Straight No Chaser: My NFL Dilemma

By Desi Cortez, BASN Columnist
Updated: December 5, 2009

Jim Caldwell

Jim Caldwell

DENVER (BASN) — It’s been a long, long time since I’ve been this torn; I’m an Indy fan going back to Baltimore, Lydell Mitchell and Joe Washington, his hand painted silver shoes brought with him from the OU running back factory, but my heart goes out to the dark-horse, the perpetual underdog, the Black Sheep, Vince Young.

I’m reminded of OU guys like Greg Pruitt, the reason why they created “tear-away jerseys,” Elvis Peacock, Billy Simms, Marcus Dupree, David Overstreet, Kenny King and QB Thomas Lott.

However, I recognize Jim Caldwell’s 11-0 start as being somewhat slighted by sports writers across the land . . . . Caldwell’s not some 32-year old blond boy-wonder, so going undefeated in his rookie season, extending the Colt standard of excellence Tony Dungy established is, in all Rush Limbaugh honesty, have the sports press tell it – solely due to Peyton Manning and Tom Moore.

Caldwell is an after-thought, a non-essential component of their winning.

So, as I declared, I’m torn like Archie Manning when the Giants take on Indy – what beloved son do I root for today?

What makes this decision so damn complicated . . . ? So very much is at stake. Both men represent endangered rare spices; the Black head coach and the Black field general; the White man’s court of public opinion has long whispered and quietly enforced their racist summation; a Black man is not mentally nor emotionally equipped to excel at either.

I derive a warm feeling inside when that opinion is obliterated by Black men . . . who’ve achieved all they have . . . against all the man made obstacles placed in their paths.

So, because of a bruised pride, an unflinching ego, a burning yearning for the truth to be had, and vengeance – a settling of the score if you will . . . .

since I was a little boy, I along with most of my peers, other black men, now in their 40′s, rooted for the brother to whip that white boy’s ass . .

. in whatever the athletic endeavor it was, strictly out of a desire for reality to prevail.

Perhaps it might be this was a behavior I copied; my father wanted Ali to beat the hell out of Henry Coopers and Jerry Quarrys, the great White hopes of the era, as well as Uncle Toms.

My dad had a heart attack when George starting prancing around the Olympic ring with that mini Ol’ Glory as Dr Kings body lay six feet under and especially Ken Norton, for in my pop’s eyes, he was a “black pig” hence, a traitor.

My Grandpa rooted for Sugar – the original, genuine authentic Su-gar to whip Jake LaMotte’s ass and my great grandfather, for The Brown Bomber to knock out the bum -of-da week, and I’m sure my great grand dad cheered for Jack Johnson to whip James Jefferies. . . .

I can only assume, considering the inequalities with-in America’s apartheid structured society, it is mentally and emotionally predictable and logical – overtly oppressed Black men would want to see any living n’ breathing symbol of that abusive power structure . . .

get his ass turned inside-out. Just so as to illustrate to the White man, if it were an even/steven battle, and not a rigged society, you and I both know you wouldn’t get away with.

Rolling with that absolutely truthful historical perspective in mind . . .

and admitting,

O-h y-e-s, there’re millions of angry redneck sports fans, who, if they had they druthers, would like to take the Black athlete out of the picture.

Starting with Pee-Wee leagues and high school, where most little White boy’s dreams of playing in any of this nation’s pastimes dissipate in the face of competition they can’t compete with.

What reinforces my jaded opinion; its common the mere thought Black men are heading up NFL teams, winning Super Bowls – after generations of Americans , Black and white alike, told Blacks didn’t have the mental facilities to operate and orchestrate a team.

With all the needed elements of discrimination and exclusion still being apart of the America landscape . . . . I think I’m going with Caldwell; I want him to make history.

I only want for Vince to silence some of his more bitter and hostile detractors, which he’s already commenced. There were those, who unconditionally believed Young would remain young, never grow nor mature as a Quarterback or man . . . surprise, surprise.

So, when the dust settles, if Vince throws for 250, runs for a few strategic first downs, solidifies his reemergence as one of the most lethal Quarterbacks in the league, beats the other team with his brain, brawn and arm . . . but the Titans loose, I’ll be content.Very much so.

Caldwell’s continued success, his ability to lead this team to a perfect season, in his first year . . . creates circumstances in-which it’s harder to ridicule him. Undefeated equals unbeatable . . .

invincible.

It’s an indisputable, undeniable, irrefutable feat which even Rush’s Redneck football followers can’t contradict nor condemn. But oh how they will try.

Are we ever going to entertain the mere prospect a men like Mike Singletary, Mike Tomlin, Marvin Lewis considering the demographical makeup of today’s NFL, probably have a better chance of winning the hearts, minds and spirits of their players opposed to a . . . Dick Jauron or a Todd Haley. No? That’s not a theory the fat-cats who invest/gamble on an NFL/NBA franchise dare delve into.

I can’t quite figure-out betwixt quarterbacking and coaching, which snub is most demeaning? Since Blacks were officially banned and bared from both gridiron gigs for decades, and are today held back and “given the ice cold shoulder treatment by the unspoken rules of “No Blacks need apply.”

Both rebukes are demeaning.

When it’s all said and done . . . being told “you’re kind” doesn’t have the intelligence to lead other men, don’t have the mental aptitude required to read defenses, can’t organized and orchestrate game-plans . . . it’s all insulting as hell.

What I do know, whom-ever emerges triumphant .

. . their victory is but another bitch-slapping for all the nay- sayers, and I personally think that – to be a highpoint in this sad saga called the history of sports of America.