By Anthony McClean, Editor In Chief Emeritus NEW HAVEN (BASN) —...
Hello, Police? We’ve Lost Our Negro!
To hear the drama come out, you would think someone had died.
As The Stomach Turns:
New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady, after a clean hit from a Kansas City Chiefs’ defender, injured his knee and is declared finished for the season. Saints preserve us! T’was if the all the Salem witches were conspiring to drop some pre-marital hex upon Belichick and the Patriots because they cheated and disrespected the spirit of sportsmanship and fair play the suits at Park Avenue pretend to care about (one theory, anyway).
Now we’ll see how well Belichick can really coach; karma’s a bitch, ain’t it, Bill?
For all of Brady’s greatness, one monkey don’t stop no show; even a show on a stage as grand as the NFL. On the heels of Daunte Culpepper’s recent retirement from the league because he dared be smart enough to know how to keep track of his money by being able to write and balance his own checkbook (thus not needing an agent to negotiate his deal) the question needs to be asked: Are there really 64 guys playing in the National Football League right now better than Daunte Culpepper?
If your answer is yes, it doesn’t matter what I say; but if the answer’s no, it comes back to something I’ve long alluded to over several columns; but I’ll get back to that.
The Young and the Senseless:
Meanwhile, Tennessee Titans’ quarterback Vince Young (not a doctor, but needed one on T.V.), besieged by fickle fans, a feckless front office and receivers who can’t catch the damn ball (sound familiar?) helps his beleaguered team win their opening game against league contender and in-house rival Jacksonville.
For his efforts, Young, who endured such a cacophony of catcalls I thought he was playing against my Iggles in Philly, took an emotional smack upside the head from the home faithful.
So Brotha Man looks to get away from things like many do when we’ve had a bad day. According to accounts, Young leaves his cell phone at home, and goes off. Because no one can find him for four hours, a concerned person connected either as family or friend calls coach the Titans, who then call the police…
“This is the 911 Operator; what is the nature of your emergency? Hello, uh, we’ve lost our Negro…”
“Sir, for missing persons one has to be unaccounted for at least 48 hours;”
“No, YOU don’t understand; this is the Tennessee Titans – we’ve lost our Negro.”
“One Adam – 12; see the Man; missing Black male, strong arm suspected of not leading his football team; attention all available units — do not shoot on sight – Negro is property of the NFL.”
Young was later found — reportedly chillin’ and eating while watching football at a friend’s house. My brother Vince, maybe next time you won’t be so quick to piss on Donovan McNabb when he spoke up about Black quarterbacks having to do extra. McNabb was right; and everybody else in the damn league knows he spoke the truth, too.
In hearing just the immediate fallout on this, very few have spoken positively about Young’s restlessness. Never mind he hasn’t enough of a supporting cast to allow him to maximize his skill sets; just put those asses in the seats, Vince — and we’ll be okay.
Because we will pimp your Black ass out until we can’t get any more out of you; we’ll worry about winning games when it becomes absolutely necessary…
It’s either his throwing motion or his mechanics or the stupid Wunderlich score (again why isn’t Grambling’s Bruce Eugene holding a clipboard somewhere in the NFL if that score meant so much? He scored 41 out of 42!)
Or something — anything — to imply inferiority; but most Monday morning QBs discard the fact that with little or no help, Young is 18-11 in his NFL career as a starter.
This reflects the same argument which has sat in my craw regarding Randall Cunningham and his shameful exclusion off the Hall of Fame ballot by the cowards in Canton, Ohio; let’s see Peyton Manning and Brady play with this offensive line and receivers, and see how many wins they crank out.
But of course, Vince Young can’t handle the emotional responsibility.
Bullshit — you know you pay the cost to be the boss, Vince; so pick up on this tough love I’m sending. Because objectivity of the “what if?” notwithstanding, you have been branded as “fragile” by certain members of the media; some of the same muthafuckas, no doubt, who have slapped you on the back and sucked up like bitches when you did well.
And every Black college quarterback is already being shifted to wide receiver or tailback (ain’t that right, Mr. White?) or devalued because they know NFL front offices will do their best to keep it white. (You know, someone really ought to take a chance on a fine young man like Chase Daniel…)
Anyway, welcome to the Fishbowl Dome, Vince. Brought to you by your local cell phone company — don’t leave home without it; ever again.