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Michael Jordan’s Principle: Address The Haters

by Jose on September 28, 2009 · 1 comment

in life

Michael Jordan’s Hall of Fame speech (and his career, for that matter) read like a diatribe against wrong decision-making … and our fundamental ideas about sportsmanship. For those that have lived under the sea for the last 30 years, Michael Jordan’s arguably the greatest basketball player of all time, surpassing records and racking up a highlight reel the size of any big-budget movie. Words used to describe MJ during his tenure as the most dominant shooting guard to play the game: “cold-blooded,” “merciless,” “exacting,” “superlative,” and “focused.” 6 NBA Champions and the Most Valuable Player in each, 5 NBA Regular-Season MVPs, 31.6 career scoring average (tops in this category), and those accomplishments came right after taking over the throne for both Larry Bird and Earvin “Magic” Johnson, who both alternated the crown for greatest players in their era.

His ascension into absolute reign signified a bit of a revolution for the league and sports as a whole. For all the moments, measurable and immeasurable, he chose a ceremony that ultimately cements the greatest and finest basketball coaches, broadcasters, writers, and players alike with a scribe that addressed  his most vital dissenters. While he also found time to laud a few people along the way, he innovated the idea of revenge in sports and using the vitriol and slights directed at him to fuel his next performance. His trash talk on the court was about as legendary as the actions he put to those words, and what he’d do after a mind-boggling play ushered in a new showmanship that tied Jordan to the bravado we see displayed all over sports as a whole. Indeed his truths were self-evident.

I’ve contemplated a bit on this tremendous speech, and wondered how I should feel about it. It almost seems petty for Michael to use that stage to show disrespect to the decisions and perceived slights of people who didn’t have a post-trip rear view mirror from which to point their decisions. Dean Smith can’t be blamed for not letting him on the national magazine covers nor can Buzz Peterson be blamed for starting ahead of him. It revealed a sort of arrogance and pettiness that always rubbed anti-Jordan sports fans the wrong way. An assassin in the figurative form of the word, he couldn’t just win; he had to kick everyone in the teeth in and crush any spirit they had in thinking they’d actually beat him.

Then I sat there and thought how that sort of mentality applied to my life and others who I’ve seen succeed around me. For all the times many of us laud those who remain humble, we gravitate towards those who’ve put their money where their mouth is. They’ve put in the long hours behind the scenes, perfecting their shots, reflecting on their practice, saying less about what they’re going to do and trading those points in for points in the field of their choosing. They have a sharp attention to detail and debunk risks in the face of actual personal progress.

Detractors seem to serve a greater purpose than most of us never pay attention to: they help redefine and sharpen who we are as people. Those of us who do great work in our fields always need a reminder of the obstacles facing them in their journey. I understand why people  may not like him as a man after that speech, but the hubris and self-idolatry made Michael the man he is today.

I call this the Michael Jordan Principle: if we want success, address the haters, don’t ignore them. The minute we do, it shows that anyone can test our mettle. The best way to respond to the denigration doesn’t necessarily come in verbal form, but in one’s actions after. Do we prove people right by not doing anything about what was said or wrong by becoming passionate about reaching our goals?

This is, of course, within reason, because sometimes a detractor is really a friend in disguise. For instance, Phil Jackson pushed Michael Jordan to give up the  ball more in favor of letting the whole team grow, and thus winning championships instead of scoring titles. Overall, the Michael Jordan Principle shows how, many times, the best approach to personal growth is using the negative energy thrown at you to grow and not letting it weigh you down.

Jose, who only liked Michael Jordan only after he retired for the 3rd time …

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Plaxico Burress and The Inverse of Prisons

by Jose on September 22, 2009 · 3 comments

in life

Plaxico Burress with Son, Elijah

Plaxico Burress with Son, Elijah

Today, Plaxico Burress, former wide receiver of the New York Giants, was sentenced to 2 years in jail (with good behavior, it’ll be brought down to 20 months or less). My stance on the matter hasn’t changed much since the last time I’ve ruminated on the topic. I agree that bringing a gun to the club without a holster and without a licensed bodyguard spells danger for anyone, especially a young, rich, Super-Bowl winning Black man. I also agree that he could have hurt anyone there, and if not for his celebrity status, he may have been treated like “any other Black man” who’s faced similar charges.

Then, I looked at the case and didn’t look at the things that might have happened, but did happen. The night before, according to reports, he and his partners were robbed. He’s got a family to feed, and a life to live. He probably didn’t grow up trusting the police. Plus, he shot himself and not anyone else. He had erratic behavior with his team; though his teammates love him, his management had a hard time pinning him down psychologically. With that, I don’t see any real reason to keep him in jail longer than a year, if that. I believe in a combination of counseling, community service, and alternative interventions with prison time for the gun charge based on what actually happened and the evidence laid on the table.

Some of my readers / friends believe I’m too soft on crime, which can’t be further from the truth. People often mistake a zero-tolerance policy for good judgment, and I can’t agree with that. I charge those who have this view haven’t looked at the actual statistics. One of my friends from Facebook showed me a wonderful Wired mini-article entitled: “Nils Christie: Empty the Prisons“, one of the 12 Shocking Ideas That Could Change the World, especially as it pertains to American culture. It’s rather obvious that we as Americans are complicit in the denigration of human beings as a whole. Race notwithstanding, the US has more prisoners than any other country in the world, has more prisoner per capita, and spends more taxpayer money in prisoners than any other country. The number of prisoners since the 1980s has risen over 400%, and while it’s not necessarily true that 3rd graders’ literacy scores determine the number of prisons built, the link between the education complex and prison is almost undeniable.

Plus, as the Wired article mentions, most of these prisoners go to jail for non-violent crimes, and many of the criminals who’ve gone in jail once go right back in (many of them would rather stay IN jail because it’s easier to live in there). Also of note is that, in general, crime rates have gone down as a whole. As a result, have we become a better society for having all these (mostly Black and Latino) men and women isolated? Have marriage rates risen? Have wars ended or corruption stopped within corporations? Have drug lords stopped proliferating (or has their supplier stopped pushing)? Have our politicians become more honest and have our ethics / morals become more solid as a result of dumping grounds for these law trespassers? Does jail help criminals become better citizens in our society (as some movies may lead you to believe) or make them stronger and better equipped, and even more able to carry out their crimes?

For that matter, have we thought about how many of those prisoners are actually innocent? How many of them may not have been good citizens or been great examples in other venues, but were decent human beings? We neglect to think about the difference between what’s illegal and what’s immoral, what’s unlawful and what’s wrong. I also understand that the prison industrial complex provides jobs. I get all of this and I wish I didn’t because the rationale is far too capitalist for my blood.

More importantly, I wish the best for Elijah Burress, Plaxico’s son, who’s a prisoner for the sin of his father. His father is a prisoner of this system. And we are prisoners to the thought that prison is the ultimate solution.

Jose, who’s in a Tupacian mood …

For more, please visit: http://www.criticalresistance.org/

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A-Rod Can Haz Dominican Culture Now?

by Jose on December 8, 2008 · 7 comments

in life

Alex Rodriguez's Pledge of Allegiance

Alex Rodriguez

Back in July of 2005, the World Baseball Classic committees were just getting their international rosters, and most people stuck to their countries of origin, as stipulated by the rules. With 16 teams in the competition, many of us baseball fans almost salivated to the chin being able to watch these all-stars playing on the same teams. Derek Jeter, Chipper Jones, and Ken Griffey Jr. all on the same squad? Jose Reyes, David Ortiz, Albert Pujols in one line-up?

Whoa.

And Alex Rodriguez, arguably the best all-around player in baseball, has the choice of playing for either of these teams.

And he chose the Dominican Republic. No harm, no foul.

Yet, what ensued afterwards was a backlash of sorts, including meetings I’m sure very few of us were privy to, and he went from being 100% sure he’d play for the Dominican Republic to not playing for any team whatsoever to eventually playing for the US team. It’s bad enough his reputation as an asshole who wants to please everyone just wouldn’t go away. Now, he’s back to dealing with identity politics that are, in many ways, out of his control. As some people may know, both of his parents are Dominican and he has dual citizenship in both Dominican Republic and the United States, where he’s lived most of his life. He went from living in Washington Heights in NYC to Florida, where his only father figures were his baseball coaches growing up, but his mom still instilled in him some cultural pride, though not ostensibly.

Anyone who considers themselves multi-ethnic or has done a little studying on multi-ethnic people understand that, despite our allegiance to our ancestors’ countries, we also contribute to the American culture and when we go back to those countries of origin, we are usually considered Americans. Even with an accent as heavy as Alex’s, he’s probably looked at as American, at least subconsciously. But that’s the struggle for Alex: forces from the people who pay him his hundreds of millions, including sponsors and players’ unions, and others like his family who he seems to treasure and the 20-some-odd years he wasn’t an American icon, but a Dominican playing America’s favorite pastime.

Yet, on Saturday, December 6th, 2008, and at the behest of David Ortiz, Alex Rodriguez did what he should have done back in 2005. He signed on to play for the Dominican Republic.

Now, the response is completely different. Many Dominicans are lauding the move, calling it “authentic” and “true to what he really is.” Yet, Americans, who were indifferent back in 2005 when he first made the decision to play for the Dominican Republic, now have a growing resentment about this move, calling him “Benedict A-Rod” among other things. And to all of them, I say …

GET OVER YOURSELVES!!!

I can’t believe the gall of anyone who so much as whispers Alexander Emmanuel Rodriguez’ name and can say he’s not Dominican with a straight face. So what if he was born here? Does that completely strip him of any culture that’s instilled in him? Does that make him any less of a man because he is Dominican? Why do people criticize him for making this move? Is it because he was an American-born Dominican rather than a Dominican boy some scout made a lot of lavish promises to and kept in a perpetual farm system? Is it his blond streaks, extra-marital affairs, and rumors with Madonna and maybe some other models here and there? Is it because he’s living the American Dream that so many of you advertise so flauntingly to the rest of the world? Is it because you just need any excuse to berate and denigrate A-Rod, whose name someone shrunk just so they could Americanize it?

And believe me, even as a New York Yankees fan, I get it: he comes off as an arrogant, selfish, rich, undeserving, flip-flopping, callous asshole. I personally don’t see it that way, but I understand where it comes from. But none of this, and I mean NONE of this, gives anyone any right to tell that man whether he gets to be Dominican or celebrate his Dominican culture, and anyone who’s a real fan of the man shouldn’t judge him. Even if you don’t like him as a player, respect his right to his own cultures.

Both of them.

And when he comes to play in the New Yankee Stadium in March of 2009, he’ll be pledging to the American flag right along with everyone else in there.

Jose, who will be waving any one of 2 flags during the WBC, since Haiti doesn’t have a baseball team like that …

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What Do I Think of Success? It Sucks

by Jose on December 2, 2008 · 11 comments

in life

Plaxico Burress

Plaxico Burress

The bad news is that Plaxico Burress, wide reciever for the New York Giants, shot himself in the leg, and thoroughly embarassed himself, Antonio Pierce, and anyone else who accompanied him at Latin Quarters. The worse news is that this happened just about a year after Sean Taylor, free safety who last played for the Washington Redskins, was murdered in his own home, and also 2 years after Darrent Williams, former cornerback for the Denver Broncos, was shot in a drive-by shooting in front of a holiday party. Yet, anyone like me has to be wondering whether these 2 earlier deaths made it possible for Plaxico to get into this situation to begin with.

If I’m in the mind of Plaxico Burress, I actually might consider having a gun for protection. Then again, and in all sincerity, I can’t understanding having the issues he has. I haven’t walked an inch in his cleats. For athletes making millions of dollars, they’re certainly not in the danger that, say, their owners or general managers are. They’re constantly expected to be in the public eye, and some of them do it gracefully, but other athletes, especially with the dynamic personalities of the “star athletes,” always see themselves as a little closer to the heavens and put themselves in much riskier behaviors because of what’s been given to them.

Right about now, yes, you should be thinking that I’m being a little too nice to Plax, as I am a self-professed Giants fan. But whenever I need a real-life version of the men who were once boys, I turn directly to my students, the little thugs who profess their cogency by throwing up pseudo-gang signs, bobbing their nappy heads to some non-sensical rap song, and hogging the ball, some of it is selfishness, but it’s more that they really need attention and love. They’re hyper-sensitive to a fault and don’t have any other way to express that. And frankly, even the ones with a “reputation” are usually idiot savants, not malicious malcontents.

And that was all but evident when Plaxico Burress, the wide receiver who left Pittsburgh so ungraciously, caught the game winning touchdown at the Super Bowl and only a few minutes later cried his eyes out aon the field, hardly able to get a word out before he burst into another round of tears. Tears that worked better than a “I told you so.”

That makes me wonder if people take the time to look behind the story.

Yes, it was dumb. Beyond belief.

Yes, he could have just gotten a bodyguard.

Yes, he didn’t even have to go as he was already injured.

But now New York, and America for that matter, is inundated with another big story about a Black man and a gun, and a mayor calling for his head, etc. This is more than a Cheddar Bob joke or a “Giant Idiot.” This is a man in need of some serious help. Hope the time off he gets will do him some good.

Jose, who had to play Devil’s Advocate for a bit …

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A Yankee Reflective

by Jose on September 21, 2008 · 8 comments

in life

I walked into my classroom with a pinstriped white shirt, and a brand new Yankees tie I got shipped to me a few weeks before, with navy blue pants, and black shoes. I knew I’d get criticism for it, mainly from a group of students who preferred the now-two time championship Boston Red Sox, my favorite team’s most storied rivals, and a team that espoused some of the greatest Dominican baseball players of all time. Ortiz, Ramirez, and Martinez. These same students were born in 1996, the very first championship I got to celebrate. It bothered me a little to see so many adamant native New Yorkers choose the Red Sox, knowing that at the least they could have at least chosen the Mets, who most Yankees fans don’t really mind, but would never trade for their favorite team. Then again, this anti-NY sentiment comes with the territory: all empires must come to an end, at least to give way for a rebirth.

I first became a Yankees fan around 14 years ago, when my cousin Richard introduced me to some Yankee baseball card he got signed. I believe Don Mattingly came to the now-defunct Milliken Boys Club and signed his card. I heard all these names: Velarde, Williams, and Mattingly, and while the New York Knicks dominated sports, I also found myself attaching myself to the Yankees during baseball season. 1995, Mattingly’s last season, and many people around my neighborhood said, “Man, it’d be messed up if we won a championship without him.”

1996, 1998, 1999, 2000. My principal in high school got tired of giving us days off to let us celebrate downtown at the parade. For my generation of Yankee fans, we almost felt entitled to one because we were so priviledged to have that many consecutive championships with al those charismatic players like Jeter, O’Neill, Cone, Wells, Pettite, and Rivera, and jaw-dropping, awe-inspiring moments like Boone’s homerun, Doc Gooden’s no-hitter, the Davids’ perfect games, Scott Brosius’ MVP performance in the World Series, and cool Joe Torre, personally and professionally. That core of Yankees from ‘96-’00 gift-wrapped all of the great history that this colossal franchise developed for those of us who hadn’t seen a Yankee championship since 1978 or hadn’t been born in time to see that history.

Now, looking back at the 2001 World Series, how the stadium erupted during games 4 and 5, with the 9/11 atmosphere surrounding the stadium, I realized right then and there it was time to rebuild. Despite all the evidence, like the World Series loss to the Florida Marlins in ‘03, the American League Championship Series loss to the Red Sox in ‘04 (in game 3, the score was 19-8; last time the Red Sox made it to the World Series before then, 1918, more eeriness), and the three first-round exits in the playoffs from ‘05 – ‘07, the Yankees management chose to buy up instead of invest. Some purchases made sense at the time, like Alex Rodriguez, Hideki Matsui, Jason Giambi, and Carl Pavano. But whether it was curious injuries, playoff calamity, lack of strong pitching, or maybe Yankee Stadium telling the team that it couldn’t give anymore, the Yankees could never replicate those previous fortunes.

This must be what the death of an empire must feel like. Today, I walk around with disheveled Yankees fans, multi-color NY caps floating around, long jerseys with numbers like 2, 3, 13, 20, and 55 , and even longer faces, knowing what we’ve become accustomed to is no longer ours: October baseball. Yankee fans have officially become humbled, witnessing the collapse of the greatest baseball stadium of all time while the team collapses as well.

Here’s one Yankee fan who hopes that maybe the new Yankee Stadium can bring some new magic in …

jose, wondering how it’s gonna be next year …

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In Search of A-Rod’s Soul

by Jose on August 7, 2008 · 3 comments

in life

Make no bones about it; I got love for Alex Rodriguez, the 3rd baseman for the New York Yankees.

His swift and graceful swing, his trot, and that swagger he shows when he comes up to bat. The ease in which he picks up balls coming down the left field line and gets them to whoever’s platooning at 1st base. Even the way he wears the uniform makes you want to don the uniform too. Not to mention how well he’s made so many young Latinos proud to be Dominican, even when he’s had conflicts with that identity, his unwavering work ethic, and the astronomical numbers he puts up every season.

And it’s with these reasons that I, like many Yankee fans, have this internal struggle as to whether we should believe the man’s hype. He’s not only got the talent and the numbers to prove it, but he’s got the makings of someone with the perfect life: blonde streaks, good build, beautiful (ex?)-wife, and enough millions to buy out his own baseball team. He also has a hint of arrogance that’s subtle enough for the general populace not to notice, but enough to annoy others. Until the last couple of years, he still showed signs of vulnerability. Now, he’s reached a level of stardom that’s hard to come down from, embroiled in messy affairs and also coming across as a bit dispassionate.

Oh yeah, and he’s not that good when batters are in scoring position (.245 this year), and it’s even worse since we expect him to have a good 1.000 when there’s that situation. He’s a monster of a player, but a monster to himself. After watching Rodriguez’ Yankeeography on the YES Network, you get a sense that as truly phenomenal a player as he is, the pressure of his contract, the media, the fans, the owners and general managers, and his own teammates gets to him, even if it’s just a little bit. In particular, if anyone’s watched him in the last few games, he gets up there, same swag, same gallop, same batting stance, but if there are runners in scoring position, he anxiously and genuinely wants to hit a homerun that’ll further cement his place amongst the pantheon of great Yankees before him, like DiMaggio, Ruth, Mantle, and Jackson.

Alex Rodriguez SwingUnfortunately, it’s that desire to be the greatest that prevents him from doing so. Everyone’s entitled to their own definition of greatness, and it’s with that definition of greatness that A-Rod willingly and unapologetically lives with, even with the justified scrutiny he lives with. It’s amazing how through the 1996-2000 years of Yankee legacy, only the Yankees themselves went into the season with really high expectations, and everyone else just hoped and imagined. Now, due to these star players and steep contracts (along with the steep prices to go to these games), we’ve expected a championship, and that’s where we might have fallen wayside with A-Rod particularly.

Is the onus on us Yankee fans, whose hubris is internationally-renown and well-documented? Is the onus on the players and agents who help to drive up expectations by setting a dollar figure on the expectations we have for our roster of 10 on the field? Or is it really on the owners for charging us so much and pointing the blame directly at the people who they pay extraordinary money for? Can we who actually have an affinity for all things Yankee-related believe in such things as rookie development and rebuilding years, something we haven’t seen in New York City since the early 90s?

A-Rod has become symbolic of all that’s right and wrong with the league. The steriod allegations (none of which have been proven), the peculiar sense of family values, the conflict of identity for Latino players representing both homeland and citizenship to the United States, the vice grip of agents, publicists, and handlers, and the dogged scrutiny of the media for the next big story made from nothing more than a footnote, and of course, he’s in the most prestigious offensive position on the most successful team in US sports history.

But for anyone watching the way I watch second-most favorite player (interestingly, Derek Jeter’s my first), it’s also a testament to the struggles of human fallacy. There aren’t enough extrinsic influences in the world that can bring this man peace so long as he doesn’t win a championship. He’s the emblem for those who’ve always had unfathomably high expectations set for them and could never quite reach them. Every strikeout, missed play, and every year we spend waiting for #27 only serves to further scathe A-Rod’s legacy.

Alex Rodriguez is currently hitting .295 in the last 30 days, but he’s hitting .143 in the last 7 days, which means he’s spent more time getting pelted by the ball than pelting the ball itself recently. These slumps constantly remind him of how much harder he has to work, on the field, in the clubhouse, in his home, and in his mind. If they can somehow dodge the unlucky fate of these numerous and untimely injuries, he’ll also have to search for the A-Rod that beat up on the Minnesota Twins in ‘04, or the regular season A-Rod of ‘03, ‘05, and ‘07.

Will you go the way of Patrick Ewing, Jim Kelly, and Don Mattingly or Joe Namath, Wade Boggs, and yes, Willis Reed? Your story’s far from over, but rarely has the fate of a 25-man baseball team rested on the performance of one man the way it does with you. Rarely does a whole team’s legion of fans both loathe and heavily anticipate one man’s at-bat with men on base in a pressure situation. And rarely does that man have as much potential and talent as you do, A-Rod.

The question remains: Alexander Emmanuel Rodriguez, where is your soul?

“90 feet from home …”

jose, who’s a Yankee fan through and through …

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Short Notes: Square Dance

by Jose on April 20, 2008 · 1 comment

in life

Eminem

My notes for Sunday:

1. Isiah Thomas is FIRED! Out, out, out! I haven’t wanted a former All-Star point guard out of the Knicks since … Stephon Marbury. No really, there’s too much clutter in that team. With Patrick Ewing and Pat Riley’s inductions to the Hall of Fame, I’m about 99% sure that I prefer to make it really close and fail than never to have even been in consideration for a championship at all. How’s that for dedication?

2. I can’t conceive any scenario where someone marries into a rival team. Let me explain. Hypothetically, let’s say that there was a lady who went from a Knicks fan to a Heat fan in the middle of the 90s just because the husband was a Heat fan. Sorry, but that just doesn’t fly with me, not that I want to control who cheers for what, but there’s just something … wrong about it. Same goes for Red Sox to Yankees transfers, etc. If the teams aren’t intense rivals, though, I’m not mad at the switch.

3. I don’t know about you, but I just love watching square dancing.

No, really, it’s interesting. At first, it’s all about showing everyone that you can really dance all by yourself. Then, you get into a few formations in the hopes of courting the partner across from you, and hoping to avoid the partner adjacent to the one you want. Then, for a few seconds, if you succeed, then you get a good 5-6 seconds to dance with them, and then you gotta let go of them. Of course, there’s also a subtle dance-off between different people in the group trying to show off who’s the best dancer in the crowd, and who has the best move, but it’s so subtle because there’s all this activity happening on the floor already. Meanwhile, outside observers are all either impressed by the intricacies of the whole dance or confused because they wonder how they’ll participate in this mess.

I bring this up, because that’s pretty much how I felt this week. Not just crazy insane, but insane crazy. I’m just trying to do my job, but of course, everyone wants to get into a square dance. We can twirl and spin around the issues all we want, but when the dance is over, reality sets in, and we gotta face each other. I’m all for square dancing, but at the cost of what our focus is? No. Apropos metaphor? Definitely.

Off to the gym. I’ll be commenting on your pages soon. Peace …

jose, counting down to the Glow In The Dark tour …

p.s. – To interested parties: I’m not saying you can’t read my blog, but I am saying that you’re not going to find anything here that you can’t just straight ask me. As many confessions as I have here, this is not a confessional. It’s a blog. Check my rights.

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Can’t Tell Me Nothing

by Jose on April 17, 2008 · 5 comments

in life

Miguel Tejada as a Baltimore Oriole

Excuse the double negative, my people, but a brotha’s got a little less patience for fools than usual.

Imagine me watching ESPN today, when I see a segment about 4-time All-Star (possibly more if not for the Jeter-A-Rod-Garciaparra collective from a few years back) and future Hall of Famer Miguel Tejada, now a member of the Houston Astros, but whose image has been tainted by the Mitchell Report for taking performance-enhancing drugs. Let’s assume that that’s all behind him; dude’s hitting .328 with 3 homeruns and 11 RBIs. In other words, still stellar numbers for this man. No Oriole, Astros, or A’s fan can deny him that.

He alleged he was 32 at the time of the interview. Just then, the interviewer has his original birth certificate from the Dominican government, and says, “I want you to explain this to me.” It turns out Miguel’s actually closer to 34 according to that document. Of course, Miguel felt embarrassed by the situation and left, then issued a public apology to the team and ownership for the little fib, but that’s not what bothers me. Frankly, what was ESPN thinking by trying to ridicule the crap out of him by giving him his original birth certificate on national television? There’s a fine line between real reporting and gossip-mongering, and I’d call this gossip-mongering.

Yes, Tejada lied. He was 19 when he was encouraged to tell scouts that he was 17, thinking knowing that teams wouldn’t take him if they didn’t see a lengthy future for him. A couple of decades later, we see how that young man’s become one of the more popular players in the league, a hard worker, and someone who made it far from the poverty many baseball players experience in Dominican Republic. Rather than make the interview an educational piece, possibly collaborating with Tejada to discuss the pressures of teenage youth in Central and South American countries to report lower ages, they bash the player and hold him responsible even when frankly no one else really cares, when his age really never gave him some performance-enhancing benefit, or when ESPN is a conduit for those behaviors of exploitation continue to occur.

But unfortunately, that’s what happens when people don’t speak to people directly. Today, I was confronted with similar situations, though not on public television, but in a forum I nonetheless expected a little professionalism. While I can’t go into specifics, I will say that we need to really reconsider what it means to conduct ourselves in a manner that’s consistent with the expectations we have for others. Therefore, there’s really no need to try and find out my nationality, who my girlfriend is, if I like you or not, or what I do with my private time unless it directly affects the work I’m doing, which I can assure anyone, it won’t. If I was a celebrity, then I’d have no problem seeing my picture all up on MzVirgo or NB, but I’m not. Regardless of whatever energies are thrown towards me, I’m nothing but a professional now. In my growth, no one should expect that this aspect of my career change.

Do I come to bat everyday? Yes. Do I have a blog that might get me in trouble? Sure, but I’m not scared. And no, I’ve never lied about my age, nor have I ever taken performance-enhancing drugs (though I can’t lie about a beer or two), but I can tell you that you should expect nothing but the best from me morning and afternoon when I come into work, 20-30 minutes early as usual. I’m not here to play those games at work. Can’t tell me nothin’ …

jose, who sees a wonderful opportunity to hit Washington DC next week …

edit: my bad COMPLETELY! there’s an ed carnival at The CEA Blog! Must give props …

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Ewing and I

by Jose on January 31, 2008 · 4 comments

in Uncategorized

Patrick Ewing, Arms Stretched Out

An idol.The biggest of superstars.

A warrior and a man all the same.

That sweet fade-away.

The sweat-drenched NY Knicks jersey, emblazoned with the number 33 in the back.

The custom sneakers.

The Georgetown alum with 2 gold medals, part of the historic Dream Team, 11-time All-Star, Rookie of the Year from 1985-86, sure Hall of Famer, and part of the NBA 50th anniversary’s All-Time Team.

The man who carried the most prominent franchise in one of the grandest stages in the world for over a decade.

No NBA championship rings. Thus, less respect.

Patrick Ewing is probably my favorite player from any sport ever. He symbolized everything the Knicks and NYC were for a decade and a 1/2. My thoughts turned to him after watching how he’s helped Dwight Howard develop into the monster MVP candidate he is. A little greyer and bereft of that signature flat-top with the notch in his hair, and a few pounds overweight, he still had that smile that reminded me why I became a Knicks fan to begin with. At the very least, you knew each night, he’d get up into that court and play his hardest. He helped instill that gritty, hard-nosed, defiant, me-against-the-world mentality many of us had laced into our DNA since child birth. Even in defeat, Knicks fans always felt we would have another run at another great season, and another championship run.

Yet, there are those who believe we shouldn’t be attached to celebrities and sports figures, asserting we don’t need to follow these idols. In many ways, I agree. Does Patrick Ewing care whether or not I follow him or not? Probably not. I still remember times when he would end up on the back pages of the Post (ugh!), the Times, or the Daily News, heckled on his own home floor mercilessly for his reactions to the lack of fan support. While he’s out drinking his high-priced alcohol in a big house with his plethora of stats and awards, I’m somewhere in an apartment writing about how much I love him as a sports figure.
That might be the reason why we idolize them in the first place. Kids from my neighborhood look at these Black and Latino men living their dreams out for millions to see and envision themselves doing likewise. Sports and other competitions for that matter are emblematic of the struggles the common man and woman face in real life. How interesting is it that we latch ourselves onto sports teams and players in the hopes that even as superficial and capitalist these victories seem, we too feel like we won or lost depending on the outcomes. Some of us hook ourselves onto these figures so much that they become part of our lives. Their struggles become ours. Their hardships become ours.

Even without the multimillion dollar price tag strung on these players’ ankles, we still see a little of ourselves in the players we witness so much. That’s why I write about Alex Rodriguez and expectations leveled on him, Patrick Ewing and his greatness contrasted with his shortcomings, or even The Rock’s ability to carry such braggadocio and still be considered the “People’s Champion.”

We can even extend that to the celebrities of today, from Denzel’s refined passion to Morgan Freeman’s mature wisdom. Even the recent death of Heath Ledger reminds people of the shortcomings and tragedies of a bright present and a brighter future. And I hate to say this, but I suspect that people follow Britney Spears as much to see whether she’ll get out of her misery than to witness her downfall. We cheer as much for comebacks as we do the underdog. We oscillate in adulation. People took 7-8 years to realize that Al Gore was the best choice for President (out of the 2-party system we have now), but people hated him for the same reasons they love him now, only he had 7 years to prove to everyone he was right.

The figures that certain populations decide to prop up are accurate representations of the ideas and feelings that society has about themselves. If we look at New York City in 1977, we can sum up NYC’s population with three people: Reggie Jackson, George Steinbrenner, and Billy Martin. Reggie represented Blacks’ and Latinos’ dreams of upward mobility (for more, see The Jeffersons circa 1975 – 1985). George Steinbrenner represented the cantankerous bosses NYC became renown for. And Billy Martin represented the working class people in NYC, struggling to keep their jobs in a recessive job market.

Patrick Ewing, thus, represented so much of what I grew up knowing about NYC, but more importantly about myself. I grew emotionally attached to his victories and losses as a kid, and haven’t been quite as passionate about anyone outside my home or classroom in ages. I can still remember how shocked I was to see him traded to the Seattle Sonics, and subsequently came back to beat the Knicks with 18 points and 10 rebounds, but time had already taken a toll on his weak knees and other joints. His run down the court was then a lumpy jog in some stranger’s uni.

While I watch my Knicks go through this miserable stretch, I wonder how they lost that edge that made the rest of the league hate the Knicks and make us love them. The Knicks these days have a few scrappy players (Lee, Balkman, Robinson, Crawford), but in general suit up sleep-inducing and lackluster players who, leadership included, have no common mission. They really look like they’d prefer to be at home than actually representing NYC’s grand basketball history properly. It’s like watching million dollar zombies out there. Then I look at the city the team is now, and I see the same can be said for many of the people who inhabit it now.

Fuck that. Bring back Patrick. Kneepads, missed finger rolls and all. I’d rather be a contender and lose than to have never had the chance.

jose, gave away his authentic Patrick Ewing jersey to my younger cousin after he got too big to fit in it, but definitely has the 15th anniversary Team USA Ewing jersey ready for all occasions …

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Emotional Gladiators or Overpaid Crybabies?

by Jose on May 1, 2007 · 1 comment

in Uncategorized

“There’s no crying in baseball!”

The seminal catchphrase we as sports fans of any level in reference to pro athletes we see everyday on TV. We expect these figures to play with heart and emotion, yet when we see them on screen, we also want them to deflect any signs of weakness. We also get angry at players that whine and moan through the course of the season because we understand that some of their contracts can buy out entire nation’s GDPs. Some of their grips, comparing their situations to slavery or harassment often leave us bewildered.

Even still, I thoroughly believe crying in sports is more than justified; it’s a rite of passage into true hero status. I remember the first time I watched an athlete cry, and it was probably Jackie Joyner-Kersee crying as she tried to cross the finish line at the 1992 Summer Olympics in Barcelona, Spain. That image planted the seed for my perception of athletes as emotional gladiators, leaving it all on the field.

It also meant that my images of Andre Agassi, Kobe Bryant, and Adam Morrison were held to a JJK-standard of crying. Frankly, none of their crying could hold a light to that moment, though all of their crying is somewhat believable. Someone like Terrell Owens or Barry Bonds, though, has as much business crying as Rod “Show Me the Money” Tidwell.

What did the argument in for me, though, was when I watch young basketball or baseball players play their sport. Some of these kids practice day and night, foregoing whatever they’re supposed to do, like homework and showers, to practice their sport. They have this big dream, and idolize a sports hero. They continue on into higher stages of the game, and are chosen based on their work ethic, G_d-given abilities, and/or their heart, and the higher they get in their field, the more the sport becomes a part of their actual person.

The athletes that we watch on TV, then, have succumbed their lives with football. It’s no longer a livelihood the way most people can just apply and become a certain thing. These people have worked damn near forever to get to where they are at such a young age. So when I see crying in any sport, I’m thinking, “How much did this moment mean to that athlete?” and “How many beatings did this person take to get to where they are?”

Sometimes, it makes me think my job as a teacher can’t be that bad. Then I realize that if I multiply my salary by 100, I’d have the average pro athlete’s income per year. No sympathy here, herbs. Can’t blame me, though …

jose, who should have a new poem ready for y’all soon.

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