N Danger

By now, you've heard it. Or at least heard about it. Riley Cooper, a wide receiver for the Philadelphia Eagles, got caught on camera saying, "n****r" while at a Kenny Chesney concert. There are a few different responses that this story has brought about in me, so I'll try to elaborate upon each of them.


(1.) Comedy

There's an overly-abundant amount of humor to be found in the fact that Cooper drops this word at the one place in Philadelphia where you're not very likely to spot a black person: a Kenny Chesney concert. [I said Philly, not Pittsburgh...shut up.]

In the now infamous video, we never see exactly who Cooper's talking about, or why he's so mad. It actually feels unlikely that the people he's calling "n****rs" are even of color, simply because of the circumstances. [NOTE: If the people and/or reason have been revealed by now, I apologize for my lack of research here. I've been waiting to hear something about this; but as of writing this, no one seems to have mentioned it. I admit, though, that I've been short on free time the last couple of days, and could easily have missed something.] And if Cooper really did use the word on someone who isn't black, then maybe he's just a Donald Glover disciple?

Comedy Central

(.2) Indifference

If, indeed, Cooper used the word on people who weren't black, I'm not sure I care. I actually agree 200% with the point Glover is making in that clip. Words are only words, and only have as much power as you appropriate to them. Do I like the n word? No, of course not; the fact that I say "n word" instead of the actual word is, in part, evidence of that. But it's also a product of 30+ years of being conditioned to hate it. There are, in actuality, no "bad words." There are only words that people have been told by other people that they're not supposed to say or hear. A word is only as powerful as the intentions of the person using it.

If, while walking down the street, I turn to an approaching stranger and say, "Fuck off," there's an intent to harm and/or offend that justifies anger on the stranger's part. But what if, instead, I drop my beer at the bar and say, "Fuck!" as a stranger walks past. What harm has been inflicted upon the stranger? Has blood started pouring from his ears? Has a demon sprang forth from the earth and started raping his parents? Of course not. It's a silly, outdated concept to have words you can't say.

So if Cooper used the word specifically because the people at whom he was angry were black, then this is a story. If he simply used it because he was angry at people, regardless of their race, then...so what? It's a word, and that's all.


(3.) Fear

This aspect may not be as readily apparent to the "third parties" of this story. I put that term in quotation marks because I'm being a bit abstract with it. By third party, I'm not talking only about everyone on the scene outside of Cooper and his invisible foe. I mean...anyone, anywhere, who isn't Riley Cooper and who isn't black.

Though, speaking scientifically, I'm only half black, I have always identified myself as black, without any fractional qualifiers. When you're mulatto, white people see you as "half black", and black people see you as "black*". There's an unwillingness by a white person to see you as fitting into their category. Now, the vast majority of the time, it's not a malicious attempt at ostracizing you. But its subtlety belies its power. "You're not exactly like me, so you're not equal to me."

So speaking as a black* man, I'll let all of you third parties in on our biggest fear in "post racial America": The wolf in sheep's clothing.

Look, the guys in the sheets burning crosses in the backwoods of Alabama are scary. But they are scary to me in the same way that the Taliban fighter in the mountains of Afghanistan is scary to the average person in small town America. They are extremists, living a primitive reality, and I will probably never be within their reach. And, odds are, if I ever am, I'll know that I'm putting myself in harm's way long before I'm ever actually there.

No, when it comes to terrorism, the guys who inspire the most paranoia and Hollywood storylines are the sleeper cells. The guys who live next door, that you play cards with once a month, whose kids play little league with your kids. The guys that terrify me, and who shake me to my core, are the hidden racists. The guys you work with and hang out at the bar with, who you would vouch for in a heartbeat. And, from all evidence available for review at the moment, that is Riley Cooper.

Cooper works in a profession dominated by black men. He plays a position in football where 91% of the top players last year were black. His coworkers, some of his best friends, are/were black. And none of them saw this coming. They thought they knew him, and they trusted him. And now they don't know what to make of him.

I have a lot of white friends. Some I would go to war with; an even smaller number I would die for. But, a social situation doesn't pass where there isn't a little man with a rifle standing guard in my temple, sights trained on the line, waiting for someone—anyone—to cross it. It's something I live with, that I can't imagine not living with. Every room I walk into, every smiling stranger I shake hands with, I brace myself against the unknown threat that could be lying beneath the surface. The knife you don't see cuts deeper than the one you do. And those who would be your enemies understand this better than those who only wish to be your friend.

If Riley Cooper truly harbors racist attitudes, leanings, and thoughts; if he's full of bigoted feelings that he's kept closeted until now, for the sake of his professional advancement; then let the legacy of his story be the education of those who don't live with the fear that I carry with me, everywhere I go. The fear that every black person—standing in plain sight—carries with them, everywhere they go.

Fair Play

These days it’s rare (maybe too rare) that either Kev or I (or, heaven-forbid, TJ) do a pure opinion piece on Crooked Straight. Lately we’ve stuck to just sharing videos, stories, and pictures of beautiful women, occasionally adding a thought or two behind why we feel you need to make those things a part of your pop culture consciousness. But as I’m bored and short on funny videos at the moment, I thought I’d take this time to share some levelheaded thought with those out there who need it most: NFL Columnists (fellow bloggers are being lumped into this demographic).

The end of yesterday’s Eagles/Giants game was mesmerizing, to say the least. Michael Vick took control of the game and, for the first time, put his stamp on the Eagles as his team. But soon after DeSean Jackson’s improbable walk-off punt return touchdown brought the New Meadowlands Stadium crowd to its knees, a grumble began emanating from sports columnists and bloggers. It was a whine best exemplified by that of Chris Chase at Shutdown Corner:

But let's say the Giants did walk off without shaking hands. How is that any worse sportsmanship than DeSean Jackson tauntingly holding the ball aloft at the 30-yard line and running parallel to the goal line before scoring?

Several times in the past, I have found many an argument against common sense in Chase’s views on the NFL world. Despite that, I agree with most of what he’s said in this blog about Vick’s riff on the Giants’ sportsmanship. What I disagree with, though, is the vilification of DeSean’s act of trotting parallel to the goal line to run out the clock.

Chase is hardly alone in his unfair castigation of DJax’s clock-killing trot. Even Jason Whitlock, who I more often than not view as the gold standard for truthfulness in sports analysis, tweeted that the act was a taunt. But, as the guy who Whitlock was responding to correctly stated, there is a sad double standard taking place here. Brandon Stokely made a very similar move to erode time from the clock before scoring against Cincinnati last year. Where were the cries from detractors and accusations of taunting from columnists and bloggers after that play?

Now, before anyone mistakenly accuses me of fanning the flames of racism here, let me state that the difference in reaction to these two plays is not in any way based on the fact that Stokely is white and Jackson is black. Skin color has very little, if anything, to do with the unfair criticism of DJax’s actions. No, the reason behind this animosity towards his play is that DJax is, in fact, a taunter.

He always has been. From his days as a star at the University of California, to just last week when he did a trust fall into the end zone following a 91 yard catch-and-run. Jackson even taunts on the very punt return in question. As Chase observes, he holds the ball up in the air in triump as he begins to realize that no one will catch him. But Chase himself correctly asserts, “This sportsmanship thing goes too far sometimes.” And in this case it has gone so far as to allow an incredibly intelligent play be besmirched by onlookers as typical DJax audacity.

You see, Jackson’s not just a bold, taunting, in-your-face talent, he’s also a very young player who, until now, had been prone to acts of stupidity. Moments like the one he had in a game against Dallas in his rookie year, when he dropped the football in celebration before reaching the end zone. But while the bravado of Jackson’s game has only slightly diminished, the mindless actions of a standout rookie have now been replaced by the savvy of a star 3rd year veteran.

This play was a watermark in his career, a heady play that showed his desire to win the day for his team weighed heavier on his mind than any urge to showboat and self-promote. Watch Jackson’s body language as he crosses the 20 yard line. His demeanor visibly goes from celebration to game management. He begins moving away from the sideline, and as he nears the 5 he accelerates past a Giants defender—who could easily have ruined everything had Jackson begun slacking—cutting across the field while scanning the mayhem around him for (1.) a game clock, to try and assure that not a second remained on it, and (2.) other Giants who might seize the opportunity to keep him from crossing into the end zone. And as for Jackson’s postgame claim that he did it for excitement? I’m not buying it. That statement itself is the materialization of Jackson’s showboating nature; the body language coming from the man as he ran laterally across the field spoke more truth than any Willie Beamon-esque self-aggrandizing he wanted to do for the DJax brand. It’s clear in his demeanor that he wasn’t looking to run the goal line in some attempt to attract attention. He doesn’t do jumping jacks or strike a Heisman pose. Instead he keeps his head on a swivel, and keeps the ball and the final seconds away from the Giants.

And even his initial taunt of raising the ball in the air isn’t so arrogant as to warrant condemnation. He didn’t point at any Giants’ player, or at their bench or fans. He simply showed genuine exuberance; and, more than likely, it was probably only a 100th of what he was feeling in that split second Remember, up until that afternoon it wasn’t even certain whether or not Jackson would be playing in the game, as a foot injury had kept him limited in practice for most of the week. Now, at the end of the day, he had helped his team complete one of the most thrilling comebacks in NFL history. I’d say that moment deserved a high step, or a celebratory dive into the end zone. But that clever veteran DeSean realized that over-the-top embellishment wasn’t what would win the game.

Maybe more NFL columnists should realize that, too.