If LeBron James wants to be a
voice for social justice, as is his right and apparently his desire, he should
read up a little on James Baldwin, who had the ideal comeback for white folks who
question Black folks’ patriotism. The literary genius perfectly captured the thin
line we straddle between
outward affection and outright rejection.
“I love America more than any
other country in the world,” Baldwin wrote in Notes of a Native Son, “and,
exactly for this reason, I insist on the right to criticize her perpetually.”
There’s no need for clarification
when we castigate America. Actually, finding fault with this country is a bipartisan
sport, our side trying to move it forward, the other trying to put ‘er in
reverse.
But the latter group is enraged
whenever we entertain the thought that elsewhere might be better. James caught that
red-hot heat for suggesting America ain’t all that. Such ingratitude is particularly
blasphemous to fake patriots because James is a billionaire Black. He had the
nerve to question if WNBA star Brittney Griner would return here upon being released
from Russia.
“How can she feel like America has
her back?” James said in a recent trailer for the latest episode of his YouTube
show, The Shop: Uninterrupted. “I would be feeling like, ‘Do I even want
to go back to America?”
The outrage was equal parts ridiculous and predictable.
“hot mess (noun Slang) – a
person or thing that is a mess, as in being disorganized, confused, or untidy,
yet remains attractive or appealing.”
Don’t take it from me. Take it
straight from dictionary.com.
There’s even a picture of Grambling State University.
That last sentence isn’t true. But
Grambling’s athletics department fits the definition and makes for a perfect
illustration.
We thought the cray-cray peaked
three months in April, when new women’s volleyball coach Chelsey Lucas cut the entire
team. The Tigers finished .500 in the Southwestern Athletic Conference last
season, good for fifth out of 12 teams. But a
department spokesperson said Lucas had “14 or 15 quality players coming on
board.”
With that, the school made making
national news – again – for all the wrong reasons. Unless being clowned is the goal.
Grambling had barely recovered
from its fiasco in February, hiring an assistant football coach (Art Briles) who
was noted for his “incurious
attitude toward potential criminal conduct by his student-athletes” as the head
coach at Baylor University. Grambling endured four days of intense shaming
before Briles submitted his resignation.
You’d think that was enough
controversy for 2022. But you’re not athletic director Trayvean Scott.
He wants another act, as if his secret dream job is leading the drama department.
Our history on these shores is
filled with a long list of Black women who made gigantic strides for the rest
of us. They hail from every arena, in public and private life, including
sports.
Althea Gibson is one of those pioneers, a woman whose name might sound familiar to many. But some might think she ran track. (No, it was tennis.) Others might struggle to place her era. (No, it wasn’t around Jesse Owens’ time.) Refresher courses on Black history are always welcome, especially now, as white supremacists seek to erase our history.
Gibson ranks among the greatest all-time
champions based on her 11 Grand Slam titles, but also considering where she
started and the racism she faced. Out of all the sharecroppers’ daughters born
in South Carolina in the 1920s, she had what it took to become a trailblazing
tennis player around the world.
We cannot over-emphasize how much
of a badass she was – she had to be – in order to win Wimbledon 65 years ago.
A few generations later, Venus and Serena Williams have made the All-England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club a personal playpen. But on July 6, 1957 Gibson became the first Black player to win there (she would defend her title the following year). One year before that triumph in London, she won the French Open, becoming the first Black player with a Grand Slam title. She won the U.S. Open in 1956, too, another first for our peeps.
“For me, she was the most
important pioneer for tennis,” Serena
Williams told the WTA. “She was Black, she looked like me and she opened up
so many doors.”
Knocking wasn’t the way Gibson opened them, though the renowned street fighter might knock you out like her father taught her. After migrating from the cotton farm to Harlem at three years old, Gibson was as hard and tough as the roughest New Yorker, a perfect shell for invading the lily-white tennis world. Homegirl wasn’t about that country club life and it took a minute.
Something about Mychelle Johnson hit
different when I saw her Instagram
post with the injuries and the medical report and the video of her young
son, eating a popsicle on FaceTime telling someone “Daddy choked Mommy.”
According to the National
Coalition Against Domestic Violence, one
in four U.S. women suffer severe intimate physical violence. But the vast
majority don’t break through the news cycle like Johnson, whose husband is a 6-foot-7,
225-pound NBA player. If Miles Bridges were an anonymous office worker or independent
contractor with a side hustle, we’d hear nothing of Johnson. Wouldn’t know she exists.
But Bridges, 24, is a baller,
meaning family affairs become instant news when arrests are involved. A
restricted free agent who played for Charlotte the last four seasons, he was charged
with felony domestic violence on June 29 and released on $130,000 bond. His
court date is set for July 20.
I’m uncertain why Johnson’s account
of domestic abuse resonates so deeply, opposed to other equally tragic ordeals.
Any of these women could be my daughter or sister, my niece or cousin. Johnson’s
pictures are heartbreaking but it’s her writing that pricks raw emotion. The layered
pain is evident through her transparency and vulnerability, which she shares bravely
and reluctantly.
“I hate that it has come to this but I can’t be silent anymore,” she begins. “I’ve allowed someone to destroy my home, abuse me in every way possible, and traumatize our kids for life.”
Sometimes we forget that international
track star Sha’Carri Richardson is otherwise just another Black woman at age 22,
a young’un by grown folks’ standards.
Aside from being one of the
fastest women in American history, Richardson reminds me somewhat of my daughters
and their girlfriends, all in their early-to-mid-20s, navigating a troubling
era that stresses them and worries the parents. Science suggests that most
people don’t reach full brain development until age 25, but I recall being
a genius at that point. Living longer has taught me different.
Richardson will learn as she grows,
too.
She’s currently in her latest master
class, Managing a Low Point II, with lessons from last week’s stunning
and disappointing performance at the U.S. track and field championships. The
result in her best event, the 100 meters, was pitiful. Richardson failed to
advance out of preliminaries, posting the ninth slowest time in a field of 31
competitors.
The 200 meters was better, as she
reached the semifinals, but not nearly good enough. Richardson’s time was the
10th fastest of 16 competitors; the top three advanced to next month’s world
championships. Overall the weekend was a crushing setback, especially since Richardson
tweeted in
July 2021 that “I promise I’ll be your World Champ next year.”
She was in the storm back then, right after losing her spot on the U.S. Olympic team due to smoking weed. The drug test drew as much attention as her flamboyant hair, flashy outfits and fabulous nails. Richardson was on the verge of superstardom as a fleet-footed fashion icon, but instead became a notorious cautionary tale.
It’s said that nothing beats a
failure but a try. Achieving a goal is the best outcome, followed by attempting
it. Falling short is least of those.
Such mindsets are common for risk-takers
who rack up tremendous accomplishments. NBA superstar Kevin Durant is a prime example. He competed and won with
Oklahoma City and then Golden State, but his efforts in Brooklyn crashed and
burned. Faced with the option to try, try again, or head for the door, he has
chosen to exit.
No shame.
Durant informed the Brooklyn Nets
three years ago that he was coming aboard with his friend Kyrie Irving. Last
August, KD signed a contract extension to remain in town. But on Thursday, less
than 24 hours after Irving opted to stay (instead of making $30 million less someplace
else), Durant
asked to be shipped out. He instantly became one the league’s most intriguing
trade targets ever, a 12-time All-Star and four-time scoring champion who’s
under contract for four more seasons.
His trade request rocked
the NBA and added another layer to his fascinating journey from Rookie of
the Year with Seattle, to league MVP with OKC, to back-to-back Finals MVP with
Golden State. Still near the peak of his powers, his time in Brooklyn was a boo-boo,
and that’s OK because you win some and lose some.
If Kyrie Irving were an NBA
general manager instead of an NBA superstar, would he give himself a five-year,
$250 million deal like Brooklyn can offer? It’s not an easy question.
Maybe he’d be so deep and so introspective
as a GM, he’d determine that the supremely talented and tantalizing player couldn’t
be trusted with such a sizable commitment.
I suppose he’d sign himself in the
end, though, knowing he’d eventually act up and the team would suffer regret. The
GM might get fired, too, but the player gets paid either way.
The playoffs ended nearly two weeks ago and we’re still adjusting to the hardwood hiatus (shout-out to the WNBA for scratching the itch). With NBA action on pause, the offseason drama is here and a major twist is ahead. Irving’s impending decision will reverberate around the league and the locker room he shares – for now – with former MVP Kevin Durant.
Recently listened to a Tony Evans sermon
on detours, which are unexpected, frustrating and beyond our control.
Clearly, I’ve hit one on this
doctoral journey. I won’t get into the details, other than saying it has
required me to kind of restart.
Yes, I honestly thought I would be finished with this doctorate thing by now, but I’m on a detour and it’s not fun. As Dr. Evans said, they slow us down, change our path and – though aggravating – ultimately get us to the destination.
If you think about it, detours
help you learn new ways of getting where you want to be.
In this case, it has taught me
patience (again), resilience, humility, control, boldness, and confidence. Yes,
that’s a lot, but I’m a whole different person from the sister who started this
journey nearly five years ago.
I’m stronger and think I’m smarter. And more aware of self.
Aware that I can’t crawl back in
time and correct my missteps (or anyone else’s). Aware that I must take
ownership of my process. Aware that sometimes I act or don’t act out of fear.
Aware that it’s critical to focus until reaching my goal.
Detours are like that.
When you hit one, there’s no
choice but to perk up and pay more attention to where you’re going. You even
start to notice things, some that you didn’t notice before.
With each twist and turn, you
learn about your strengths, your motivations, your insecurities, and even your fears.
So yes, I’ve been on a long,
winding, grueling alternate route. But I feel myself slowly rounding the curve
as I learn and grow.
If you’re on a detour, just hold
on tight and stay focused. Take it all in.
They sold their soul for
quarterback Deshaun Watson and got more than bargained for. When he arrived in
March, Watson was facing 22 civil suits accusing him of sexual harassment and
assault during massage sessions.
That number has grown to two
dozen.
Two weeks ago, NFL commissioner Roger
Goodell told reporters “we’re nearing the end” of the league’s
investigation. But he might have to pump the brakes due to recent developments,
making the Browns twist even longer before learning Watson’s fate.
Good!
Cleveland wants to move on from
Watson’s signing, but can’t begin until the NFL makes a disciplinary decision. Meanwhile,
owners Jimmy and Dee Haslam fall asleep every evening (hopefully to
nightmares), wondering what revelations might await the next morning.
Can we take a moment to acknowledge the absurdity of LeBron James’ story?
Born to a 16-year-old mother who
raised him alone, he graced Sports Illustrated as a high school junior anointed
“The Chosen One.” Imagine being a teenager from the hood with your face on 3.2
million magazine covers. You might require custom-made hats for your
swelling dome.
James’ head didn’t get too big, but his
legend has grown exponentially. Then-Boston Celtics GM Danny Ainge said
17-year-old James would be the No. 1 draft pick if he was eligible. Waves of
reporters trekked to St. Vincent-St. Mary High School to chronicle the phenom’s
exploits. “All hell broke loose,” James said in his 2009 book, LeBron’s
Dream Team. “That cover pushed me onto the national stage, whether I was
ready for it or not.”
More than just prepared, he apparently
was built for it.
The hype was unprecedented, unfair,
and perhaps unrealistic. But 20 years later, James has exceeded all expectations
on the court and at the bank, becoming the first active NBA player to reach
billionaire status according
to Forbes. Michael Jordan was retired for over a decade before he hit that
level.
Screenwriters would find James’ life too boring and straightforward. They’d want creative license to add drama, starting with his selection by the Cleveland Cavaliers as the No. 1 draft pick. Placing a teenage player in his home market straight out high school – with an $18 million contract in his pocket – generally isn’t the wisest move. Investor Warren Buffet said he would’ve found trouble with that much success at such a young age, but James was “able to just be sensible and keep his head on straight. I admire him greatly.”
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