Black Swagger Extinguished

When I was a little boy around 10 years old, I remember Mike Tyson knocking out Frank Bruno in the 3rd round of their heavyweight title fight. The pure power on display on March 16th, 1996 seemed to sear the sport into my permanent conscience. I don't remember much about the fight, but I do remember Bruno being totally out matched. My memory seems to tell me that Bruno was beat before the fight even started. (As I got older, I learned that that was what Tyson was best at.) Now at the time, I didn't know much about boxing, but I knew two things about Mike Tyson; I knew he was a boxer, an exceptional one, and I knew, somehow, that Tyson was "tough."


It wasn't because I had this knowledge of the inherent "toughness" that being the world heavyweight champion "magically" endows it's holder with, but in my young mind, the name "Mike Tyson" somehow seemed to be synonymous with something fearful. Something not quite as sinister as hearing the name Lucifer invoked, but I knew "Mike Tyson" meant "rugged" or "hard". I knew rappers would use his name in their lyrics, likening themselves to Tyson's strength and prowess. That night in 1996, I thought I was watching the world's greatest boxer ever by the way my uncles and male older cousins were cheering and hollering. They used colorful language that I wasn't allowed and eagerly exchanged high-fives. I don't quite recall which uncle or older cousin that said it, but something to the effect of, "I'm telling you, Tyson's the baddest motherfucker ever to do it", was yelled out. And almost instantaneously it was rebutted by another family member who exclaimed, "Na, young blood. He good but he ain't Ali." (Later that year, I watched Ali light the Olympic flame in the 1996 Olympic Games in Atlanta. This was my first time seeing Ali live on television.)

Over the next twenty years of my life, a sort of obsession with the sport, more so an obsession with one of the sport's chief figures, Muhammad Ali, began. I have always said there is ONE reason, ONLY ONE, someone of my race should want to travel backwards in time. The opportunity, no, the PRIVILEGE of seeing Muhammad Ali fight in his prime. I've soaked up nearly every documentary, watched every dramatic retailing, read books, and articles chronicling the details of Ali's life and career. A few reading this will remember Ali signing a deal with the clothing line FUBU to be the new face of their "Platinum" line, after their "Fat Albert" collection ended. I'd save up from various jobs and use my earnings to buy shirts and jeans embossed with Ali's likeness and memorable quotes. From the moment I was old enough to truly comprehend the breath of his career, Ali has been without question or equal, my favorite athlete of all time. Mind you the man's last athletic endeavor took place over 5 years BEFORE I was ever born. One could reasonably argue that Ali's last great fight took place even earlier, in 1975. Ali's in-ring skill alone could warrant praise, but the fact that a young boy who had never and would never see him perform, could anoint Ali as his favorite athlete speaks to the sheer force of personality that was Muhammad Ali.


It wasn't his footwork, his hand speed, his punching accuracy, or his toughness as a fighter that endured with me. Rather his fearless and uncompromising persona. Ali's gift of tongue inexplicably surpassed even his enviable godlike skills in the ring. It was his confidence. His braggadocious nature during the time in which he spent the prime of his life that I've admired most. Spending time in Mississippi I have always been uniquely aware to this country's history as it relates to racism, so for me, one of the more fascinating aspects of Ali was that he survived. It continues to be bewildering just how the hell he made it out of 1960s America. Martin Luther King Jr didn't. Medgar Evers didn't. Even Ali's former mentor, Malcolm X was met with a violent end before the decade's end, but Ali survived.


In an age where it could literally be in one's best PHYSICAL interest to be quiet, Ali wasn't. Ali never wavered in his faith and his personal convictions. Ali risked prison, sacrificed years of his athletic prime, as well as untold millions, in protest of the Vietnam War. He spoke openly about the hypocrisy of America. While America was championing war abroad to "free" people from the "tyrannical rule of communism", it feverishly worked to deny basic civil rights for millions of African-Americans here at home. Ali's bravery standing up and speaking his mind, despite the personal cost, is only NOW universally admired. For awhile, I always wondered why we hadn't seen a derivative athlete to Ali. Beside Ali's luck of being born during the golden age of the sport and the heavyweight division, and working to become the best of those titans, I've come to understand that it was the unique circumstances of 1960s America itself, more than anything else, that helped cultivate Ali. No athlete is Ali, because no athlete needs to be Ali.


Gone are the overt racist obstacles that Ali had to navigate in his day-to-day life. The blatant systems of control and oppression pressing on the necks of millions of Blacks have long been eradicated. The death of that America meant the death of those athletes. Racism is a much more complex beast in 2016. Equally as adversarial as its predecessor, just more hidden. It couldn't be denied in the 1960s that something was twisted with this country's logic of democracy when it was granting rights to only its white citizens. Even your wealth and status as a rich and famous athlete couldn't shield you from the dangers you faced if your skin were a few shades too dark. In 2016, money can create this fraudulent cocoon of security that most athletes of color lean on. There's no personal stakes for you if you're a rich athlete. To speak out now would be to speak up for people that aren't you or your family. To speak out now would be speaking out against forces that you, yourself don't face. Where Ali faced an almost moral and social responsibility to speak out, it can seem like a bothersome inconvenience or option to do so today.



Ali wasn't perfect. No man is. He wasn't the most faithful husband nor was he winning any awards for his dedication to fatherhood. However to me, his greatest sin was the way he taunted and mocked his rival Joe Frazier. Frazier, rightfully so, was hurt, angered, and confused as to why Ali continuously leveled him with horrendous racial epithets. Often comparing Frazier to a gorilla, questioning Frazier's "Blackness", or worse of all, outright calling Frazier an "Uncle Tom".  That's a charge worthy of coming to physical blows in today's Black America, but in 1960s Black America, it was damn near worth killing it's accuser.
Those indiscretions not withstanding, the man lived an amazing life. The unanimous outpouring of respect and love for Ali goes to show the massive impact his life had not only in this country, but around the world. Ali has been this bright beacon of Black pride and confidence for young Blacks to look upon for over 50 years. While I was never lucky enough to meet him, I was smart enough to learn about him and get to know him as much as one could from a distance. I'm sadden that Parkinson's robbed THAT man of all the wonderful gifts that made him so special. His motor skills, his speech. It almost doesn't seem fair. But yet, I'm thankful that the world had him, because if man were to tell the story of boxing, of sports, of Black America or just America in general, you can't tell it without mentioning Muhammad Ali.

The Great American Blackout: Why it doesn’t PAY for the Black Athlete to be BLACK

BE ADVISED, SOME LANGUAGE AND IDEAS MAYBE VIEWED AS OFFENSIVE

I’ve always thought that sports are the world’s greatest reality TV-show. It’s unscripted and unpredictable. Sports are equal and fair. (Save for some funky refereeing every now and again.) You roll a ball onto a field, or a court, you throw away your differences, all the talking ends, the game is played and the better men, or women, win. It’s simple. You’re completely at the mercy of your and your teammates’ ability to overcome the other team’s desire to win. Sports has always been the place where it’s about the team you’re on, the color of your jersey and NOT the color of your skin. They (Sports) provide an easy way for White America to accept a black man as “one of their own”. People have a vested interest in their team, so why wouldn’t they have a vested interest in the players, even if some of those players were Black. That’s why sports stars of color had an easier time being accepted than they would at any other job. 

Earlier this year, I had the honor of speaking with a retired Black police officer from Jackson, Mississippi. He was an older gentleman that served as one of the first Black police officers in Jackson’s history. We talked about the struggles he and his fellow Black officers had to endure. When the Black officers tried to arrest White suspects, they were sometimes “vetoed” by White officers. If they did arrest White suspects, the Black officers had to speak to them (the White Suspects) like they would any other law abiding White citizen; like a child speaking to an elder. “I always found it humiliating to have to watch my words when speaking to a criminal" the gentleman said. "With the White officers around, we were always on eggshells. It’d always be “Boy what da hell you just say to him” or “Boy he’s a White man and you’re still just a nigger. That badge only gets you so far”. What we got from the community was bad, but the treatment from our fellow White officers was far worse.”

Sports are nothing like that. Teams were usually isolated from that level of hatred. When your livelihood depends on someone else’s actions, or non-actions, you tend to bond with them regardless of who they are. (When I was in the US Army, a White superior once told me about an old Army saying. "When the bullets are flying, I've never seen a nigger, or spik, or a kike in a foxhole. Just someone in the same uniform that I got on, who could save my ass.")That “us against the world” mentality always helps a team grow closer together. Teams are like families and what's the best thing about family? Family accepts you no matter what. In Mississippi, Texas, and Alabama, places where Blacks aren’t "too popular with the locals", there are plenty of White people in those same stands that cheer like crazy for Black athletes all day that wouldn’t stop for five minutes to help me fix a flat tire.

Somethings need not be said on TV. Even if you are on First Take. Rob Parker knows that now.

About a week or so, ESPN First Take contributor Rob Parker questioned if Washington Redskins quarterback Robert Griffin III was a “real brother” or a "cornball brother". Whether or not he was “down with the cause”. (Parker was subsequently suspended for 30 days by ESPN and forced to issue a public apology.) I’m not going to lie, I’ve had conversations like that about some black athletes, not RG3, and none of those conversations took place on national TV, nor should they. Questioning something like THAT about a Black person shouldn’t be discussed outside of the barbershop. Your barbershop, with people you know and people who know you. It's like calling a Black person an “Uncle Tom”. (Put it this way, I’d rather be called a “nigger” by Rush Limbaugh than be called an “Uncle Tom” by a random Black person on the street. I’m going to go out on a limb and say a lot of black people feel that way.)

Does this make you uncomfortable America?

In sports nowadays, it’s almost career suicide to be too “Black”. It’s good to be a "little Black" because being Black/Urban is seen as being “cool” or “hip”, but it’s a very fine line to walk. Only a few Blacks have the same "pull" in the Black community as they do in the White community. (Only White person I can think of that does this, Eminem.) Hip-Hop provides the perfect example of this theory. Jay-Z can go into any "hood" in America and get just as much love as he would in any suburb in America. Nas is equally, if not more talented in some people’s eyes, as Jay-Z but he doesn’t have nearly the same level of overall appeal. Nas crosses the line of what makes White people "comfortable" and he doesn’t care. Jay-Z doesn’t touch on the same social issues plaguing the Black community that Nas willingly addresses.  (That clearly keeps Jay-Z “cool” in the eyes of White America. Jay-Z's Black but not Nas "free my people" Black or Kanye "Bush hates Black people" Black.) Black athletes are forced to walk that line. It’s why Carolina Panthers owner Jerry Richardson didn’t want Cam Newton to get any tattoos. It’s why the NBA implemented a dress code. It's why Kevin Durant and Dwyane Wade don't have any visible tattoos. Being too black hurts the bottom-line. The leagues know it, the owners know it and the players know it. (The tattoo thing doesn't hurt LeBron James because he's so freaking talented he could come out on the court wearing a blonde wig and he'd still be loved.)

Things like this don't happen anymore.

 We’ll never see athletes like Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar or Bill Russell again. Mostly because we don’t need them anymore. In the 1960’s, for real change to happen, we needed the best and brightest Black stars to stand up and be heard. The biggest Black stars back then were the athletes. (For the reasons I mentioned above.) When things in America “changed”, White people stopped wanting to hear about “Black problems”.  They felt/feel like things are fixed. Like racism is dead because we all use the same bathrooms and water fountains. (Now that we have a Black President, that narrative has gotten a million times louder. RACISM ISN’T DEAD JUST BECAUSE “YOU GUYS” VOTED FOR AND ELECTED A BLACK PRESIDENT... AND I DON’T CARE IF “YOU” DID DO IT TWICE.) White People don’t like to talk about racism the same way your friend doesn’t want to talk about the fat chick he nailed when he was drunk. Like your friend, America didn’t “know any better” at the time and they’re totally ashamed of what they did. Your friend and America don’t want to be reminded of the horrible mistakes they made. The only real social issue left for athletes to tackle is gay rights. (I really doubt an active Black athlete will “champion” this one first, only because being gay still isn’t widely accepted in the Black community, AKA "Da Hood". Which is bull, because WE OF ALL PEOPLE KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE TREATED UNEQUAL.)

Who RG3 decides to marry doesn't say
anything more or less about him as a Black man.

So yeah, RG3 has a White girlfriend and he may very well be a Republican, but that’s not why Rob Parker and other Black people are questioning his “blackness”. RG3 just said he didn't want to be the best BLACK quarterback. He even said he didn't want to be labeled as a Black quarterback. Some Black people, like Parker, think HE SHOULD. (Want to be the best Black QB that is.) If he doesn't, that somehow makes him less "black"? He didn’t/doesn't want to limit himself. He just wants to be seen as the best at what he does, regardless of the color of his skin. Professional athletes are like that though. Ali wasn’t in the ring screaming, “I’m the greatest Black boxer in the world!”. Those guys aren’t wired that way. I’m a screenwriter. I have Black friends that are screenwriters and we often talk about wanting to be the best black screenwriter. The level of competition in screenwriting is nothing like it is in professional sports. (It's definitely competitive, but lets just say there's more testosterone at Girl Scout meetings than there is at screenwriter meetings.)

A lot of things come to mind before you get to
"Black man" when you're thinking about Michael Jordan.

One last story to leave you with. When I was younger, a White friend and I were trading basketball cards. I had an extra Kareem Abdul-Jabbar card and I wanted to trade for a John Stockton card. (Not a smart trade, but it was a rookie Stockton card and my extra Kareem card was a “final years, I shouldn’t be playing anymore” Kareem card.) He wouldn’t do it. I jokingly said, “It’s because he's Black huh?” I laughed but my friend stayed quiet. I asked “Really? I bet if this was a Michael Jordan card you’d do it.” "Yes" my friend said. “But Kareem was a better player than Stockton is. Besides, Michael Jordan is Black too” I said. “No he’s not”, he replied. “Whoa, you’re saying Michael Jordan isn’t black?” I said shocked. “No, he’s black but... I don’t know. Michael Jordan isn’t black, he’s just Michael Jordan, you know?” Right then and there, on that bus, I learned of the power sports can have. The power to transcend a person beyond their race. That there's a whole other level of famous a Black person could be. But you know who else use to be talked about like that... OJ.

Thanks for reading and don't forget to subscribe and share the blog. Join in the discussion by leaving a comment below. Follow me on twitter @ParisLay. Until next time... Enjoy the View!