Until the Next Sports, Media and Race Controversy...

The appropriate reaction to it all.

What we’ve witnessed in the last week is another chapter in the Book of Racism in Sports. For those who've heard about it all week, I'm sick of it, too. If you haven’t heard, however, a bunch of people have responded to this:

“I hated Duke, and I hated everything Duke stood for. Schools like Duke don't recruit players like me. I felt like they only recruited black players that were Uncle Toms.”

Jalen Rose’s comments – which he said reflected that of an 18-year old (and seemingly immature) kid – and his defense of them have elicited numerous columns, blog posts and other responses that range from misguided support (many assume this is how he feels NOW) to the usual disgusting hate speech on the races. Grant Hill’s response on the New York Times added more fuel to the fire along with more snarky critiques and side-taking.

All this week has shown this perpetual optimist is that no matter how much well-intentioned people seek it, media nerds clamor for it or ivory-tower academics demand it, there is one thing that we will never have in the United States.

There will never be a national conversation about race.

Twitter and Facebook don’t count, friends.

More than every other form of entertainment, sports inspire the strongest and most vitriolic commentary society can witness. Because the output of these games come from physical exploits (though there’s the use of the total being involved), fans and media can only infer and project their personal beliefs onto the action. We’ll make our assumptions based on body language and reactions to calls and plays, physical appearance and interactions with teammates and opponents.

When the participants – players, coaches and managers, executives, agents, etc. – do speak to the world, that’s when our senses sharpen a bit more. We’re more scrutinizing of their words because unlike musicians and actors, we don’t get a chance to hear from them outside of these dedicated times (press conferences, scheduled interviews, etc.). When one decides to create or take part a venture outside of those times, such as ESPN’s documentary – Rose, himself, was an executive producer – we have a chance to parse their words more. They give us insights that wouldn’t come up in the course of the game, season or even career as they are too caught up in the moment to reflect.

More often than not, people don’t like what they hear from athletes. How many times have you uttered, thought or heard the phrase “just shut up and play”? Ideally, these folks exist for our mere entertainment, not for having a voice, right? It doesn’t help when someone utters something regarding race.

Within a week, we’ve taken this “Uncle Tom” commentary and flipped it on its ear over and over again. Even the game played between both alma maters central to this controversy once again stood for so much more as Duke once again got the better of Michigan. We’ve thrown our opinions and experiences in hopes of having some grand-scale conversation, yet instead, we’re having intellectual show and tell. This controversy has compelled anyone with a platform (myself included, but in private) to show scars of racism, try to prove that we’re not racist or unfortunately defend personal bigotry.

We are an exclusive lot, though. The people who keep these controversies in the air more often are us media people (proficient bloggers count, too). We love having something to run with for days on end until some other sports figure has a case of foot-in-mouth disease. We come up with all of these concepts and analyses, but we never solve the problem the controversy presented. We come up short because we aren’t inclusive of all the people who hear or read these words.

We assume that because these conversation are had among the media and our most passionate consumers that ‘everyone’s talking about it’. Racism isn’t just discussed when someone utters unfortunate words; it’s talked about on street corners, on park benches, in break rooms and trendy restaurants. While we scream, stomp and demand you pay attention to us, millions of people are speaking in hushed tones and away from our purview.

For whatever reasons, they don’t trust us. Whether it’s a difference in credentials, personal experiences or history burned to memory, these people aren’t talking to us. They’re enduring and/or perpetuating the discrimination that made Rose’s comments so jarring and such ‘great’ sports radio talk. However, their absence – or exile, rather – from the media chatter keeps the ideal national conversation about race just that; ideal. Mythical, even.

Maybe a large part about these reactions is that mind-numbingly absurd belief that there's one universal perspective of the black community or any other community. Many assume that all ethnic groups live the same way and share the same experiences. That couldn’t be far from the case. Not all white people come from posh backgrounds and not every black person came up hard scrabble in the streets. Not every Latino hopped a fence or rode a shoddy raft to come to the States and not every Asian person grew up with a ‘Tiger Mom’.

What we’ve also done, what’s kept this at the tip of many tongues is not dig into the truth. Many refuse to dig into their own discrimination while others choose to ignore the existence of racism. In that, we’ve also killed any chance by having that mythical conversation. In a lot of ways, these moments are nothing but opportunities to get academic or grab headlines. In another regard, demands for ‘the national conversation about race’ is code for ‘let’s pile on the white man’.

But we’ve been spinning this wheel for how long now?

“Uncle Tom” and the subsequent responses were just the media racial craze of the moment. At this point, we really don’t care about the legacy of The Fab Five; at least in the short term. A year from now, people will believe what they always did before “Uncle Tom”. Either this collective was a trend-setting champion for urban black America, a system-bucking destroyer of white sports culture or in complete honesty, a team whose defense could have been a lot better.

What we do care about is where the next race-driven sports media dialogue takes place. We media folks should use “Uncle Tom” as a lesson for ourselves and future generations and just maybe, some of us will. Yet, as an almost under-the-radar comment proved, we’re looking to point out a lack of smarts or awareness from others instead of being honest with ourselves. Rose, Hill and other athletes will become someone else soon enough and we’ll spin this wheel again.

Thirst

Still have his old Filas lying around the house?

Forward (VI)

After this, just one more. A smorgesborgh, if you will, of other sports to watch out for throughout 2008. For now, this sixth installation speaks about the most criticized and self-critical league ever known.

NBA: Will we keep looking for the Next Jordan? A while back in Sideshow, an article from Page 2’s (ESPN) Chuck Klosterman was referenced. It’s probably the most truthful article written in decades, if not ever, about the National Basketball Association. He described the league as “hopelessly, endlessly, incorrigibly narcissistic,” but explained further:

“When people hear the word "narcissistic," they associate it with egotism, but that's not really accurate. The failing of the mythical Narcissus was not his obsession with himself; it was his obsession with his image. And this is what prompts the NBA to wrestle with itself. No other league is as preoccupied with how others feel about its product.”

This is the league, however, that recreated the template of sports superstardom that is hard for anyone to duplicate. The emphasis on the individual is unlike any other from a team sports organization. From the unusual physiques to the near-nudeness due to the uniforms, NBA players are arguably the most recognizable athletes in the industry. The potential for these athletes, however, to transcend the sport took some time and luck to determine.

Baseball players were some of the first due to their early start in the sports landscape. Football stars followed suite once the NFL began to grasp the power of television. Yet, because the NBA has always been in some sort of need for revival, the singular face of the league was undefined. The Bill Russell-led Celtics, Oscar Robertson-led Royals and Wilt Chamberlain’s 76ers and Lakers were not enough, despite their uncanny talents and public demeanors. Race plays a significant role, whether we like it or not, but there was something else that not even Magic Johnson or Larry Bird in the 1980s possessed.

Somehow, Michael Jordan had it.

Before Jordan, it took the press’ unquestioned pulse on the sports world and some social firestorms to make athletes seem bigger than life. Muhammad Ali (and Jack Johnson before him), Joe Louis, any Yankee Hall-of-Famer, Johnny Unitas, Jim Thorpe, you name it. Though Fortune 500 companies had long ago made their foray into sports, the union between Jordan and Nike changed how popular athletes would be introduced to the world on a grand scale. That very union attracted many other offers for him and started a tidal wave of endorsement deals and sponsorships that has yet to show signs of subsiding.

Jordan has the looks, the talent, the accolades, the insatiable drive to dominate and an apparent apolitical stance that offended neither consumer nor business. He was the first black star athlete with undeniable crossover appeal. Even in a progressive era as the 1990s, this was unique and it was hard to imagine that the Association, or any league, could find similar success with another player.

They’re still searching for it.

When Jordan first retired following his third title with the Chicago Bulls, roundball columnists were asking who would become ‘The Next’. The roll call: Harold Miner, Penny Hardaway, Grant Hill, Jerry Stackhouse, Vince Carter, Tracy McGrady, Kobe Bryant, Dwayne Wade and the highest anointed of them all, LeBron James. Not surprisingly, most of those players had or have reached just a fraction of Jordan’s popularity with the public and the corporate community (and ‘Baby Jordan’ Miner faded rather quickly). The expectations were unfair and unrealistic, but that hasn’t stopped the A from trying again with Wade and James. All the while, a different brand of superstar emerged that countered the ‘clean-cut’ campaign for Jordan.

For better or worse, stars with ‘hood appeal’, ‘street-cred’ and ‘ghetto superstardon’ written all over them became the focus on the league. Allen Iverson was the first anti-Jordan superstar (and this moment solidified that status), and he singlehandedly carried a fledgling Reebok into the 2000s. Any guard with a crossover and bravado seemingly followed suit (Stephon Marbury, Steve Francis, Baron Davis, ‘White Chocolate’ Jason Williams). The influx of hip-hop culture with these newer players may have opened new doors in the coded ‘urban’ centers, but it also invited a socioeconomic rift that turned away many casual fans. Race, economics, generations, you name it.

Because these two contrasting campaigns were openly competing for the public’s conscious, every little negative tidbit regarding a player or the games themselves became a referendum on the NBA.

It still does.

You can dissect any news related to the NBA and find that no matter how insightful the discussion can be about the game, its players or teams; the conversation always comes back to the league’s image. A low-scoring game invites people to scream about the salaries of players. When someone takes thirty or so shots in a game, players are selfish and dumb (because Jordan himself never took more than ten shots in any game). When more international players are drafted, it’s becomes some conscious plot to undermine the African-American athlete. When Steve Nash wins two MVP awards, some columnists and fans take Commissioner David Stern to task for championing a white player in a league full of black ones. Can the A get a fair shake? Not when it is so open about its desires of finding another Mike.

The league changed on-court play with new ripples for offense in order to move away from the dominant defenses of the 80s and 90s. The marketing of their already-known and industry-leading community relations initiative (branded as NBA Cares) has been turned up since the Brawl a few years back. Wade and James are the most marketed players in the league; Wade’s championship with the Heat have catapulted him major pitchman status while James was placed in Jordan’s shadow when he was still in high school barely five years ago.

All the while, there are a sign of the anti-Jordan athlete, even within the Jordan brand, Jumpman. Carmelo Anthony, its signature player, may run with Iverson now, but he was categorized with him during his rookie season. Marbury went from And1 to his own inexpensive and successful ‘Starbury’ line, even though his image has taken a turn for the worse in recent years. There were failed attempts to find more of those types, such as the adidas contract bestowed upon Marbury’s troubled cousin, Sebastian Telfair.

It’s apparent that the NBA wants to be admired in the way that few leagues are. The NFL, Major League Baseball and college sports (mainly basketball and football) don’t have these internal struggles out in the open as much as the NBA does. Other than baseball, the aforementioned leagues have a similar composition of players as the A; many black players grew up poor, working-class or middle-class. Baseball, itself, has an increased presence of Latino and Asian players and dwindling number of blacks and whites.

So, why do all the image problems really fall into the NBA’s lap? Because no matter if it’s Derek Jeter or Peyton Manning or even the true collegiate pitchmen, the coaches, those leagues never had what the NBA banked on for the better part of twenty years. They didn’t create nor fall upon what the Association had in the palm of its hand.

Jordan.