A Warped POV by A. Dacosta Brathway

I saw it! I saw the basketball documentary called Black Magic and I have to say that the intention of it being shown during the NCAA's big event added, yet, another reason to love basketball at this time of year. That being said, it left a sour taste in my mouth because of the timing of its showing. Why?/ Basically, "Black Magic" blended into the fabric of the bigger picture and disappeared. It was that "feel good" feature where we get to see some of the history of the game. Sadly, nothing has changed to right the wrongs that have taken place in the sport as it relates to black coaches being treated fairly and equally. Blacks basketball royality was treated very harshly but that can be blamed to the times. The Civil Rights Movement was the backdrop to the piece and it also served as the explanation for the many wrongs black coaches faced. But what is so different now? What, blacks are not being attacked by dogs at the extention of a police officer's arm? What, blacks can eat next to whites in a restaurant? What? We can all use the same water fountain and restrooms? What about the disproportionate hirings of black coaches at major universities? Oh, my bad, that has gotten better too?/ I don't know if I feel so good that a white coach took a bunch of black players and dared to challenge and beat Kentucky, which had an all white team anymore. And the title, Black Magic implies, to me, that black athletes seem to carry a chicken's foot in their socks or rattle bones in a plate in the locker room before a game. Black athletes train as hard as anybody when it comes to playing sports, in general, basketball in particular. Earl Monroe did not represent black magic as it were. He was a highly skilled player and his feats are diminished by calling him "Black Magic" or "Black Jesus!" Why couldn't he be Earl Monroe, one of the baddest ever? Same for Cleo Hill and Peewee Kirkland... And, what about Ben Jobe and "Big House" Gaines? How come they are not mentioned everytime a coach"s wins are mentioned? Dean Smith and Bobby Knight are always mentioned! At one point I thought that they were the only two coaches that won a lot of basketball games until Mike krzyzewski showed up./ C'mon... Stop screwing around with my head and do the right thing. Either show the documentary and pieces about black's contributions year round or, when you do show it, get me a Coke and some popcorn at your expense. The never seems to be a problem treating blacks like an afterthought at a black's expense!

My Life Sucked Which, Psychologically, Affected Me To Aspire To Become a Vaccuum Cleaner Or a Writer!

January '08/ This is a part of the Prelude (The Wonder Years)to my new book. I will reveal snippets of my colorful life until I find something more interesting to write about during the course of '08.

Growing up in Brooklyn, New York, during the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement was both a scary and rewarding experience. Prior to 1955, I never thought I had anything to worry about. Then all hell broke loose for me! Emmit Teale was murdered, there was a big march in the South, Black folks needed Federal marshals just to get around town and everybody hated everybody! Now, living in New York at that time, was a little different than living in the South because racism was deep under cover. I did not know I was hated until a big Irish cop ordered me and my friends to get off the street corner before he knocked the shit out of us. (Which may have helped me because I remember being constipated a lot?)

After I graduated from Junior High School, integration set in. The high school all the black guys went to was two blocks from my house. I could have slept late, walked the two blocks and never been late for school. But, somebody decided that blacks and whites needed to go to school together so I was shipped out to Flatbush, Brooklyn to go to an all white high school. What a joke that turned out to be. The blacks hated the whites and the whites hated the blacks and I was stuck right in the middle. I didn’t hate anybody, at that time. There were race riots every week! I didn’t like fighting, although I had my first racially inspired fight in high school. The guy I fought was an Italian kid with a funny accent. He talked like “Vinny Barbarino” from the sitcom “Welcome Back Carter.” (I wonder if that kid was John Travolta?) I had to find a way to get home without getting my ass kicked. Back in my ‘hood, I was running with a bunch of guys who fashioned themselves as young revolutionaries. We all had big afro hairdos and we wore African garb. We spoke in “pig Latin” because Swahili was too hard to learn and we talked about killing the enemy all the time when we smoked reefer.

The Vietnam War was in full effect and I knew that I did not want to go there. I felt like going to Vietnam was like going to Flatbush except that there was no bus or subway there that could bring me back home. To me, at that time, it was one thing to fight for your country and it was a whole ‘nother thing to fight for your life! I chose my life! (No, I did not defect to Canada… My mother would not let me go there- kill joy!) By my junior year in high school, I started rebelling. I did not want to go to school anymore but, since I had to go, I figured I would start failing all of my classes! (I got bored being an honor student!) The only one in the school who seemed to care whether I passed or failed was my young, Jewish English teacher, who had just gotten married and had a crush on me! I didn’t think anything of it until she asked me to take her home with me and I could not figure out a way to sneak her into my crib without my mother finding out about it. She had “jungle fever,” only it was more like Malaria now that I look back on it. She was good looking but way too motherly for me. I already had the “mother of all mothers!” Don’t get me wrong, I loved my mother but she was a motherf#@ker!