Super Bowl Sherman

I'm still confused as to why so many are still throwing a hissy fit over Richard Sherman's post 49er's game interview... but the fact that the Super Bowl is right around the corner probably doesn't help to silence the critics and keyboard warriors. In my personal opinion, I think fans need to look at this incident from outside the box.

Richard Sherman is not a dumb man, in fact, he's quite smart.... Credible sources say his mother would feed and clothe gang members where Sherman grew up in order to get them off the streets and to deter Little Richey from that lifestyle. A former coach said gang members would tell Sherman to go home and study if he even approached them about joining out of respect for his mother.

He was an honor roll student in the top of his class and majored in Communications at Stanford. Now, I know plenty of jocks get through classes because their team needs them (you can fill in the blanks) but that's probably not so much the case at a school as prestigious as Stanford.

Immediately after seeing the interview, I was reminded of a famous scene in which a warrior aired his emotions in a very similar way...

The arena... blood spewed everywhere, mangled bodies rotting in the sun. The crowd wanted death and destruction, but what happens when a man takes it one step further? When he gives them EVERYTHING they ask for?

"ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!" cries Russell Crowe in the movie Gladiator.



Perhaps the things we want most in life are the things we are often not ready to accept
 

THAT is what we got during that post game interview... that entertainment we so constantly beg for, even though we never truly get it. Because we don't think the story of David vs. Goliath is cool because the little guy beats the big guy... we think it's bad ass because David chops Goliath's fucking head off.

With the advances in technology, fans can literally feel as though they are on the field. Mic'd players, half a bajillion cameras with zoom capabilities and HD quality... to be any closer you would literally have to be that guy with a forehead the size of Nebraska who had to choose the most worthless fucking city in that state to constantly shout (fuck the Huskers).

But we ourselves don't want to be that guy... we want his life but we don't want the concussions, the millions of fans cheering us on so they win their bets, the millions more screaming at us to fail. We just want a glimpse of what he goes through, to receive a full taste is something we could never stomach... though we couch potato coach as they we could.

So a better question is, why are we so shocked when we get a full blown sample of what we so desire? When we witness Sherman put Crabtree on blast... when we hear a coach like Paul Rhodes drop a plethora of f-bombs live on ESPN...

Why are we so shocked when a "reality" television star becomes an idol, let's fame and money get to their head, becomes an alcoholic, gets into drugs, goes bankrupt and eventually kills them self by suck-starting a pistol?

Are we no longer entertained when we witness just what we've created? Why are we so shocked when we nurture vicious animals and then are for some reason offended when they decide to turn and snap their ugly fangs at us?

For some reason, we have this crazy notion that violent sports are played by The Brady Bunch... fun loving athletes who joke around and at the end of their day, go home jolly and calm.

The interview staff knew exactly what could have happened, which is why it was exceptionally funny they were shocked it did. In the majority of violent sports, athletes will be rushed from their environment and given some time to wind down before being confronted. I'm sure had Tim "I swear I'm a virgin even though I went to THE UNIVERSITY OF FLORIDA" Tebow hurdled the axe murderer Ray Lewis for a game winning touchdown, he probably would've threatened to skullfuck his unborn children mid post game interview... and then immediately went to confession/into the Witness Protection Program.

He didn't tap that... even once? Whatever you say, Timmy.
 

We are so mentally distraught and emotionally high after testosterone laden events and sporting matches that we have to have time to come back down to Earth, just as an astronaut's body needs time to re-acclimate to its new surroundings.

I remember back when I still trained mixed martial arts... my second fight was against a guy who talked more shit than Muhammed Ali and Chael Sonnen combined. I knocked him out with a haymaker a minute into the fight. I literally don't know what I said to the MC afterwards, because all I could see was red like a bull an all I wanted to do was shove the microphone up my opponent's ass... the wide way.

But after letting myself rest for 10 minutes, I finally calmed down. I finally felt all the aches, pains and bruises... I could finally think straight.

I don't necessarily approve or disapprove of what Sherman said, although I completely realize why he reacted that way. A wise man once told me, "Conversation should be like a mini skirt... long enough to cover the essentials but short enough to keep some one's attention." Had it been me, a simple "Better luck next year, Crabbypatty" followed by a wink to the camera would have burned a little more. Sherman got his point across, whether America was ready to hear the unfiltered version of it or not.



STAAAAHHHHHPPPPPP!
 



Maybe someday we won't be surprised when Pavlov's dog gets tired of salivating, breaks free and decides to go latch onto some one's neck...

My Second Home

I do this for the free fireworks... for the explosion of thoughts and emotions that comes with every visit.

To feel my lungs burning as if a match was tossed down a kerosene filled well, my legs and arms on fire as if a blanket of lactic acid had enveloped me whole. Because I live for that moment that comes every single time when you find yourself blankly staring off into the middle of nowhere, questioning why you're even there.

Your grip is shot, your stomach churning, prepared to release bile if you just give the thumbs up. Time and the weights may be the only thing working harder against you than your own body. Perhaps you want to cry or just lay down and give up. Nobody could stop you if you did, they're not your mother... you do this voluntarily. You've already sweat a bit and are sore, end early, short your reps and go home to relax. Grab a beer, maybe some pizza and reward yourself for the hard work you just put in. Or don't...

Maybe you pick up the bar again, maybe you grit your teeth and shut off the demons in your head telling you that you aren't good enough and never will be. Maybe you start to realize that through pain of various kinds, we learn various ways to better ourselves. Maybe you start to realize that your limits are far beyond what you think you are capable of... maybe you can do considerably more.

You look up and see a 60 year old man who comes here everyday because he wants to do everything he can to extend his life so he can watch his grandchildren grow. You see a single mom who has such a busy schedule that she has to cut her sleep a couple of hours short each night so that she can workout at 5:30 in the morning, lest she not be able to workout at all.

You see the girl who was told she'd never be able to physically accomplish something because of an injury proving her doubters wrong every single day. You see your coaches busting their ass right along side you, going through the same pain and pushing you the entire way.

The community drives you to keep going and you realize when so many are for you, nobody can be against you. There may be people who try to stand in your way, who doubt your goals or belittle your accomplishments, but then you remember all those people who do believe.

You do it because seeing those who support you accomplish their goals make YOU a better person. Seeing a soccer mom do a happy dance because she dead lifted hundreds of pounds which she never in a million years would have thought she could do. Seeing how much pride someone takes in a photo comparison to 3 months ago when they decided to change their diet and exercise routine in order to become a healthier, happier individual.

All of a sudden, your accomplishments don't mean so much... but knowing you could be apart of someone else's journey begins to mean the world to you. Then you see how proud people are of you, and how much pride they take in YOUR accomplishments, and you realize you owe it to them to do your best every single moment in life. Your parents, your kids, your husbands, wives and significant others. Hell, even people half a world a way that have never even met you. All those who sacrificed for you along the way, who saw you as a source of inspiration at some point in their lives... those are the ones you owe it all to.

They are why you treat your body right, nourishing it with quality food, sleep and hydration. They are why you show up every day and bust your ass. Because they have given up so much in order to help you become to the best individual you could be. Because no matter how hard you work in the gym, THEY are the ones who have put in the hardest work. They're why you compete each and every day. Not always for money, trophies and fame... but for gratitude. To show them that you are thankful for the trust, to show them you appreciate everything they've done for you.

I go because my mother and sister mean the world to me and making them happy is my main focus in life. I go because I know where I started is not where I have to end up in life. I go because I want people to hear my name and not just think, but truly feel I am a good man. I go because I want to spend myself every day... mentally, emotionally and physically. I go because no matter when my time here on Earth is through and my life flashes before my eyes, I refuse to have any regrets.

Family

Embracing Opportunity

I was never lucky enough to meet any of my grandparents but from the stories I've heard, they were some hard-nosed motherfuckers. They were part of "The Greatest Generation", folks who answered the call to serve Uncle Sam when he was in a time of need... folks who made sacrifices on the home front until everyone made it back. They spent time on the front lines, bought war bonds back home and participated in civilian peace time rationing of goods. They didn't ask, "Why us?" and they didn't complain... they just got the job done. They weren't born with the excessive whining/I deserve everything I want in life gene that my generation has seemed to develop.

I was lucky enough, however, to meet my Grand Uncle Charles McGee. He, along with my Grandmother Ruth Downs, grew up poor but aspired to greatness. He stayed focused in high school, went to college for engineering before leaving to enlist in the Army Air Corps his sophomore year and soon became a fighter pilot once the war broke out. He's one of the last surviving Tuskegee Airmen and flew 409 combat missions while fighting in World War II, Korea AND Vietnam... a still standing Air Force record.



My beautiful grandmother, Ruth Downs

The most awesome thing about my "Uncle" Charles, however, is that he's a black man. He answered the call to serve his country even though, according to a study by the Army War College in 1925, blacks, "... are mentally inferior by nature, subservient, cowardly... and therefore unfit for combat." It was thought that blacks would be good for nothing more than kitchen work and cleaning duties. Even after passing the Tuskegee flight program, they were initially given nothing more than routine reconnaissance missions with zero real danger. Yet he stayed focused and didn't let racism deter him. Eventually, in a time where blacks would be hung just for sitting in a white only section, he was destroying the enemy and receiving salutes from the men who wanted him dead simply because his skin was slightly more dark. He used the hate as fuel for his fire and eventually became one of the greatest fighter pilots in the history of the Air Force. Which is why the thing I love most about my 95 year old "Uncle Charles", as weird as it is to say, is that if you were to talk to him on the phone, you'd assume he was white.

Pride

My ancestors were first brought to this country on slave ships... sold at markets like prized cattle. They worked hard labor day in and day out, being disciplined with lashes to the back if they didn't "perform" well enough. They were told they were nothing but wild animals, useless for anything but being farm hands. They were a prime example that you can break a man physically, but you cannot break his mind.

Viktor Frankl spent time as a concentration camp prisoner, but instead of succumbing to the situation, he sought to discover the importance of finding meaning in all forms of existence, even the most horrid ones, thus, finding a reason to live. In his book, "Man's Search For Meaning" he wrote, "Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."

This is something my ancestors luckily took heed to, a thought process most eloquently portrayed in Langston Hughes' poem, "I, Too Sing America". They sought freedom, both of physical and mental chains. They learned how to read and write, even if being caught with a book would mean the end of their life. Blacks learned that power is not always physical and does not always require large followings but that one determined individual can change the course of history. We became leaders and visionaries, but more importantly, we accepted that we could become equals. But then my generation came along with what appears to be the sole intent of erasing hundreds of years of progress in the right direction.



Colonel McGee and his plane "Kitten", named after his wife

Ebonics and diamonds, fancy cars and baggy clothes. The amount of hoes you have being of more importance than the quality of children you're raising... if you're even around. Get rich or die trying, be known as a bad tipper, blast rap songs where the word nigga comprises 95% of the lyrics as you ride around on your 24 inch rims. Do bad in school, maybe even fail out... but hopefully get a scholarship somewhere for being good at basketball. Attend a class here and there, but don't dare participate. Leave for the draft early, bank on the fact that you won't get injured or wash out.

Did you hear that? It was generations of ancestors rolling over in their graves disgusted at what we minorities have become. We are not special and we don't need special treatment. What we need is focus... because we have more inspiring and motivating figures than we even realize. We owe it to ourselves, but more importantly those of the past who would have KILLED to have the opportunities that we have now. We grow up in less than ideal situations but fail to realize the majority of limiting factors that exist are self-made. We, as Americans in general, need a fucking reality check. We could be a great generation if we just embraced our potential. There would be nothing worse than leaving this Earth knowing we never tried to become the greatest possible person that we could be.

"Aim high and never settle."

If I were to die today, I'd just want the following to be remembered: Carry yourself in a way that would make those before you proud. Walk tall and with confident steps. Walls will occasionally make you stop on the path you're traveling... you can go around, over, under or through... but never settle on being stopped. Speak with pride and never forget your history. Make your own history today that those in the future can revel about. Know who you are, trust your instincts and leave this world completely spent having given everything you had to it.