In Cleveland: A Tale That’s Too Shitty


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was a Black family-man champion small forward, it was a white loner junkie flop quarterback still somehow adored, it was another chance to win the NBA Chip, it was a NFL season with no chance to win shit, scorn one experienced for once choosing to leave, more sympathy than for the devil for shit you wouldn’t believe, you’re currently watching the Cavaliers in the post-season, the Browns will end their year regular; no rhyme or reason, but father-forward wears the black hat reserved for the villain, the quarterback, Son is he stressed? nah at Coachella he’s chillin‘, you’ll hear endless questioning of the legacy of the achiever, the other sucks but yet you trust that he’s more Tuck than, say, Bieber – in short, the period is so like a past period, that some of its noisiest authorities will insist on it being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

That was fun.

And I was never really a big Charles Dickens fan, either. Guess I should re-read the dude some. Never did get to Great Expectations or David Copperfield and I hear both of them shits are dope.

And nah, I’m not really coming for race here as much as I seem to be. My target this time is the media. Well, yeah, how the media portrays race, sure.

Because Lord knows that if LeBron James or any pro-Spook in any sport had produced the kind of professional back story that decidedly failed now-former pro quarterback Johnny Manziel had come up with, he’d have not only long ago been drummed out of the NFL, he’d have found his ass in jail.

Never forget how “we’ve” never forgiven Chris Brown for “beating” Rihanna.

And while it can – and probably should – be argued that the difference between that lover’s quarrel and Manziel beating his own ex-girlfriend is that the Q-Rating of the latter’s ex-girlfriend is totally dependent upon her relationship with Manziel and she was not, like Rihanna, a star in her own right, clown-ass Greg Hardy‘s ex became nearly as big a star as he is once she was beaten.

No, if anything, the media laments the squandering of Manziel’s once obvious talents (first ever Freshman Heisman Trophy winner!) and while it might have been clear to anyone with a real grasp on the differences between the pro game and the college game and how though Manziel as an undersized (5’11”) guy could survive and thrive in one, his mostly improv based game of jazz-like interpretive defense reading, would never work in a league where 6’4″ 255 pound linebackers with 4.5 speed are borderline routine.

But I think it was one of the 48 Laws of Power – and since I’m not sure, I’ll paraphrase – that argued that one of the worst things that can happen to a person is if they develop a tendency to somehow pull off miracle victories.

This gives them a false sense of destiny. Then, invariably, when they find themselves really up against it, they stand around waiting on a miracle as opposed to depending on their hard work and preparation to pay off.

Say what you want about LeBron James, he never seems to be waiting on a miracle.

Not only that, he knows hard work and preparation.

So you’d expect that he might do anything if he found himself really up against it.

Anything; except of course, drugs and spousal abuse.

About the Author

Dickie Bhee is a self-styled lunatic, a Renaissance showman, a Class A, Grade A buffoon, a nigga that believes in the greatness of Niggerhood a social gadfly and a genuine Man About Town. Also:

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