Just kidding, February is actually National Black History Month, celebrated in the US and Canada. The tradition began way back in 1926 with the formation of "Black History Week" by a group that was called The Association for the Study of Negro Life and History and its co-founder, historian Carter G. Woodson. The second week in February was chosen to coincide with, and celebrate the birthdays of both Abraham Lincoln and Frederick Douglass. One, freed the slaves, the other, a former slave that worked tirelessly for the abolition of slavery. In 1976, to bolster the USA's bicentennial, Black History Week was expanded to Black History Month, during the Gerald Ford presidency. I've often wondered why it is we need a national observance for a particular race of people, and therefore the underlying reason for the title of this blog edition. And when did it happen that Negroes became Colored, then African-Americans that are now just Black? Even famous Negro-Colored-Afro-Black person, Morgan Freeman, has decried, "I don't want a Black History Month. Black history is American history." I agree. The continuing commercialization of holidays, remembrances, birthdays, benchmarks, happenings and history plays into the capitalistic marketing opportunities of American consumerism more than it does to further education.
I do rather understand that this Month of Colored History is an opportunity to promote famous persons of black descent (not always through Africa, I might add), and their impact on American business, sport and entertainment. I didn't mention politics, because I can't think of any one colored person who's become famous or has positively contributed to American History. Oh, except for that one guy from Chicago by way of Kenya and Hawaii, allegedly.
I watched a two-part special about the history of blacks and the National Football League. The NFL was preceded by a group of professional football teams when the American Professional Football Association was formed in 1920. It was reorganized as the National Football League in 1922. The original idea for professional football, in large part, is credited to famous Native American athlete, Jim Thorpe, who had attempted to capitalize on his fame as a college and Olympic athlete to organize play-for-pay standards in American sport. He was actually elected and served as the president of the APFA for a time, though the league did not enjoy much success nor continuity until 1922, when it was restructured and named the National Football League. From 1920 through 1926 a total of nine black men suited up for games, and there were still five who played in the 1926 season, while never more than two or three black players were involved at any given time. In 1934, due to the influence of George Preston Marshall ("We'll start signing Negroes when the Harlem Globetrotters start signing whites"), owner of the Washington Redskins (how ironic), refused to employ black players and pressed other owners to do the same. The time frame also coincided with the Great Depression, so the idea that a black player might be considered to be 'working' in place of a qualified white player, also led to the practice of segregation in the NFL. The ban on black players was held in effect until after World War II. Marshall was forced to integrate the Redskins by John F. Kennedy, The Washington Post and the Federal Government in a prelude to the official Civil Rights Act of 1964. Wide receiver Bobby Mitchell was the first African-American player to suit up in a Redskin uniform, in the 1962 season, and proceeded to lead the league with 11 touchdowns, 72 catches and 1,384 yards.
The Cleveland Rams were granted permission to move to Los Angeles following the 1945 season, and the plan was to use the LA Coliseum as their home. The LA Stadium Commission reminded the Rams' owners that, because the stadium was supported by public funds, they could not field a segregated team.
Kenny Washington was one of four African-American football players on the 1939 UCLA Bruins team, along with Woody Strode, Ray Bartlett and a fellow by the name of Jackie Robinson. Washington led the country in numerous offensive categories, including 1,914 rushing yards, a school record that stood for 34 years. After graduation, Chicago Bears owner, George "Papa Bear" Halas, attempted to sign Washington, but was blocked by the other NFL owners. Washington played for the Hollywood Bears in the Pacific Coast Professional Football League until 1945, when he and Strode were signed by the LA Rams so that the franchise could conform to the integration requirement dictated by the Coliseum Stadium Commission. His NFL career only lasted three years, but his impact was instrumental and lasting. It's interesting to note that Kenny Washington in 1946 broke the color barrier in the NFL before his former teammate, Jackie Robinson, did the same for Major League Baseball in 1947.
Nowadays, especially at the running back position, a white football player is a rarity. As recently as 2005, not one single carry was registered by a starting white running back, and in 2010, Peyton Hillis was the only white starter at RB in the NFL. There were no Caucasian 1,000-yard-RBs in the league between Craig James in 1985 and Hillis in 2010. It is estimated that fully 65% or more of all NFL players are African-American, while the US population is closer to 35% non-white.
In Major League Baseball, the racial roster makeup is thus, in 2010: White 58%, Latino 29%, African-American 11% and Asian 2%. In the National Basketball Association, fully 75% of the players are black. There are a slew of socio-economic factors involved in the racial makeup of professional sports in this country. I cannot begin to explain them all here. But, it's clear that Afro-American influence in sports has grown exponentially since the 1920's when Negro-Black-Afro History was targeted for emphasis and recognition. Now that the thresholds of firsts: black coaches, black general managers and managers and black owners in sports have been crossed, maybe we shall all eventually take Black History for granted. At least in the sports world. Or probably not.
Black History Month. What a concept. I think, that after all this research, and digesting all the facts, it becomes even clearer why I like baseball the best. I mentioned a few blogs ago that when I compare baseball to football, I liken the corollary to baseball-is-chess, and football-is-checkers. If that is my premise, then basketball must be CandyLand. Call me a racist, but I'm not a bigot. I am prejudiced against all knuckle-heads, and most politicians. I think we should push for a National Politicians Are Fucking Us Month to bring awareness to, you know, the actual driving force in why it's so goddamn hot in here, and what the hell is a handbasket?
Friday, February 17, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sunday Best
I watched a lot of TV this weekend. Everything from the Food Network to golf to the Grammys and highlights of the two Bronco Super Bowl victories. All in all, just biding time until baseball starts.
The big news this weekend, I suppose, is that singer/entertainer Whitney Houston apparently succumbed to a tragic lifestyle that seems oh-so-familiar to celebrity entertainers. She was six months short of her 49th birthday. The death of Whitney Elizabeth Houston came on the eve of the 54th Annual Grammy Awards, a woeful irony in that all of the music world had come together to honor the talents of both emerging and established entertainers for their accomplishments in the last year. This same ceremony had bestowed the iconic Grammy Award to Whitney Houston for top female pop vocal in 1986 ("Saving All My Love For You"), the first of her six Grammys, and a small portion of her total 415 awards in a professional career that began at the age of 16. Who can forget her rendition of The Star Spangled Banner, our national anthem, at the 1991 Super Bowl? The XXVth SB was held in Tampa during the Gulf War, when patriotic fervor was stoked by her memorable performance. (Giants beat the Bills 20-19, Scott Norwood, wide right). Many people blame her ultimate demise, in large part, to her destructive relationship with singer Bobby Brown and her addiction to cocaine and a variety of prescription and non-prescription medications. It's sad to see that an entertainer, or any person for that matter, fall to such depths of low self-esteem that success at the highest level cannot assuage a broken ego. The Grammy Awards Show paid numerous tributes to her passing, along with others who died in the past year. Another troubled entertainer who died from a doomed lifestyle in the past year was Amy Winehouse, who died of alcohol poisoning last July, two months shy of her 28th birthday.
In stark contrast to troubled, tragic entertainers, Taylor Swift and Adele (full name Adele Laurie Blue Adkins) seem to represent grounded and secure individuals, free from the bondage of self-doubt and low self-esteem. I have watched 60 Minute features on both singers, and it was refreshing to see how secure they both seem to be, even in the face of world-wide idolization and accolade. History is filled with both sides of the story when it comes to famous entertainers. On one side, we all know the troubled stories of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Judy Garland, Marilyn Monroe and Freddie Prinze. On the other side of the coin are some others that performed Sunday night at the Grammys: Sir Paul McCartney, Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen, Joe Walsh, Glen Campbell and Tony Bennett. Campbell, the original Rhinestone Cowboy, is suffering from Alzheimer's and was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award in what will probably be his last public performance. We all have our own troubles to bear, and fame and wealth would probably change most of us. Athletes and entertainers get too much blame, and credit, for the attention they get. Kinda like NFL quarterbacks. Enjoy them while you can.
Another odd imbalance this weekend is that Tiger Woods gets more attention for playing like a hack in the final round of the PGA tournament at Pebble Beach than Phil Mikkelson gets for winning with a final round 64, and besting Tiger's final round 75. Mikkelson (who won by two strokes) began the final day 6 strokes behind the leader, Charlie Wi, and 2 strokes behind the "surging" Tiger Woods. Poor Tigger, was in the same group as Mikkelson, and didn't smile all day, nor did he have any reason to. What a contrast: the crowd pulling for good-guy, family man Phil Mikkelson, as he triumphed and was met by his beautiful and equally popular wife Amy with genuine affection as he walked off the 72nd hole, championship in hand. Meanwhile, a dour and lonely (at least publicly) Tiger Woods was left to explain his meltdown in the final round, again, in a situation where he used to routinely throttle his opposition. Everybody I know, knows how much I dislike Woods. I have, ever since I determined that he was a smug, arrogant, holier-than-thou celebrity put up on a pedestal by his phony father and a blind, adoring army of sycophants who swooned at his magical skills and beautiful wife. How's that workin' for ya, Eldrick?
This year's Super Bowl has come and gone, and it was relatively satisfying to see the Patriots, Bill Belichick and Tom Brady get ambushed by the New York Giants. It's hard to believe that it's been 13 years since our beloved Denver Broncos beat the Atlanta Falcons in Super Bowl XXXIII, in John Elway's last game. The NFL Channel is playing 30-minute recaps of all the Super Bowls and I watched the SB XXXII and XXXIII episodes. I still get chills when I see Elway dive for, and get helicoptered on a third-and-six against the Packers to keep a drive alive for the go-ahead touchdown when the score was tied 17-17. Remember that block by Ed McCaffrey on the Packer linebacker Brian Williams? The score was tied 24-24 as the Broncos were on the Green Bay 32, second down and nine, just before the two-minute warning. Elway scrambled to his left, popped a check-down pass in the flat to fullback Howard Griffith, who caught the ball right at the line of scrimmage and began heading upfield. As he was turning the corner at the 35, Packer LB Williams was angling towards Griffith, intent on laying the wood to the Bronco runner. Eddie Mac peeled back from his route and just blind-sided the unsuspecting Green Bay defender, sent him abruptly onto his backside, stood over him and wagged his index finger at him, like former Denver Nugget Dikembe Mutombo used to after he blocked a shot.
It was fun to hear the sideline planning in SB XXXIII between John Elway, Mike Shanahan and Offensive Coordinator Gary Kubiak about how Falcon safety Eugene Robinson was cheating up to support the run defense on play-action pass situations. The Falcons' kicker Morten Andersen missed a gimme 26-yard field goal attempt in the second quarter with Denver nursing a 10-3 lead. The Broncos took over at their 20 and on first down, Elway faked the handoff to Terrell Davis, backpedalled, and found a wide open Rod Smith, who victimized Mr. Robinson's neighborhood for an 80-yard touchdown. The Broncos were never threatened the rest of the game, and won 34-19. That same Eugene Robinson, was on the Green Bay Packer team that Denver spanked in Super Bowl XXXII. The same Eugene Robinson who was captured on video exhorting his teammates on the sidelines that, "C'mon now. This team (the Broncos) is not better than us, they're not even good!" The same Eugene Robinson who was honored the night before SB XXXIII by Athletes In Action with the Bart Starr Award for "high moral character". The very same Eugene Robinson that was arrested by a female undercover police officer for solicitation of oral sex for $40, that very same night! Remember John Elway scoring the final Bronco touchdown on a quarterback sneak, and smiling in the end zone, on the ground alongside guard Mark Schlereth? Super Bowl XXXIII MVP John Elway left the game with a few seconds left, to a standing ovation and tribute from the crowd as he was replaced by Bubby Brister for the final kneel-down. We sensed at that time that we had seen the last of the John Elway Era. He officially retired a couple months later.
It's still a few weeks away from baseball being on TV. The first spring broadcast is on St. Paddy's day against the Dodgers. I'll have to be content with watching stuff on MLB Network, anticipating Alanna Rizzo's appearance in her new gig with the network. And reading blogs and articles that give hints to the potential fate of my beloved Yankees and Rockies during the yearly spring Training rituals.
Beyond all that, I still have Japanese Iron Chef and Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives to keep me entertained. Allez cuisine!
The big news this weekend, I suppose, is that singer/entertainer Whitney Houston apparently succumbed to a tragic lifestyle that seems oh-so-familiar to celebrity entertainers. She was six months short of her 49th birthday. The death of Whitney Elizabeth Houston came on the eve of the 54th Annual Grammy Awards, a woeful irony in that all of the music world had come together to honor the talents of both emerging and established entertainers for their accomplishments in the last year. This same ceremony had bestowed the iconic Grammy Award to Whitney Houston for top female pop vocal in 1986 ("Saving All My Love For You"), the first of her six Grammys, and a small portion of her total 415 awards in a professional career that began at the age of 16. Who can forget her rendition of The Star Spangled Banner, our national anthem, at the 1991 Super Bowl? The XXVth SB was held in Tampa during the Gulf War, when patriotic fervor was stoked by her memorable performance. (Giants beat the Bills 20-19, Scott Norwood, wide right). Many people blame her ultimate demise, in large part, to her destructive relationship with singer Bobby Brown and her addiction to cocaine and a variety of prescription and non-prescription medications. It's sad to see that an entertainer, or any person for that matter, fall to such depths of low self-esteem that success at the highest level cannot assuage a broken ego. The Grammy Awards Show paid numerous tributes to her passing, along with others who died in the past year. Another troubled entertainer who died from a doomed lifestyle in the past year was Amy Winehouse, who died of alcohol poisoning last July, two months shy of her 28th birthday.
In stark contrast to troubled, tragic entertainers, Taylor Swift and Adele (full name Adele Laurie Blue Adkins) seem to represent grounded and secure individuals, free from the bondage of self-doubt and low self-esteem. I have watched 60 Minute features on both singers, and it was refreshing to see how secure they both seem to be, even in the face of world-wide idolization and accolade. History is filled with both sides of the story when it comes to famous entertainers. On one side, we all know the troubled stories of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Judy Garland, Marilyn Monroe and Freddie Prinze. On the other side of the coin are some others that performed Sunday night at the Grammys: Sir Paul McCartney, Stevie Wonder, Bruce Springsteen, Joe Walsh, Glen Campbell and Tony Bennett. Campbell, the original Rhinestone Cowboy, is suffering from Alzheimer's and was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award in what will probably be his last public performance. We all have our own troubles to bear, and fame and wealth would probably change most of us. Athletes and entertainers get too much blame, and credit, for the attention they get. Kinda like NFL quarterbacks. Enjoy them while you can.
Another odd imbalance this weekend is that Tiger Woods gets more attention for playing like a hack in the final round of the PGA tournament at Pebble Beach than Phil Mikkelson gets for winning with a final round 64, and besting Tiger's final round 75. Mikkelson (who won by two strokes) began the final day 6 strokes behind the leader, Charlie Wi, and 2 strokes behind the "surging" Tiger Woods. Poor Tigger, was in the same group as Mikkelson, and didn't smile all day, nor did he have any reason to. What a contrast: the crowd pulling for good-guy, family man Phil Mikkelson, as he triumphed and was met by his beautiful and equally popular wife Amy with genuine affection as he walked off the 72nd hole, championship in hand. Meanwhile, a dour and lonely (at least publicly) Tiger Woods was left to explain his meltdown in the final round, again, in a situation where he used to routinely throttle his opposition. Everybody I know, knows how much I dislike Woods. I have, ever since I determined that he was a smug, arrogant, holier-than-thou celebrity put up on a pedestal by his phony father and a blind, adoring army of sycophants who swooned at his magical skills and beautiful wife. How's that workin' for ya, Eldrick?
This year's Super Bowl has come and gone, and it was relatively satisfying to see the Patriots, Bill Belichick and Tom Brady get ambushed by the New York Giants. It's hard to believe that it's been 13 years since our beloved Denver Broncos beat the Atlanta Falcons in Super Bowl XXXIII, in John Elway's last game. The NFL Channel is playing 30-minute recaps of all the Super Bowls and I watched the SB XXXII and XXXIII episodes. I still get chills when I see Elway dive for, and get helicoptered on a third-and-six against the Packers to keep a drive alive for the go-ahead touchdown when the score was tied 17-17. Remember that block by Ed McCaffrey on the Packer linebacker Brian Williams? The score was tied 24-24 as the Broncos were on the Green Bay 32, second down and nine, just before the two-minute warning. Elway scrambled to his left, popped a check-down pass in the flat to fullback Howard Griffith, who caught the ball right at the line of scrimmage and began heading upfield. As he was turning the corner at the 35, Packer LB Williams was angling towards Griffith, intent on laying the wood to the Bronco runner. Eddie Mac peeled back from his route and just blind-sided the unsuspecting Green Bay defender, sent him abruptly onto his backside, stood over him and wagged his index finger at him, like former Denver Nugget Dikembe Mutombo used to after he blocked a shot.
It was fun to hear the sideline planning in SB XXXIII between John Elway, Mike Shanahan and Offensive Coordinator Gary Kubiak about how Falcon safety Eugene Robinson was cheating up to support the run defense on play-action pass situations. The Falcons' kicker Morten Andersen missed a gimme 26-yard field goal attempt in the second quarter with Denver nursing a 10-3 lead. The Broncos took over at their 20 and on first down, Elway faked the handoff to Terrell Davis, backpedalled, and found a wide open Rod Smith, who victimized Mr. Robinson's neighborhood for an 80-yard touchdown. The Broncos were never threatened the rest of the game, and won 34-19. That same Eugene Robinson, was on the Green Bay Packer team that Denver spanked in Super Bowl XXXII. The same Eugene Robinson who was captured on video exhorting his teammates on the sidelines that, "C'mon now. This team (the Broncos) is not better than us, they're not even good!" The same Eugene Robinson who was honored the night before SB XXXIII by Athletes In Action with the Bart Starr Award for "high moral character". The very same Eugene Robinson that was arrested by a female undercover police officer for solicitation of oral sex for $40, that very same night! Remember John Elway scoring the final Bronco touchdown on a quarterback sneak, and smiling in the end zone, on the ground alongside guard Mark Schlereth? Super Bowl XXXIII MVP John Elway left the game with a few seconds left, to a standing ovation and tribute from the crowd as he was replaced by Bubby Brister for the final kneel-down. We sensed at that time that we had seen the last of the John Elway Era. He officially retired a couple months later.
It's still a few weeks away from baseball being on TV. The first spring broadcast is on St. Paddy's day against the Dodgers. I'll have to be content with watching stuff on MLB Network, anticipating Alanna Rizzo's appearance in her new gig with the network. And reading blogs and articles that give hints to the potential fate of my beloved Yankees and Rockies during the yearly spring Training rituals.
Beyond all that, I still have Japanese Iron Chef and Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives to keep me entertained. Allez cuisine!
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