Of Michael Sam, Black Folk and the Deity Factor

When I was at Webster University I took a class called Religion and Political Conflict.  It was one of my favorite classes, as it inspired critical thinking. Our professor, Chris Parr assigned us a paper asking the question: Why do people threaten violence and wage war in the name of religion?  I titled my response paper, “The Deity Factor.’

The basic premise is that a person will do most anything no matter how heinous if they believe the orders are from their highest power.  As much good that is done in this world for the sake of the deity factor, there are just as many if not more evil done against mankind. This could range from feeding the poor, evangelism, or strapping a pack of C4 on their bodies and killing innocent people. Logic and self analysis fall to the deity.  This is because the follower believes his/her eternal state depends on pleasing the deity.  Frankly, when dogmatic belief is serious enough, one would do anything to satisfy that longing to be approved of by his god.

What is interesting about the deity factor, is that it’s easy for those to believe their own illogical ideologies, while thinking others are ridiculous.  For instance, I can’t understand how radical Muslim extremist believe that the reward for martyrdom is 72 virgins in the great by and by.  I mean, you blew your body to pieces, and dead people can’t have physical sex.  And what does that say about a female martyr?  She can’t have 72  fresh penises because the sexism that rules on earth carries over to heaven or paradise. Sounds like a raw deal for the sisters to me!

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Unnamed female Islamic radical

There is a segment of the White Christians who inherently believe that they are superior to all others based on their color.  They have used their interpretations of the bible to justify slavery then, and status now.

As silly as that martyr/virgin sounds to most, many Christians, don’t see the similarities or hypocrisy they display when they openly discriminate against the gays and lesbians.  This seems especially true of the Black Christian community.  I’ve had a plethora of discussions with my Black  Christian socially conservative friends.  I am amazed at how they hand select scriptures that supports their discriminative beliefs, but turn an unapologetic blind eye to other scriptures that would make their own lives uncomfortable.  Many are otherwise intelligent and thoughtful people.  But once the dogma of the deity come into play, they turn into blind nincompoops.

I wasn’t always as passionate about supporting the LGBT community as I have been in recent years.  I had never been an all out bigoted idiot, but I certainly wasn’t a friend.  There are some elements within the gay community that still rub me the wrong way.  I still typically frown on what I view as an overly effeminate male who acts more girlish than the most girly girl I know.  I agreed with a former gay male friend of mine when he told me, “I’m gay, but I can’t stand a sissy!”  That’s on me and I’ve been working on growing above that judgment.

A more appropriate critique that I do challenge them on is wanting to be equal without embracing the ability to take a joke. I hate racism but I am able to critique black folk,  laugh at myself and my people.  No group can truly prosper and be taken seriously if its members take themselves too seriously. Some of my gay friends haven’t gotten there yet.

In a most recent conversation on social media, some black folks were asking the question, “Why does Michael Sam have to announce that he’s gay?  What is the big deal?  He’s gay…. I’m straight.  So what?”  I explained why Michal Sam made his announcement.  (As if it wasn’t obvious)  I further explained that these same people who resent Sam for making his ‘announcement,’ don’t bat an eye when a ball player is interviewed after a victory and they say, “I want to thank my lord and savior Jesus Christ who gave us the victory.”  When Kurt Warner played for the Rams, St. Louisans heard this every week.  (Unless the Rams lost and Kurt sucked)  When Tim Tebow talked about his faith 24-7, it never occurred to Christians who supported his rhetoric, that Jesus never threw a pass, never threw a block, made a devastating tackle or sacked the other team’s quarterback.  Public figures give credit to their deity thereby ‘announcing’ their religious beliefs every day.

Christians love it when famous people do it.  It confirms their own brand of faith.  On the flip side, they merely reject Sam because his gayness doesn’t jive with their brand of religion dogma.  I told my Christian friends that to reject this recognition in light of the original question they posed about Sam’s announcement is being intellectually dishonest.  Of course, neither logic, theory, nor the incredible amount of irony couldn’t crack that steel wall of dogma!

mizzou students sam

Michael Sam’s return to Mizzou Feb 15, 2014

I pointed out that… “the real issue for you wasn’t Sam making an announcement, it was what he announced.  To suggest otherwise when you applaud announcements that support their own beliefs  is hypocrisy and intellectually dishonest.  And while gays are catching hell every day, you lack empathy for their struggle while still getting pissed at white folk who are racist against you and people who look like you.”

Look, the LGBT community has been here since the beginning of civilization.   In 20 years, there may not be a such thing as a closeted gay person.  You won’t be able to pray them away… and they aren’t trying to change your minds about them.  Neither will I.  You are free to hold on to your prejudices.  Just keep in mind the flip side.

Every time you criticize them for asking for what is rightfully their’s, (which is to live and be allowed to live,) you sound just like White folk who say, “I’m tired of your black shit!  Trayvon Martin was a thug and deserved what he got!  And so did Jordan Davis. What are you crying about?  This isn’t 1964 anymore.  Don’t talk to me about disproportionate injustice and  mass incarceration rates.  You have Oprah, Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods.  Dammit you have a black president for godsakes.  I never owned slaves.  Shut the hell up about racism already!   

Many Christians I know say that homosexuality and gay rights are being forced down their throats.  And yet this is the same language used in Mississippi, Alabama, and so forth when it came to Black folk as it pertains to equality.

I am certainly not going to suggest that you change your mind about approving of homosexuals.  Just as I am not looking to convince a racist white person to appreciate me for who I am.  But what I am asking you to consider is the same thing I ask of the prejudice:  

You don’t have to love me.  You don’t have to like or approve of me.  But don’t attempt to stop me from prospering.  Don’t kill me advocate or excuse violence against me.  Don’t arrest me for unjust reasons.  Don’t deny me equal opportunities.  Don’t stand in my way as I look to create a decent life for myself and feed my family.  Don’t support legislation that denies me full equal rights that you support for yourself.  Keep your prejudices if you must, but don’t exploit my life and ruin my opportunities because of them.  And dammit don’t support or excuse those who do.

If you can do that, you won’t hear me say another word!

Olivia Pope does Stillwater, or the Quashing of a Scandal

Here is what common sense tells us about what happened in Lubbock, Texas over the weekend:

1: When Marcus Smart the Oklahoma State forward fell into the crowd initially, he never made contact with Jeff Orr. Smart started to retreat after Orr said something to him that was so stirring, he immediately went back to confront Orr.

2: Orr claimed that he called Smart ‘a piece of crap’ and did not use a racial slur, and yet Orr agreed to stay away from Texas Tech for several games including away games.  I’ve been to quite a few college basketball games, and I know that players are accustomed to a lot worse than ‘piece of crap.”  I don’t think that Orr would stay away from his so called favorite team if he all he did was heckle Smart.   Case in point, it’s a common occurrence for other Big 12 coaches to warn players who play against Tech about Jeff Orr specifically.  The school has known about his antics for years.  But since he gives a lot of money to the program, no one has confronted him about heckling 18-22 year olds.

smart

3.  The Big 12 made a decision about both Smart and Orr licktey split, before Monday.  If middle aged Super Booster Orr hadn’t said anything crazy, he wouldn’t have agreed to stay away from the remainder of Tech’s game.  Smart acknowledged Orr by name in his statement of remorse.  How does that happen? Tech obviously didn’t want to offend Orr and Smart took all of the heat upon himself.   The tape that was released by the Big 12 only had partial sound to it.  We only heard part of what was said not all.

I see this as a clean mop up by the Big 12 and Texas Tech.  A finely wrapped present of keeping scandal away from the school and moving on as quickly as possible.   Perhaps Olivia Pope was called and succeeded at fixing another problem.

A Gathering of Church Brethren, Or My Richard Sherman Moment

Richard Sherman’s  NFC Championship game saving play and immediate reaction during his post game interview has spurned a lot of discussion.  The reaction, mostly negative seem to come from two separate parties:  One that is shocked that the gladiator leaving the field of gridiron battle was not calm and composed immediately after making the play of his life.  The second was a selective set of white folks viewing him as a black out of control mandingo ready to devour every white woman in the Emerald City.

I thought the interview with Erin Andrews was awesome!  His raw and unapologetic rant, the result of the competing for the ultimate prize in his sport against a heated rival made me feel as if I was on the field.  While others found it difficult to understand, I resonated being totally invested in stiff competition with personal feelings at stake.  I thought of my own Richard Sherman moments.

One that I will never forget happened years ago playing basketball with some brothers from a church I attended.  We met every Saturday afternoon at a local community center.  The competition was pretty good and the name of the game was to win and stay on the court.  These games often were personal to me because we had rivalries among the brethren.  That was the way I felt anyway…

A LITTLE BACKGROUND

Growing up I wasn’t a basketball player.  Baseball was my sport.  I taught myself how to play through battling against some of the toughest players the area.  I thrived on effort and intuition.  I did whatever it took to win and it didn’t matter if I felt I had to score all of the points or none.  All I cared about was winning or competing at my highest level with no regrets.  I wasn’t that guy who tried to “Be Like Mike.”  For me it was about not cheating myself from within.  Basketball was just a game, but competing in the right way meant that anything less than an all out effort was selling myself short.  If I didn’t stand up for myself I believed I would be punking out.   In those years I was still learning how to be a man.  Part of my personal rights of passage was to match myself up against other men in competition.   Simply put, I believed that if I can play this game and beat guys who were often times better than me skill wise or more athletically inclined, that meant I could compete in life in the career market and otherwise.  It was a self test of survival.

I wasn’t a great player but I could hold my own and I often did.  I gained a lot of respect among my peers.  For some reason, not with some of these guys I played with from church.  I would often get picked last below players whom I knew I was better than. Sometimes I wouldn’t get picked at all.  That would burn me up.  Once captains were chosen, I would throw my finger up asking one of the guys to pick me up.  Sometimes no one did.  I would have to wait and get ‘next.’  That would burn me up even more!

This one particular day I was one of the last picked up.  One of the players on the other team was one of the better players.  He had never picked me on his side.  So once again, I created a chip  boulder on my shoulder that said, “You are going to regret that you didn’t pick me…. ALL FREAKING DAY LONG.”

As custom, we gathered to pray first and play began.  As the games went on my team collected a few wins.  We took on all challengers and different team combinations from game to game.  There was trash talking, and more than a few arguments.  Towards the end of the evening, after winning 6 straight games I was ready to shut it down.  For years I had struggled with a sharp shooting pain down my right leg, which I found out later was sciatic nerve pain from a herniated disk in my back.  At this point I had a hard time walking.  One of the players on the other team wanted one more rematch.  Marjobo and I went to school together so we went way back.  He had been talking trash to me all day long though I was sticking it in his ass.  He was especially irritating and was relentlessly non stop with his rants and name calling.

Sizin'en Up

I have never been the trash talker many guys are.  I always believed the biggest competition was with myself.  I’ve gotten my ass handed to me by some great players.  And I’ve done my share of winning.  But I had no sorrows if I knew I gave it my all against them.  My never quit no excuses attitude is how I got my respect.  On the flip side, guys who talked trash to me often took me to a deeper level of intensity.  My friend Richard Dix knows this all too well.  We played one on one often.  On most occasions the results went about 50-50.  Richard was long, athletic and could jump.  But, Richard’s downfall was his pride.  If he were winning, he had to let me know about it.  He would talk, laugh and say stupid things.  From then on I would start into another gear.  As I would pile on the points he would say something like, “Oh boy, I see you done got quiet.  Here we go!”   I would be in an assassin’s mentality. Richard called it my, “You ain’t my friend no more mode.”  Either way, I don’t think he ever beat me when I was in that state of mind.

I told Marjobo my leg was bothering me.  I needed to sit it out.  He egged me on saying I was a scared punk who didn’t want him to beat me.  After a few minutes I said to myself, “F’it… let’s go!”

The two teams went at if for about 20-25 minutes.  Back and forth the score went.  Game was to 12 but it was win by 2.  Richard was there but he was watching.  Basketball never meant that much to him.  After a couple games, he was just hanging with the brothers.  He was entertained by the drama.  Marjobo was talking and talking.  I never said a word.  Dragging my leg around I did everything I could to rebound and play defense.  Finally we went up 16-15 with one basket to go for game time.  I received a pass on a cut to the paint, went up for the shot and as the ball went through the basket, my inner Richard Sherman came through in front of all these dudes I went to church and worshipped with every Sunday as I screamed at the top of my lungs:

GET YO MOTHERFU#@$! ASSES OFF MY GOTDAMN COURT!  THIS IS MY MOTHERFU#@$! HOUSE!   BUSTA ASS NI@@AS CAN’T F#@! WITH ME!!!!!!!!  NOW DON’T SAY SH#! ELSE!!!!  ALL YA’LL DISMISSED!!!

There was total silence in the gym, except for Richard who was on the floor rolling around laughing.  He said, “I told ya’ll.  Don’t say nothing to that dude.  Just play and leave him alone!”  I’m sure the other guys were thinking, “I knew he wasn’t saved!”

I can tell you over 10 years later that my response was totally unplanned and 100% organic.  It didn’t matter.  My mother, my kids, the pastor or anybody could have been there at the time.  I was mentally out of my mind with a euphoric satisfaction that was probably something like being high on crack for the first time.  My reaction wasn’t who I was on a day to day basis.  But it was within me.  I was a conquering warrior for that moment.   When I went home I could barely move the pain was so horrific.  I had an MRI and had the first of two back surgeries less than two weeks later.  For all of the days I suffered waiting on the surgery, as I reflected back I said to myself every single time it was all worth it.  I was just a guy playing some rec ball.  This wasn’t my career or my life’s dream.  What do you think it was like for Richard Sherman?

Marjobo

**Marjobo Harrell who was named after Martin Luther King, John Kennedy, and Bobby Kennedy (Mar- Jo- bo) was a St. Louis Firefighter who died tragically in a motor cycle accident.  He really was an awesome guy!  Much love and rest in peace brother!  

Throw Back Thursday – Dedicated to My Grandparents

Genrations

PHOTO: Christmas circa 1981 in New Kensington, PA (suburb of Pittsburgh) I was 14, to my left was my father Otis McCaleb, (R.I.P.) Below L-R Grandfather Leo “The Lion” Moore, Grandmother Georgia Moore, (R.I.P) and my sister Darcel (McCaleb) Tyson.

This was the last time I saw my grandmother alive. Still breaks my heart that I couldn’t be present to help lay her to rest. Grandma was a strong willed woman who loved cooking and Falstaff Beer. When my sister and I visited her every summer, she cooked every single night except Friday. On Friday, it was ‘Mustgo.’ I used to ask, “Grandma, whats Mustgo?” She’d yell, ‘Whatever didn’t go yesterday, MUSTGO today!  It took me years to figure what that meant because she phrased ‘MUST GO’ as one word!  She rocked a gold cap on her upper tooth, smoked and drank on the weekend listening to The Bucs (Pirates Baseball) on KDKA radio.

Grandma never missed a Sunday Service either.  Deeply religious and equally superstitious, she would never let me split a pole when she and I often walked to the ’5 and 10 Store,’ downtown.  (Yea the 5 & dime she called it.  Used used to buy me those pajamas with the feet in them. Loved those things.)   But I digress: She would never ever allow a female to be the first person to walk through the front door after the New Year.  She said that was bad luck!  As New Years struck the year pictured above, I had the pleasure of walking out the back door and around to the front to ensure the year wouldn’t be doomed towards destruction! The night of January 1st however, I thought the opposite was going to happen after Dan Marino thew that 35 yard touchdown pass to John Brown to beat Herschel Walker and Georgia in the Sugar Bowl.  I jumped with joy thrusting my fist in the air shattering a bulb from her prized chandelier!

Grandma - Georgia Moore

As far as discipline goes, she was the bad cop!  And she did it well too!  No matter what I’d try to get away with when she wasn’t there, she always, and I mean always found out about it.  She worked at a nursing home by day.  I wasn’t allowed to go outside or have company over till she got home from work.  But my girlfriend Vonda lived next door.  As a matter of fact, we each lived in a brick double-connected 3 bedroom townhome that her grandmother owned.  Her grandma, Lucille Brooks lived at 490 McCargo St.  Our side of the building was 488.  Our families were literally close like family, not just neighbors.  Anyway, I would check, check, double-check all of the windows and peek around the doors, give the all clear signal and my girlfriend would bolt form 490 through my back patio door.

Sure enough, at 4:15 when grandma walked in the door, she’d come home and be like, “Christopher Keith?!!  (I knew I was in trouble when she started using my government) “Didn’t I tell you not to have that girl over here?  Yes I did… and yes she was!  You had her over here from from 11:30 to 2!”  I’d try… “But grandma, we was just watching game shows.  Like The Price is Right, and the $20,000 Pyramid!”  She’s come back, “The price is right for me to beat yo ass with a pyramid!”  I’d think to myself, “Now how in the hell?”  I swear I think that nursing home thing was a front.  She had to be NSA!  I mean, just look at her picture above.  Does this woman look like a joke to you?

One of the reasons I love old people today is because of my granddaddy. (who we called Leo as kids)  After serving in the Korean War he was a race car driver in his hometown of Meridian Mississippi! When I was a shorty, before he got into buying luxury cars, he had a bright red 1970 Ford Torino stock racer that was his everyday coup.  It still had all the racing gages and stuff in it too.  (Like some Fast and Furious stuff!)  And yes he drove it around town like he was his name was Wendell Scott. 

GT

During the week, Granddaddy was straight laced to the bone because it was a work night.   In the evenings, he’d come home, read his newspaper, eat dinner, watch Gunsmoke and Bonanza, calling it a night promptly at 9pm.  He wasn’t mean, but you couldn’t get more than two sentences out of him at a time.  He was just that locked in.  Now come Friday night?  That was another story.  It was like a metamorphosis.

If you’ve ever seen the movie A Soldier’s Story, two of the characters were at extreme odds against one another.  Sargent Waters, (the upwardly bound Negro looking to forge a new way for Southern Blacks through discipline, becoming Eurocentrically bourgeois, and less backwoods colored) vs. CJ Memphis (the good ole simple country boy who loved to sing, dance, and entertain people.  CJ loved everybody.  And everybody loved CJ, except Waters).  My grandfather was Sargent Waters during the week.  But instantly transformed to CJ Memphis from the moment he clocked out Friday night through Sunday before going to bed.

He’d sit me on his lap and sing songs to me;

“Goodbye Joe, you gotta go, meo-myo!  Son of a gun we gonna have fun on the bayo!”  or “Imma dance with the girl with the hold in her stockings and her knees keep a rocking!”

I mean he was the funnest dude in the world!

Waters

He took me with him on his many trips to the local bars and taverns. He would say, “Come on grandson. I’m going to get a shot!” We’d roll and in those days you could walk an 8 or 9 year old right up to the spot. (Always in the day time of course) He would get his ‘shots’ and I would listen as the old men told stories while laughing with one another…which I just LOVED!  I’d look at their faces and as far as I was concerned, they could have been from the 1800s.  Their faces held such distinct characteristics with the various shades and wrinkles.  I pretty much thought they knew EVERYTHING!  Add to that the fact that these men of distinction always treated me with such high regard and respect.  They’d talk to me to see how if and how I’d speak back.  Did I smile, was I unafraid, yet respectful?  Saying things like, “Oh your grandson is smaaaart!” or He gone be something…(looking at me) aren’t you young man?”  ““Yes sir!”  We’d bar hop for several hours doing the same thing…. every weekend!

And don’t let it be a week where I had to go to the barbershop.   That meant an excuse to stay out a couple more hours long way past the time it took to actually cut my hair.  Which meant more bars and taverns!   The guys in the barbershops told awesome stories themselves.  They’d pat me on the head, tell me to keep my grades up and be something!  

Of course when we’d get home and granddaddy was lit up like a Christmas tree, she would give him all he wanted!  “Leo you old crazy fool!  Drunk ass!  Git yo hands off me!  I don’t want no kiss!”  Grandad would say something like, “Now Georgia stop all that damn fussing at me!  I’m grown!  Fix me some dinner!”

This was standard operating procedure every weekend and all summer long!  And it was the best of times!

CJ

Grandma died in 1984 after doing some Thanksgiving grocery shopping.  She collapsed at the local Food Mart while waiting on a cab.  She never drove a car.  My grandfather was at work.  Oh do I miss her till this day.  She never got to see me as an adult, or to see any of my own children.

Granddaddy has since remarried, and has long retired as an electrical engineer from ALCOA Steel.   His wife Judy, who is a lovely woman, is an AME Minister in Pittsburgh.

Scandal’s Season Finale…. May Be Slipping A Little

I was late on the Scandal train.  Some friends at work got me hip to the party.  I blazed my way through the first two seasons via Netflix like my hair was on fire!   Once, my daughter came home from school and had forgotten something important in her locker.  I had to take her back.  But I was in the middle of some serious shenanigans involving Mellie at the time.  I had to pause my episode.  WTH?  I took her back like a good daddy would.  But don’t think I didn’t give her the straight business all the way there and back! I didn’t mention the show of course.  I went with the ‘being responsible’ rant instead.  #VeteranMove

Like so many, I love the show.  Shonda Rimes is a genius.  She can weave a plot and spin a narrative.  Writing good television is harder than it’s ever been before.  This is one of the reasons there are so many reality TV shows.  Not only are they cheap to produce, it doesn’t take much imagination.  Who needs a Rhimes to write a great story when you can just roll out a Kardashian, Honey Boo Boo or a Desperate Housewife in front of the camera?

When a well written show strikes gold, it creates a cult following.  Social media carries it even greater heights.  I consider myself a veteran and eclectic television show watcher.  I was Marin Tupper sitting in front of the TV set as a kid.  From Kojak and Columbo, Starsky and Hutch, and Berretta, Hill Street Blues and LA Law, The Sopranos and The Wire, The West Wing and Breaking Bad, I know good, and imaginative story telling when I see it.  The bar is higher than it’s ever been.

dream on

One of the biggest challenges for a great show with a cult following is to continue to write at the level that rocketed the popularity of the show in the first place.  Success and an abundance of praise can make writers lazy.  I’ve seen it with the best.  McNulty’s serial killer fiasco in Season 5 of The Wire come to mind.  Breaking Bad had some ridiculously unbelievable moments as well;  like Gustavo’s desert hospital on standby ready to pump his stomach after taking poison during his revenge plot.

This brings me to last night’s Season 3 finale of Scandal.  The challenge Rhimes faced, was having the ability to tie up a particular set of loose ends, while giving the viewer a taste of anticipation of what’s to come.  She had to to leave us reeling, giving us water cooler material to chop up over the next several weeks.  If not careful, the narratives can be rushed leaving the cake half baked.

This is how I viewed last nights finale:  (SPOILER ALERT)

Sally Langston’s cold blooded murder of her husband was ok.  I’ve always seen her character as a more fluent Michele Bachmann.  Her husband wanting to suddenly leave her in the wake of having a one night stand exposed with James Novack seemed lame.  But going Norman Bates on him lines up with her ambition to be president.  The fact that she called Cyrus, the man in charge of handling her political enemy instead of her own fixer didn’t make any sense.

Speaking of which, how in the hell did David Rosen’s assistant suddenly come up with an NSA link into Langston’s phone?  I knew they had to figure a way to expose that Langston was murdered.  I have no logic to explain that.

The scene at the Pentagon where Fitz and Eli went mano-a- mano was epic! The president’s insecurities made him feel desperate and powerless enough to talk sh#! about screwing Olivia; bragging about how she tasted as if Pope were a former lover rather than her father.  You would have thought it was Drake talking to Chris Brown.  Eli’s,  ‘I’m a man while you’re a boy’ rant was some of the best theater you will ever see.  It reminded me of Denzel Washington and Gene Hackman going toe to tow in Crimson Tide;  Or Pacino and DeNiro at the diner in Heat.  John Morton is one helluva actor, and Rhimes let him loose on Fitz.  As far as I’m concerned, he should win an emmy for that scene alone!

Pope

One of the reasons Eli Pope could step to the President like that was because he’s was the head of  a clandestine organization (B613) whose power exceeds that of the oval office.  This makes Pope untouchable.  So how in the hell could Fitz flip the script, put Pope on the street and make Jake Ballard ‘Command?’  Jake Ballard?  Seriously?  How does that even happen?

That’s a problem!

Speaking of B613; What is Rhimes doing with Quinn Perkins?  I get that she’s a bit looney.  But her direction started to smell the moment she got involved with Charlie and foolishly got played into killing a security guard.  Hadn’t Huck taught her anything?  Further, because Huck told her she wasn’t a gladiator anymore she then goes back to Charlie?  There was nobody else in that office to talk to her before she walked out?  Don’t tell me she’s that lost after being hard core enough to rip a GPS from her chicklets!

Lastly, the plot of Olivia’s mother being a terrorist was masterful.  The fact that her and Eli are devils in their own right is fittingly and awesomely complicated.  It makes me wonder what kind of person Olivia will be down the road.  Does she have some Eli or Walter White transformational potential?

Still, towards the end the plot became sadly predictable.  I’m sitting on the couch watching the show, and I said outloud, “That plain ain’t landing in Hong Kong.”  And, “Oh, that’s Olivia’s mom calling,” all before it was revealed.  But I’m supposed to believe she shot some dudes akin to the Navy Seals, landed the plane in an abandoned air strip in Angola and made it back to Washington D.C. by episodes end?

narcisse

I’m hard on television shows.  I know it’s fantasy.  But the astute viewer will maintain a certain standard of expectation once it’s been established.  If there is too much slippage to the point of lazy pandering I will cold drop a show.  This happened most recently with Boardwalk Empire.  It has it’s share of blunders in Season 3 but it ended strong.  Season 4 was a complete fail!  The writers just started smoking crack or something.  I finished the season hoping it would recover but it didn’t.  I’m out!

I hope Shonda Rhimes hasn’t lost control of her masterpiece.  And that she doesn’t let the hype get in the way of her creative genius.

Contradictions and Compartmentalization of the Jameis Winston FSU Case

no

After the state attorney announced that there would be no charges in the Jameis Winston case, I listened to a Miami based sports radio talk show via podcast.  The context was ‘IF’ the accuser in the case made up the story regarding sexual assault, would you feel bad or sorry for her?  Of the three person set of host, two said they would and one said he wouldn’t.  One of the host assessed, (paraphrasing)  “I don’t believe at her age she would have really thought this all the way through.”  Another host said, “If it’s true that she made it up she has to live with that in front of her family, in front of her father for the rest of her life.”  The third host said he wouldn’t feel sorry for her at all.  His argument was that there is no excuse for making a false allegation of rape.  And that the consequences of what could have happened to the accused far outweigh any ‘reason’ she may have had.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:

I am a man with a wife, a mother, two sisters and five daughters.  I’ve learned as I’ve gotten older that most of the women I know have experienced some form of sexual assault or abuse.  Sexual abuse towards women is horrifically pervasive to the point that men should recognize that the question is not how many women you know who have been sexual assaulted in some form or fashion.  It’s how many do you know that haven’t?!  This is NOT hyperbole either.  The subject matter has hit home for me several times over.  I don’t envy women at all.  It is a fact that our society, hell our world is stacked full of misogyny.  Women are the last and the least recognized of the worldwide historically persecuted and oppressed people.  It’s not so easily recognized either as it’s so pervasively normal to attack and witness attacks on women’s value and character.  Sexually speaking, men have dominated women for centuries from female genital mutilation which still goes on in many cultures, to rapes on college campuses, in the military, so called ‘date rapes’ within acquaintances, relationships, marriages and so on.  Needless to say, us MEN need to re-evaluate and assess ourselves and ask ourselves if we are treating the women in our lives with the proper respect and dignity they deserve.  Most of the time the answer is, “Hell no!”  Let’s start there!

mysogony

RESPECT:

Giving women the credit they deserve, I have to acknowledge that they have held down the families, the churches, and have still risen to great places of power in society.  In so many ways they have had to learn a develop a cunningness about themselves to advance in what James Brown called, “A Man’s World.”  Women have skills and mental expertise that men simply don’t.  They know men’s strengths and weaknesses inherently.  They can read us like books when they really pay attention.  And yet, the sophistication of the female species is one men can rarely grasp.  I’ve always said that smart men rule the world, but wise women rule men.  (thus ruling the world by default without the hassle) Without them there is a missing element essential to our existence.

TABU:

I think it’s a good thing that mainstream media didn’t go in on the accuser despite the details of the Winston case which revealed she pursued and attached herself to the QB seeking sex.  I think this was in deference to the challenges women have had to deal with day to day.  I imagine they believe that this case shouldn’t take the focus or deter recognition of the legitimate sexual assault victims.  (see statistics)

What should not go unsaid however, is that women are sexual beings.  They enjoy sex.  They are not just submissives but also dominates.  This is a newsflash to many Americans as we tend to view women and women’s bodies from a religiously conservative perspective.  Thus the dichotomy of boys sowing oats for sexual explorations while women’s are not afforded the same privilege.  I can’t even imagine how hard it is for women to navigate through these messages growing up.  Nevertheless, women and their sexuality eventually manifest through the cracks.  They get it in even in the most male dominated venues.

So called ‘groupies’ have existed for decades.  Just look at any episode of Behind The Music.  Women used to throw their panties at Teddy Pendergrass, Marvin Gaye and Tom Jones concerts.  There are women who seek the affections of ‘ballers,’ (high school, college and pro.)  At FSU they call them, “Cleat Chasers”.   (Yes they have a name for it.)  Many are very deliberate in the fashion in which they pursue and dare I say attempt to conquer their targets.

supa

Look at someone like Karrine Steffans.  She wrote a book on how she sexually conquered dozens of celebrities.  She bragged about it.  And yet when she was on the Tom Joyner morning show was got offended and hung up the phone when Jay Anthony Brown referred to her as “Super Head.”  She gave herself that name and was promoting a second ‘tell all’ sexual conquest book.  But she was offended as if Jay was disrespecting her.  Are you kidding me?  But she is hardly the only one.

As this relates to the Winston case, from the pages in the report, she was not only a willing participant, but initiated and pursued the entire event.  Along the way something happened that caused her to make a decision to tell a plethora of false narratives that could have put an innocent man in jail and ruin his reputation.  Sexual promiscuity among young people is a side issue worthy of debate.  Winston himself said he has some growing up to do.  But otherwise, the only thing that happened was a consensual sexual experience between consenting adults.  The only victim in this case was a man who was accused of taking something from her that she didn’t generously give.

To go even deeper specifically as it relates to racial matters, most of my adult life I’ve heard older black folk tell their sons before they go to college, “Don’t go messing with them white girls when you get in that school.”  Translation: There is no trouble for a young black male like ‘white girl’ trouble.  Having an interracial relationship is one thing, but if it turns negative and the authorities get involved, you’re a gonner!  Even if you don’t make jail the chances of getting kicked out of school are massive.  The black male is the one going to catch hell regardless of what really happened.   Or as Ice Cube said, “Smilin’ cuz you out on a date, But sooner or later, the bit#!’ll yell rape.  Soon as daddy founds out you a jigaboo, he’ll kill like he did Emmitt Till.”  (Don’t shoot the messenger.)

If the state attorney decided to take this case to a grand jury, chances are Winston would have been charged.  A grand jury will indict anything including my pet cockatiel.  Sure we would have found out about the details a year or so later during trial.  If he would have been found innocent, (cause that’s not a sure thing) in the meantime at best, Winston would have been dismissed from the team, possibly from school and his family name tainted for life.  His sexual cavalierness is not justification for suffering a lie and being dragged through the legal system.

sex education

FINALLY:

This case should be another example of why we need to educate young people on sex, sexuality, education and self respect.  Men have used and abused women as sexual objects for centuries.  This must stop if we are ever to be about anything seriously. Women need to be able to express their own sexuality freely as validated people without the stereotypes of being called sluts, whores etc.

I as a man am willing to hold sound off in holding other men responsible for the way we have disrespected and abused women over time.  Equally so, women should hold women accountable, in calling out those who use sex as a means of weaponry.  Women who willingly do the deed, then tell lies to protect their reputation from friends, boyfriends and parents.

Day 3, Are you kidding me?

knee braces

Say hello to my little friends!  These are the 4 way adjustable hinged knee braces I wear every night to my basketball games.  Though they look like a bulky mess actually they allow for quite a bit of freedom.  I am not slowed down in the least bit.   And best of all, they take the pounding OFF of my knees so I come away with no pain whatsoever on most nights such as tonight after two games at a JV tournament.

Back to Day 3; Well the good news is that I did walk another 4 miles of power walking today.   The bad news is that while adjusting the volume on my cell phone while listening to a book, I dropped the thing clean on the concrete!  For the first time I had one of those phones with the cracks all over the screen.  Not just any cracks either, but the cracks you can actually feel.  Thank goodness for insurance right?

The second part of the bad news is that while I was closing in on the last mile and a half or so, I got this rubbing irritation on the back of my left heel.  Though I took my shoe off and adjusted my socks, I couldn’t get the rubbing to stop.  The results was the onset of a big blister on the back of my heel.  This is just what i needed considering that I am working multiple games ever day until December 22nd.

Walking was a pain and I had no idea how I was going to ref the games tonight without clean rubbing the skin off the heel.

There are two things officials need to know when entering a gym.  1) Who is the administrator?  2) Do you have a trainer on staff?

I met the administrator at the door who directed me to the trainer.  After explaining my dilemma, she treated and wrapped the heel to perfection.  To my relief, it felt at least 90% better!  Crisis averted!

Game on!