There’s this dread among too many whites of seeing a Black commit a violent act against a white even when necessary.
You need no more evidence of this than the fact that 12 Years a Slave won the Best Picture Oscar while the year before, the far superior Django Unchanged won only Oscars for supporting actor and screenplay.
So despite a history of deranged, psychotic and sometimes even heroic niggas ranging from Colin Ferguson, to John H. White to Nat Turner to Robert Charles, the portrayal of the Negro must remain docile, subservient and long suffering – at least in the face of white oppression.
This hustle has had its benefits.
Doctor King worked it like a maestro.
Now, predating even Roger Goodell – whose moves as NFL Commissioner ended the career of Ray Rice and cost Adrian Peterson a year of his own – the NBA has long attempted to cater more to the non-fan than to the actual fan.
If Goodall had been for the fans, neither Rice nor Peterson would have missed a game.
Inviting the nation to loathe the wife/child beater on Sunday and at the game is better promotion than even P.T. Barnum could have managed.
But no, Goodell catered to women’s groups and feminist, types that only turn an ear to sports when there’s news of criminality.
Similarly, the NBA, based solely on Kermit Washington breaking Rudy Tomjonavich’s face, decided that it might scare off certain folks with the images of big strapping Blacks beating senseless little helpless whites.
In ’93, there came different rulings for punches thrown, versus punches that landed.
Then in 2001, there was the NBA ruling on punching, fighting and elbow fouls.
This sucks because some of the game’s most classic moments have been fights.
Willis Reed once beat up the Lakers single-handedly.
Chris Childs’ two-piece of Kobe Bryant still shows up in gifs to this day.
And who can forget Barkley?
Chuck took down Shaq and held him.
And while Charles Oakley threatening to kick Chuck’s ass on social media is the cause of me doing this post, I also remember both Charles’ getting it on in the flesh.
I’d give the edge to Oakley.
The point these rules and thinking misses is that true sports fans realize that the color of the jersey matters far more than the color of the player that wears it.
You already know how I feel about Carmelo Anthony coming to Kristaps Porzingis’ defense.
Besides, there’s a lot of good story lines that we’re missing out on just because, unlike hockey, fighting is an NBA no-no.
Like who else would love to know if all LeBron’s muscle is just for show?
And who else would have wanted to see what Steph Curry could have gotten off against Trevor Ariza?
Once a Hatchet Man himself, Phil Jackson, as coach of the Bulls, used the no-fight clause to his benefit in 1994 by sending in scrub Jo Jo English to take out Knicks starter Derek Harper.
And for all the protective patriarchy, real fans were the ones that suffered most when, having no outlet on the floor, maniacal violence spilled into the crowd the fateful night in Auburn Hills that Ron Artest became Tyson Unhinged.
If he’d have been allowed to go after the object of his attention, Ben Wallace, Artest would have either manned up or bitched out.
Instead he gave the NBA something straight out of a King Kong movie, a giant monkey on the lose, with nothing to climb but the stands.