Collateral Damage

I don't know if Eddie Long is gay; I don't know if these allegations of sexual abuse are true.  I suspect, however, that on some level they are, and that Eddie Long, again  on some level, probably enjoys the (sexual) company of men.  As a rule, I think just about everybody is a little bit gay, especially those who shout their homophobia the loudest.  That said, there are plenty of internet sites and Twitter accounts blabbing on and on about either issue, so I won't belabor either point here.  Yet I would like to make--or perhaps simply echo--something that may or may not be receiving as much attention as the speculation about Long's sexuality and the validity of the claims made in the lawsuits against him.

The Fantasy of Football

A few years ago during a trip to Las Vegas, NV (the only place not named Fort Wayne, Indiana where my father willingly spends the night), I spied Doug Williams in the food court of an outlet mall.  My father, sister, and I were sitting at a table eating crappy fast food when I spotted a really big black guy I knew I wasn't related to heading in our direction.  I told my dad, and as Doug Williams walked by, my dad said his name and Doug Williams waved.  My dad seemed really excited, so I convinced my sister to go ask Mr. Williams to take a picture with him; he was kind enough to oblige.  I remember two things about that day: 1. My father calling everybody he knew and telling them how he took a picture with Doug Williams, and 2. How Doug Williams shuffled through the food court.

For those of you not at all invested in American football, Doug Williams is known for being the first black man to quarterback an NFL team, the Washington Redskins, to a Super Bowl win; he's still the only black man to do so.  I know that doesn't seem like a big deal with Donovan McNabb, Jason Campbell, and Michael Vick having all stood under center as starting quarterbacks just yesterday, but  a black quarterback circa 87-88 was the equivalent to a married black woman in 2010 (I kid, I kid).  Doug Williams was the man.  Cheering for him (and Warren Moon) was a bazillion times more intense than rooting for the black person on Jeopardy! And leading the Redskins over John Elway and the Denver Broncos earned him a spot as a minor deity in the pantheon of black American heroes.  Seriously, he sits right next to Tupac and Richard Roundtree.

Uninspired Nihilism

Lately, I've found it exceedingly difficult to blog.  To be sure, it's not because I lack the desire to write and make you privy to my mental awesomeness each Monday morning, but rather because I've essentially checked out of the blogging world.  I wish I could blame it on my dissertation.  (It's coming along.  Not swimmingly, but it's coming along nonetheless.)  I could blame my blogging inactivity on the melanin storm of comments I got over at the Crunk Feminist Collective for talking smack about light-skinned people.  (That blog could not pass the brown paper bag test, and folks were not happy.)  It's also likely that my hasty preparation for my fantasy football drafts have slowed my consumption of all things pop culture and news.  (Gargamel's Revenge goes into Monday Night Football with a 32-point lead over its week 1 opponent, while The Flux Capacitors cling to an 18-point lead over A Love Bizarre.)  Yet, there are only so many fantasy football podcasts one can listen to until the (presumably) straight, white, obnoxiously nerdy and sport-obsessed male quota has been met and surpassed.  All of these statements are true, but inadequately explain my blogging ennui.