks and produced one good, one great and one really bad. But I’ve always believed that just like the original source material, it’s the character, not the talent, that matters most. There are other directors who love Spider-Man as much as Raimi did and damned sure better actors to play Peter Parker and Mary Jane than Tobey Maguire and Kristen Dunst.

Within a matter of days, the fanboys will find something else to get pissed off over and everybody else will forget about this little dust-up until 2012 rolls around and audiences are sitting down with a $8 dollar box of greasy popcorn while the lights dim for Spider-Man: New Moon.

I’m not going to lose my mind because as bad as SM3 was with Raimi and Maguire, will a movie that’s still at least two years away really suck so much more without them?  By 2012, we’ll have waited five years between movies.  Will anyone pissed now really care that much by then?

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2010 in Music. Movies. Media. More.

 

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Gilbert Arenas Redefines “Shooting Guard.”

Zero isn't just his number. It's also his I.Q.

Next to the NFL, no sports league is as image conscious as the NBA.  Under David Stern the emphasis shifted (and possibly not for the better) to promoting the great teams of the NBA to the great individual players.   Gilbert Arenas has to be included among them even if he and the Wizards have both performed below expectations.

Arenas–an overpaid idiot making $110 million for a team standing at 10-21–gave the NBA it’s biggest black eye since the Malice In the Palace between the Pistons and Pacers. It wasn’t until Arenas came out with a moronic pre-game act against the Sixers where he acted like he was shooting his teammates that Stern dropped the hammer on him.

As the Commissioner, Stern has to be conscious of anything that can damage that image.  Stern had maintained a silence about the incident until Arenas kept making remarks on Twitter and spoke to reporters saying he was a goofball who handled his problems with humor.

A lot of athletes own guns.  After the Sean Taylor tragedy a few years ago, it became evident some of them are targeted.  But Arenas handled things in a reckless manner.  When he continued to try and laugh things off as no big deal, he essentially dared Stern to do something about it. As no one in the Wizards management seemed inclined to, he had to.  After that little stunt in Philly, if Stern had done nothing the sportswriters and talking heads would have gone berserk ripping the league.

Jarvis Critteton’s actions are worse than Arenas if reports are true.  There is some question as to whether a video camera caught the incident on tape.  But Crittenton never spoke to the media and has since retained a lawyer.  Maybe to defend himself from the accusations and maybe because he’s trying to cover his butt.  Who knows?  But I doubt he’s not on Stern’s radar and he’d be easier to get rid of than a franchise player like Arenas.

At least Critteton played it smart.  If there’s fire around you, don’t pour more fuel on it.  Arenas should have done likewise and shut up until the investigations were over.  He wouldn’t and he got squashed because of it.  I can’t say I feel sorry for him.

Arenas doesn’t seem to grasp the seriousness of this matter. He literally laughed it off speaking to reporters. Maybe he’s not familiar with what happened to Plaxico Burress whose love for guns cost him his family, his career and even his freedom as he sits in jail serving a two-year prison sentence.

Pro athletes and guns go together like pro athletes and strippers, drugs, big houses, entourages, bad investments and “the world is mine” belief system. It’s not a shock a baller owns guns. What’s shocking is Arenas said he put the guns in his locker because he has a new baby and didn’t want them in the house.

Agent Zero is on the case.

Say what? Think your boss would understand if you brought your steel to work and stashed it in your locker because you didn’t want it around your baby? Try it and get back to me on how that works for you.

Gilbert Arenas is not just a fool. He’s a fool who doesn’t know why he’s a fool and that’s even worse.

When the hammer drops on him–HARD–from the law and the NBA (A voided contract, A year-long suspension? A little jail time for violating the District of Columbia’s strict gun laws), Arenas will stop laughing and start crying.

The irony is two-fold. The Wizards used to be called the Washington Bullets, but dropped the nickname due to gun violence in the nation’s capital.

Arenas’ nickname is “Agent Zero” and he wears “0″ as the number on his uniform. Never thought it meant his I.Q.

Arenas shouldn’t see the floor of a NBA court the rest of this season. If he’s indicted by the grand jury he could be spending a lot of his time in the courtroom instead.

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2010 in Rantology, Sportstime!

 

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Mr. Beck Has a Negro Problem.

"Now, look! You're not African-Americans! You're NEGROES, dammit!"

If ignorance is a sickness  Glenn Beck is Patient Zero.

Confronting  ignorance gets tiresome because the  ignorant are stubbornly  persistent in maintaining their state of bliss and spreading their stupidity like germs   Beck contaminates millions of Americans by passing on particularly virulent strain of senselessness via his radio and television shows, books and appearances.

Beck and his radio co-host crony’s were shootin’ the breeze over  the 2010 Census and a possible dilemma that one specific group might encounter.

CO-HOST:  There’s a little confusion because there’s three boxes you can check if you’re a certain race. I don’t know what the race is because there’s three different terms for them. Black, African-American, or Negro.”

BECK:  African-American is a bogus, PC, made-up term. I mean, that’s not a race. Your ancestry is from Africa and now you live in America. OK, so you were brought over — either your family was brought over through the slave trade or you were born here and your family emigrated here or whatever but that is not a race.

What infuriates me most about bigots like Beck  is not so much their insensitivity and dumbness, though that does bug me plenty.  It’s their sheer arrogance and how they revel in their lack of knowledge.

If Beck pulled his thumb out of his butt long enough to pull up the Wikipedia definition of “African American” he might actually have learn something.   Perish the thought.

African Americans (also referred to as Black Americans or Afro-Americans) are citizens or residents of the United States who have origins in any of the black populations of Africa.  In the United States, the terms are generally used for Americans with at least partial Sub-Saharan African ancestry. Most African Americans are the direct descendants of captive Africans who survived the slavery era within the boundaries of the present United States, although some are—or are descended from—immigrants from African, Caribbean, Central American or South American nations.  As an adjective, the term is usually spelled African-American.

"Negroes? Nobody here but us African-Americans, G.B."

African-American is not so much a matter of race as it is a matter of preference.    White conservatives revile the term as political correctness that keeps Blacks separate from the larger culture by hypenating their identification.     With the possible exception of the census and the United Negro College Fund, “Negro” is an identifier that is both dated and archaic.   It’s reflective of how Whites once defined Blacks  to their liking .   With the advent of the civil rights era, Blacks chose to  now define themselves with their own preferred terms and without the prior approval of outsiders.    Like Glenn Beck.

I get where Beck is coming from though.  I can see him working here.   He’s running some  “we’re all Americans” smack  and he’s flexing  his God-given, Constitutionally-protected right to bitch as a White, Christian, conservative male about having to call people what they wish to be referred as instead of what he’d prefer to call them.

Last November, Beck interviewed several Black conservatives and even they left him feeling perplexed:

BECK: How many people here — how many people here identify themselves as African-Americans?

OK, why?

UNIDENTIFIED MALE: It’s interchangeable.

UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE: Black, black.

BECK: But wait, wait. No, why not identify yourselves as Americans?

FRITSCH: When people go look at you and said, “You’re black,” you can’t escape that.

BECK: Yes. But I don’t identify myself as a white or a white American.

FRITSCH: But look at you, I mean, you have — you know, we’re black. I don’t mind being black. I love being black. I embrace that.

BECK: No, no. But…

FRITSCH: I don’t embrace the African part of it because I was born here. My great grandparents were born here. Sure, we came here. Thank God we come here. Thank God we landed here and we triumphed here and we overcame here. But I don’t consider anything about me African.

WILL BROWN, NY REPUBLICAN COMMUNITY COALITION: It is a revolution from the N-word. So, yes — I mean, if we are going to be called anything versus what we were called, my preference would be African-American.

BECK: This is one of the problems that I have. And I have to tell you, as a white guy — as a white guy — I’m just being real honest with you — as a white guy, white people are uncomfortable sometimes saying, you know what, Martin Luther King, and then quoting Martin Luther King because it’s almost as if society says, “No, no, no, that’s our guy, not your guy.” And it shouldn’t be that way.

Beck fixates on the “African” and forgets about the “American.”  As if  African Americans haven’t fought in every war this country has waged, contributed centuries of free, unpaid labor and spilled their blood on foreign soils to protect the liberty of others while being denied it for themselves.

There is a duality to being both Black and American, or Negro and American as W.E.B. DuBois explored in The Souls of Black Folks when he wrote,  “One ever feels his two-ness,—an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.”

Beck couldn’t begin to understand what DuBois was attempting to explain.

Black.  Negro.  African.  American.  These are words and these are names.  DuBois used them interchangeably and there are still are those who identify themselves as “Negroes.”   Not many, mind you, but there’s always a few holdouts.

"B-but...I still wanna call them 'Negroes'."

However I reserve the right to change my mind and perhaps what I will call myself if it pleases me to do so.   Whether it confuses Glenn Beck doesn’t even factor into the consideration.

Just because you think there’s going to be confusion when it comes time to fill out the census with  ”Negro,” “black” or “African American,”  doesn’t mean I’m going to have a problem figuring out which one I am, G.B.    You,  on the other hand are going to be  totally discombobulated when you can’t find “Advantaged and Entitled Anglo-Saxon Whack Job” as a choice.

Beck admitted previously he doesn’t have “a lot of African-American friends, and I think part of it is because I’m afraid that I would be in an open conversation, and I would say something that somebody would take wrong, and then it would be a nightmare.”

By that score,  Beck probably doesn’t have a lot of European-American friends either.

 
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Posted by on January 8, 2010 in News & Views, Rantology

 

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Tavis Quits His Ego-Trip.

America’s Second Most Important Black Man (at least that’s how he tends to see himself), Tavis Smiley, announced 2010 would mark the end of his  “State of the Black Union Conference.”   For ten years Smiley had invited African American scholars, politicians, entrepreneurs, and entertainers to discuss the burning issues of the Black community.

I greet this as good news.   America now is spared the unlovely sight of Smiley stroking his monster-sized ego in public.

The State of the Black Union Conference had morphed into the State of Tavis Smiley’s Ego and personally, I had grown tired of the spectacle of Smiley standing and pontificating from the podium about what ails Black folks while leading lights of the nation sat around in oversized chairs and talked, talked and talked  some more.  If talking a problem to death could fix it, Black Americans should have been home free years ago.    Nothing can be changed until it’s been faced, but holy hell, at what point does talk turn into action?  Don’t just tell me the problem.  Give me a solution.

Not to worry though.  You can relive all your favorite moments of the State of the Black Union (or SOBU as Smiley dubbed the event)  by purchasing the DVD box set for the low, low price of $150 (plus $11.50 shipping and handling). Relive the magic moments in 2003 when Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick was still a respected leader instead of a disgraced jailbird.    My, my, where does the time get to when you’re having fun as a self-appointed Black leader.

The finishing stroke came in 2008 when Smiley invited Barack Obama to appear, but Obama begged off citing his need to stay on the campaign trail.  Smiley took offense and declined Obama’s offer to send his wife in his place.    Obama sent Smiley a letter that read:

“I will be on the campaign trail every day in states like Ohio, Texas and Wisconsin talking directly to voters about the causes that are at the heart of my campaign and the State of the Black Union forum such as affordable housing, economic opportunity, civil rights and foreign policy,” Obama said in his letter. He had offered to have his wife, Michelle, speak in his stead at the State of the Black Union, but Smiley had declined. “I ask that you reconsider,” Obama wrote. “Michelle is a powerful voice for the type of real change America is hungry for.”

But the not the type of change Smiley was hungry for.  He declined Obama’s offer of Michelle subbing for her campaigning hubby as sloppy seconds.

“I think it is a miscalculation on his part not to appear and a missed opportunity,”  Smiley said on The Tom Joyner Show.

The only missed opportunity was Smiley’s delusional belief that Obama should have come off the campaign trail to appear at the State of the Black Union to kiss his ring or some other part of his anatomy.    At it’s best, the Black Union gave airtime to Cornel West, Julianne Malveaux, Nikki Giovanni, Michael Eric Dyson and many others that would rarely if ever show up on network and cable television programs.   Whenever something jumps off that requires a Black “expert” to speak on it, CNN calls up Jesse Jackson on speed dial.   Smiley broadened the parameters of the debate.

But only to an extent.  If you weren’t part of the Smiley clique, you weren’t getting any face time on any of his programs.  Certainly if you’re Black and conservative.

Following the election, President Obama made an appearance via satellite at last year’s State of the Black Union, but even then Smiley couldn’t resist patting himself on the back.

“That the president of the United States felt compelled to join us live to acknowledge the power of this symposium over 10 years, and what it had accomplished, raising the kind of issues that helped him get elected– that was significant,” Smiley said.    Compelled?  Really, Tavis.   You could almost hear the smirk in a crack like that.

I’ll miss the State of the Black Union for the exposure it gave to African-American voices whom are normally overlooked by the mainstream media and the public airing of issues of a special concern to African-Americans.

But I won’t miss watching Tavis Smiley’s head swelling up by two sizes.   He’s still got his television program on PBS where he throws softballs to his guests and I guess his radio show comes on somewhere.   Plus, there’s a whole mess of windy books Tavis cranks out flaunting his importance and offering up his own peculiar brand of homeboy philosophy merged with motivational speaking.

Not to worry about Mr. Smiley.  He’s the type of brother who always finds a way to fall upward.  This is a guy whose last book (I think it’s his last book.  He cranks ‘em out so fast I might have missed a couple)  Accountable was all about how cool it is that we’ve got a Black president and all that, but that doesn’t mean we should cut the man any slack.    And who exactly was going to be doing this accounting of Obama?  Why Tavis of course.  Who’s better qualified than him for the gig?

It’s not Smiley’s sincerity I question.  He seems to be honestly trying to bring about a positive change in people’s lives.  What I question is how so much of it seems to be wrapped up in selling Tavis Smiley as a brand name.   For all of Smiley’s supposed “fight the power” posturing, he enjoys a cozy relationship with Corporate America.   The State of the Black Union was frequently underwritten by such sponsors as the union-busting Wal-Mart, Exxon Mobil, Nationwide Insurance and Wells Fargo.  Smiley severed ties with Wells Fargo after reports emerged that their 2005 “Wealth Building” seminars hosted by Smiley steered Black participants into high-rate subprime loans.

I’m all for holding Obama accountable.  But let’s not stop there.   Let’s hold all politicians accountable and including those who happen to share a skin pigment with 30 million other Black folks.  We should also hold the athletes, entertainers, talk show hosts, authors and self-styled “leaders” accountable.

 
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Posted by on January 7, 2010 in News & Views

 

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A Tale of Two Bowl Games

The University of Cincinnati Bearcats

Before they fizzled, the Bearcats sizzled.

It was an odd season for college football in Ohio.  I live in Columbus, a city obsessed with it’s beloved Ohio State Buckeyes.  I don’t live and die with the Bucks, but for sentimental reasons I prefer to see them win and not lose.  But in 2009 they were only the second best college football team in the state. The best were the University of Cincinnati Bearcats.  They finished the season at 12-0 and ranked third in BCS standings.  Unfamiliar territory for the Bearcats program, but ahead of the mighty Buckeyes who ranked eighth with an 11-2 record.    

The Buckeyes, losers of their last three BCS   bowl games gained a measure of redemption by beating the Oregon Ducks, 26-17 in the Rose Bowl.   Quarterback Terrelle Pryor piled up 338 yards of offense and served up a big cup of shut the hell up to the local couch coaches who stupidly suggested he might be more effective if he were moved to  running back or receiver following  a rotten game in a loss to Purdue . 

The Bearcats got far less enjoyment out of their time in the national spotlight.  UC got romped and stomped by the Florida Gators in the Sugar Bowl by an embarrassingly lopsided 51-24 ass whipping.   It was a depressing finish for what was a glorious season for the Bearcats.   But really, they came into the game more than just underdogs to the Gators.    The Gators were playing to send off their Heisman winning quarterback to the NFL and were even more stoked by the fact that their head coach, Urban Meyer, had announced he would be stepping down due to health concerns, only to later reverse himself and say he would instead take an extended leave of absence from football.  

 While everything came up roses for the Bucks, things were bittersweet for the Bearcats. 

 Florida had every reason in the world to play hard.  UC was robbed of  their motivation by coach Brian Kelly when  abandoned the team prior to the Sugar Bowl to take a more prestigious and lucrative job with Notre Dame.   UC was led by interim coach Jeff Quinn, the offensive coordinator who would be leaving after the game to become the head coach at Buffalo.  Unlike Kelly, Quinn decided to stick around long enough to and finish the job he had started.

 But UC looked listless and played like they were in a daze for the first three quarters.  By the time they woke up the game was essentially over.  The only question was how big of a can of whup-ass Florida was going to open on them.      Despite their perfect record and higher ranking, UC went into the game as an underdog to Tim Tebow and the Gators. 

 For good reason as it turns out.   The Bearcats were outmatched,  but I don’t care what anyone says.  I will always believe Kelly ran out on his team and abandoned them just before playing the biggest game in the history of Bearcats football.   I understand when you’re going from a dinky 35,000 seat stadium and a small program to the grand stage that is Notre Dame and the millions of dollars that comes along with it, the first inclination is to say, “Hell, yeah!” when they come a’courtin’.  

Sorry, TP, but the Buckeyes were only Number Two in the state in 2009.

It doesn’t make it any less shitty a move though.   I’ve argued with people who know college football far better than I and explain Kelly had to hit the ground running and move on to his new job immediately.  I hear that line of reasoning and I can even understand it.    Regardless of  his reasons, Kelly running out on the kids who believed in your program and bought into it at the 11th hour is still a bitch move.  

 I enjoy watching the Buckeyes play and whenever the ball is in Pryor’s hands something magical (or awful) can happen.   I simply preferred the Bearcats’ wide-open and exciting brand of attacking football.  Jim Tressel coaches a conservative, low-risk game while Kelly took the leash off of his offense and told them, “You guys go make plays.”   

 Tressel built the Bucks around Pryor’s legs and arms (in that order) while 100 miles down the road Kelly depended upon a high-wire offense and a serviceable defense.  One program revolved around an uncannily talented athlete and the other around building the perfect beast of a team.    

Both the Bucks and the Bearcats enjoyed extremely exciting seasons, but only one was able to truly savor it together as players and coach. 

  Real sorry about that Bearcats, but it’s just another reminder that college football is about making money and taking care of business.  The schools and the coaches make the money and if they have to crush the dreams of young men to earn it they always will and without a second thought or a look back.

 
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Posted by on January 2, 2010 in Sportstime!

 

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