QÜNE: The Report

Taking a T.O. Time Out

We were ok with the controversy surrounding Terrell Owens at the beginning of last season. In fact, we weren't shocked by his hold out, the unkind words directed towards Donovan McNabb, or the fact that he completed an entire conditioning workout, topless, in front of a his suburban majority folk neighbors in Voorhees, New Jersey.  T.O. is an athelete, so we don't expect him to be an expert on the intersection of race, class, and gender.  But we do expect to see some evidence of intellectual and social growth from today's atheletes.  Which is why T.O.’s latest antics have secured him a place at the top of our pisstivity list. 

If you dare, venture over to his website- www.terrellowens.com. There, you’ll have the pleasure of being greeted by a rap song produced and performed by T.O himself. As if it wasn’t tacky enough that he decided to wear an all white suit to his Cowboys press conference, he now deems it necessary to produce a song pooh-poohing his former QB, the Eagles organization, and, indirectly, Philadelphia fans.

For the life of us, we can’t figure out why T.O. would choose to thumb his nose at his former teammates and coaches by creating a mockingly simple rap song. We’ve all been angry at a former employer for throwing up firewalls that don’t allow us to surf nefarious websites at work, or sending us to the conference in Hawaii with the office snitch. But it would never occur to us to create a rap song to exact our revenge. Not only do we understand and openly embrace our artistic limits, but we’re sure that any vengeful musical creation shared publicly would destroy our ability to be taken seriously in any professional setting- forever.

Before hearing his rap diatribe, we were optimistic that T.O.’s troubles in Philadelphia were more a function of his pride and social naiveté, than any kind of “keeping it real” ego trip that so many sports icons have embraced as of late. As such, we were sure that- this time around - he would learn from his previous media mistakes, recognizing how important it is to reflect before offering an opinion (or wearing a shirt with his momma’s face on it at a press conference). 

Unfortunately, his rap diss shows that he's cold hearted, calculating, and as linguistically challenged as today's endless stream of artistic incapables that produce hallow hip hop songs with simplistic beats and elementary lyrics. That's three strikes if you're counting.  Consequently, he’s now joined the ranks of the 10 or so other athletes that will be remembered for their off the field hip hop driven absurdity than their sports accomplishments (see the Miami Hurricanes’ 7^th Floor Crew and Cedric Ceballos for more evidence).

Surely, it didn’t take long for T.O. to produce his Laffy-Taffy like pro-Cowboys rap, but he had over three months to consider whether or not he should “keep it real” or let his actions speak for themselves through the remainder of his career.

Unfortunately, he chose the rap and we’ve chosen to never give him the benefit of the doubt again. Welcome to Qüne T.O..

Listen here.

Bonds Fatigue

For the last five years Barry Bonds has been to baseball what Wham! was to folk who grew up in the 80s- world renowned, but oddly unappreciated.  Despite having Hall of Fame worthy stats prior, his current quest to break Hank Aaron’s homerun record has grasped the attention of true fans and those that only attend games for beer and free bobble heads.  Still, Mr. Bonds has never been able to capture our admiration (or the public’s) the way other sports icons have. And for the longest we've never really been able to put our finger on it. We weren’t sure if it its the fact that his voice doesn’t really match the size of head or that he has just a hair more social acumen than Napoleon Dynamite.

Well, all of that changed with the latest news concerning his penchant for using steroids to improve his play on the baseball diamond.  The news, to be published in the next addition of Sports Illustrated and the forthcoming book, entitled Game of Shadows details Bonds' reckless use of banned substances over the course of five years. During which time his homerun percentage doubled, along with his weight and the circumference of his head.

This was nail in the coffin for us-- and we now realize why we’ve always had a weird feeling about Mr. Bonds. Pictures of his curious growth, coupled with continuous denials, “no comments”, and a never-ending firestorm of allegations is enough to for us to assume that he cheated.

To make matters worse, some folk still see Bonds' latest predicament as proof positive that there is a conspiracy against black men.  While we have no doubt that there are a couple evil cabals bent on disgracing men of color in positions of power, we find it difficult to believe that they’ve ever wasted any of their time or kryptonite to de-fame Mr. Bonds.

So rather than defending a man that has the about as much allegiance to black people as Karl Rove, we think it would be more appropriate to defend Hank Aaron’s homerun record. It is without a doubt one of the greatest sports feats of all time. Mr. Aaron did not just demolish one of the most coveted records in baseball history,  he did it while enduring egregious acts of bigotry, including death threats and pounds of hate mail.  And throughout his campaign to break Babe Ruth’s record, Aaron carried himself  "with the same style and grace off the field as he did on it” according to Jock Smith a former player turned Tuskegee lawyer.

To be frank- Hank Aaron simply presents as a much better person than Bonds. Aaron’s unquestionable class and unwavering integrity give his accomplishments even more relevancy in today’s orgasmic sports culture.   As such, his record and enduring character are testaments to what is possible.  We should not lose sight of this in the midst of baseball’s latest steroid controversy.  Nor should we feel compelled to defend a cheater (no matter what his color) when we already have great heros like Hank Aaron to look up to.

As for Bonds? We feel its time for him to give up his bat in favor of a more appropriate endeavor.  We’re thinking pro-wrestling or cage boxing.  Both celebrate deception.

Read an excerpt from Game of Shadows here [courtesy of CNNSI.com].

 

The Other Kind of Party People

At The Report, we take our parties seriously. While we’ve never embraced the idea of “getting our eagle on”, we don’t mind “dropping it” when placed in an appropriate festive atmosphere. For us, parties are a legitmate form of escapism and a legitimate means of lowering our risk of hypertension (although not eating so many Jamaican beef patties would probably help as well). Give us Pomegranate Martinis, a big dance floor, and protection from (too often) obstinate Nigerian men, and we’re happy.

 However, we have little patience for long lines, outlandish cover charges, and parties hosted by brutish ball players. We’re too old (barely) to waste 4 hours of our life partying in tight spaces with folk trying to resurrect their dorm room identities.

 Which is why we don’t understand why so many of our acquaintances are suddenly so giddy about NBA All Star Weekend. Granted, if you could afford tickets to the events, watching the NBA elite compete is great way to indulge your craving for sports. But if you had to take a Southwest “red eye” to Houston, we can assume that you didn’t come within 5 miles of the Toyota Center or have any intention of paying the $2, 000+ for tickets to the game.

So why are so many of our people rushing to All Star Weekend? We’re afraid to ask. Yet, we have a funny feeling that some of the people who flocked to Texas to just  “hang out” are same the folk that managed to destroy the Greek Picnic, Freaknic, and The Essence Music Festival; and have the nerve to show up at the Congressional Black Caucus Weekend every year as unregistered voters*. By turning civilized festivals into the commemorative equivalent of a Pimps Up, Hoes Down video, these ‘party people’ have the capability to quickly spoil any upbeat black social gathering.

Our advice- enjoy All Star Weekend while you can- before David Stern gets hip and moves the festivities to Kazakhstan.

 Read more here.

*We know who you are and so do you.

Hate Ball

Have you ever seen Vince Carter dunk? It is, indeed, a thing of beauty. His dunk over the 7’2” Frederic Weis (see video here) is , without a doubt, one of the best shows of “hops” in the history of organized basketball.      

Unfortunately, his latest statement in regard to Kobe's 81 point game can be only designated as a clear example of "hoop hatred".  When asked about Kobe's 81 point game, Vince had this to say,

"The only bad thing about it [Kobe's 81 point game] is that younger kids now, whose minds are easily warped, they are going to think, 'Oh! I am going to go out there and do it,' instead of [having] the team concept first.' That is what is missing in the game — guys understanding how to play as a team.”

Wow. This is coming from a guy who admitted to playing at half-speed to ensure that he was traded from the Raptors a couple of years ago. Vince Carter is a good player (not great, but good). Unfortunately, by going out of his way to slam Kobe for achieving the second highest individual point total in NBA history, Mr. Carter has solidified his place in the line of bitter ball players that were unable to live up to the hype of being the next Jordan.

Mr. Bryant has IT. No question. So what if he speaks two languages, grew up in an upper middle class home, and doesn’t care to hang out with the NBA 'thugeratti' (although these characteristics alone, make him much more akin to the real MJ than any feat of the hardwood). Kobe Bryant is to the NBA what Kanye West is to hip hop. He is the antithesis of Ron Artest; and proof positive that black genius is not always a by-product of a ghetto-esqe redemption story

Sure, he’ll never win a Source Award for “keeping it real”. But who would want such a frivolous honor when you’ve proven, without a shadow of a doubt, that you're one of the greatest basketball players of all time.

Read more here and stop hating. 

 

 

The Perfect Storm

Lately, there’s been a great amount of discussion concerning the NBA’s new dress code. The mandate, handed down by David Stern, the league’s commissioner, restricts players from donning hip haute couture such as “chains, pendants, medallions, and headgear (WTF-I never knew headgear was cool)”. Most of the debate over the code has elicited familiar narratives in favor and against Stern’s issuance. ‘Hip Hop heads’ and those that would like to believe that they’re still young enough to understand the complex world of urban art, fashion, and angst (read- men with graying cornrows) argue that the mandate is racist. While other, more conservative folk (read- black men with one too many pairs of khakis) make the point that everyone, including the NBA elite, should have to conform to the fashion standards of the majority business community.

Well, here at The Report, we find both sides of the argument quite pedestrian. In fact, we're much more concerned by David Stern’s apparent failing memory. For the life of us, we cannot understand why he would go out of his way to encourage NBA players to pull their 30 button, pastel draft suits out of retirement? Has he compartmentalized the image of Jalen Rose, in his fire red pin stripe suit in the 1994 draft? Did he forget about the 1996 draft, when Dallas selected, with the 9th pick, an over-sized cream suit by the name of Samaki Walker? Or maybe he has chosen to deny that Maurice Taylor ever wore a teal, “Creflo Dollaresque” double-breasted suit to the 1997 draft.

We’re appalled that David Stern has chosen to forget about such atrocities. So we’re going to try our best to protect the innocent public from the perfect storm of buttons, bizarre hues, and boller hats that are likely to emerge from the new mandate. Ladies and gentlemen, you have been warned.

Take a peek of what’s to come at CNNSI’s review of draft day fashions here.

The Soldier

Some of you may not remember former Miami football star Kellen Winslow Jr.’s 2003 tirade when he compared himself to a soldier. Following a game versus Tennessee, Winslow responded angrily to a reporter saying,

“It's war, they're out there to kill you, so I'm out there to kill them. We don't care about anybody but this U [Cool guy way of saying University of Miami]. They're going after my legs. I'm going to come right back at them. I'm a f#@$$ soldier.”

I guess no one told him about Iraq.

Well, Winslow ‘s back. In a move that has earned him a spot in the Hall of Dubious Fame, the 21 year-old, Cleveland Brown, managed to crash his new motorcycle in a parking lot (an empty parking lot no less) while trying to learn to ride it. According to published reports, he sustained season ending “internal injuries and damage to his right shoulder and right knee in an accident that sent him flying over the handlebars of his newly purchased motorcycle.” Translation- his injuries were not serious, be he won't be playing any football this year.

Winslow Jr., who lost millions last year because of a season-ending injury, will now lose a 2-3 million signing bonus because his contract prohibited him from “engaging in dangerous activities”, such as- you guessed it- riding a motorcycle.

We have no words.

This was just too easy.

Read more here.