As we are about to wrap this up here, know that at the top of the hour, stay tuned for my good brother, Wendell Simpson, MC Good Foot, with “On the One,” jammin’ from nine ‘til midnight; followed by the Professor, Chris Murray, with “Crab Cakes N’ Beer” from midnight to 3 a.m.. 

We covered a lotta ground tonight as the disharmonious tones emanating from the orifice of Brett Favre, the Green Bay Packers, cats with cell phones, all that.

And as I’m contemplating all this, I’m thinking about some of the cats who play the same position as Favre; who, in less than five years, saw their futures fade into the ozone.

People like Aaron Brooks, Daunte Culpepper, Byron Leftwich, Brad Smith, Shaun King, Randall Cunningham getting snubbed by the Hall of Fame; I’m still waiting for the low-life, afterbirth, no-one business being born muthafuckas who babbled their rationale for Cunningham not being included as a first-ballot selection.

Fuck the fact he’s Black -- if we go with the premise that a three-time MVP (the same as Mr. Favre, who everyone concedes is a first-ballot HOF shoo-in) doesn’t deserve entrance in Canton’s hallowed hall, then who the fuck does?

But the Cunningham battle will be fought at a later date. My take is on the cats that are here who can still play.

And we’re not even gonna go there on Brother Michael Vick yet -- that’s a whole ‘nother show. We love you, brother -- just know we didn’t forget you.

I know if Shaun King were white, he’d still be in the league. Hell, getting Tampa Bay to the playoffs in your rookie season would’ve warranted at least an eight-to-10-year career holding clipboards somewhere.

But he got fucked in Tampa Bay, and even Stevie Wonder could see that shit.

Anyway, the draft didn’t provide much relief for the Brothas either. Cats like Dennis Dixon, Andre Woodson, Josh Johnson get jerked after having smoke blown up their asses about being first-round, or at least Day One picks;

But what must it feel like to be at the top, then cast out with no real reason having to do with health or injury?

As we close out this evening, mull that one over the old medulla oblongata, as we play out a hyperbolicsyllabicsesquedalymistic Golden Oldie for this last record as I continue to sip my Blueberry Tea…

Go safe because we want you to get from point A to point B and back to A; okay.

“Field of Screens”

(sung to the tune of and apologies to Jimmy Ruffin’s ‘What Becomes of the Brokenheated.’)

C 2008 – Sports MCs Records (Lyrics: Ingram – Murray – Simpson)

As I scan a field of bombs and screens;
Over center I see many things
But Super Bowls are just an illusion
Front office chaos and confusion
What becomes of the Black and Started
Who had game that's now discarded
I know it’s right to find
NFL is out their mind
Maybe…

The roots of drives grow all around
But my O - line comes a tumblin' down
Every day blitzes grow a little stronger
I can't stand these sacks much longer
I start to scramble
Search for daylight
Beaten and stressed
No receiver in sight
Hoping and praying my teammates do care
Please have someone block someone somewhere
What becomes of the Black and Started
Who had game that's now discarded
I know it’s right to find
White QB’s are on their mind
Boo me

I'm searching though I don't succeed
Some teams don’t find winning’s a real need
Games are lost, ‘blame the Black guy’ is pending
All that's left is a real fucked up ending
Now what becomes of the Black and Started

Who had game that’s now discarded
I know it’s right to find
NFL is out their mind
I'll be searching everywhere
Just to find clipboard to share

I'll be looking every day
but White guys not as good will play
They want me to hit my knees
So they can tell me, “Negro, please!”
I'll be searching everywhere (fade)

This is BASN Radio…Beyond All Stereotypes…Naturally!