August 30, 2004
Love the flag...
I caught this post over at Baldilocks' place the other day, and followed her link to Cobb, who (apparently) first raised the topic. After that I noticed that my favorite "minimized dead-cell content" commentator had linked to S-Train as well on the same topic.
Apparently the "controversy" involves various reactions to this shot from the 2000 Olympics:
Note that I haven't watched TV for years, so I miss out on stuff that more normal folks hear about. This is the first I've heard about this. Apparently various bodies objected to those young men celebrating their victory. It was, so to speak, "vulgar." At least if you are one of the prim and politically correct types. God forbid that patriotic Americans show love for their country. What's next? Devoting one's life, liberty, and sacred honor to the cause? What is this country coming to, dag-nabit!?
Warning: extended section includes politically incorrect and non-work-safe language...
Cobb's take on this:
This is one of the most critical litmus tests I have on America. If you can't understand this picture, I'm really out to slap you around. I put up with the shame and embarrassment of people dissing Moe Greene four years ago and I really am not having it any more. I wasn't having it then, but I'm also putting people on notice because the subtle subjects have pointed me in this direction again.... {trim} ...
Obviously, I get very exercised about this particular issue, because I think it is symbolic of the fate of African America and of America itself. I don't care who you think you might be, you cannot afford not to respect black men who triumph like this. And I might be betraying a mote of insecurity to think that there are those who don't get it, because I'm prepared to write vulgar threats. This one goes deep for me.
S-Train responds:
Now that's what I'm fucking talking about! When those black men won the gold at the Sydney 2000 Olympics, celebrated THEIR WAY, and got blasted by sports media, regular media, and regular folks, I fuckin' EXPLODED. I was mad for weeks. How dare you punk ass muthas criticize the way they expressed themselves? How dare some of you were embarrassed by them? HOW FUCKING DARE YOU ACT LIKE THEY WEREN'T AMERICANS? I heard the spectrum of Americans calling them "the worst of America" at that time and those same folks are praying "it doesn't happen again". Let me give those who can't deal with black expression the 411:THAT'S HOW WE DO!
Now me, I'm completely floored by that kind of idiot carping. Do you know what I see when I look at that shot? I see joy; the kind of exuberant joy you can only feel when you've just beaten the very best that the entire world can offer in your field.
I'm sorry, I just don't get it. I don't see "rude black men," I see four very happy young Americans who have gone forth and kicked righteous ass. Hell, they deserve to celebrate. The only thing about this picture that irritates me is that any one of those guys are going to get laid way more times than my flabby ass will. :)
Oh, by the way, for those who think that this sort of behavior is generally restricted to "uppity" black folk, I offer the following observations.
Those men weren't displaying "black" behavior, but American behavior, straight from our biggest frontier legends. Our history is full of famous characters (in every sense of the word) such as Daniel Boone, Evangeline, Mike Fink, and the Yankee traders. Or -in this case- Corpse Maker and Calamity's Child...
From The LIFE Treaure of American Folklore (TIME, Inc., 1961)
Two men on a Mississippi riverboat began to arguing. Says the first
I'm the old original iron-jawed, brass-mounted, copper-bellied corpse maker from the wilds of Arkansaw! Look at me! I'm the man they call Sudden Death and General Desolation! Sired by a hurricane, dam'd by an earthquake, half brother to the cholera, nearly related to the smallpox on my mother's side! Look at me! I take 19 alligators and a bar'l of whiskey for breakfast when I'm in robust ealth, and a bushel of rattlesnakes and a dead body when I'm ailing. I split the everlasting rocks with my glance, and I squench the thunder when I speak! Stand back and give me room according to my strength! Blood's my natural drink, and the wails of the dying is music to my ear. Cast your eye on me, gentlemen! And lay low and hold your breath, for I'm 'bout to turn myself loose!
In response, his opponent declaimed
Bow your neck and spread, for the kingdom of sorrow's a-coming! Hold me down to the earth, for I feel my powers a-working! I'm a child of sin, don't let me get a start! Smoked glass, here, for all! Don't attempt to look at me with the naked eye, gentlemen! When I'm playful I use the meridians of longitude and parallels of latitude for a seine, and drag the Atlantic Ocean for whales! I scratch my head with the lightning and purr myself to sleep with with the thunder! When I'm cold, I bile the Gulf of Mexico and bathe in it; when I'm hot I fan myself with an equinoctial storm; when I'm thirsty I reach up and suck a cloud dry like a sponge; when I range the earth hungry, famine follows in my tracks!
Now you may think that this sort of attitude belongs to an earlier, ruder America; one that wasn't "gentler" or "kinder." I offer as evidence to the contrary P. J. O'Rourke, fellow Miami University alumnus.
Back in April of 1986 the United States bombed Libya. Naturally, the Euros protested this "un-nuanced," "un-subtle" approach. Apparently shooting back at the bad guys is considered gauche these days. While he was being lectured by an offensive British git ("You think war is..."), P.J. snapped:
"A John Wayne move." I said. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? We think that war is a John Wayne movie. We think life is a John Wayne movie --with good guys and bad guys, as simple as that. Well, you know something, Mister Limey Poofter? You're right. And let me tell you who those bad guys are. They're us. WE BE BAD."We're the baddest-assed sons of bitches that ever jogged in Reeboks. We're three-quarters grizzly bear and two-thirds car wreck and descended from a stock market crash on our mother's side. You take your Germany, France and Spain, roll them all together and it wouldn't give us room to park our cars. We're the big boys, Jack, the original, giant, economy-sized, new and improved butt kickers of all time. When we snort coke in Houston, people lose their hats in Cap d'Dantibes. And we've go American Express card credit limit highter than your piss-ant metric numbers go.
"You say our country's never have been invaded? You're right, little buddy. Because I'd like to see the needle-dicked foreigners who'd have the guts to try. We drink napalm to get our hearts started in the morning. A rape and a mugging is our way of saying 'Cheerio.' Hell can't hold our sock-hops. We walk taller, talk louder, spit further, fuck longer, and buy more things than you know the names of. I'd rather be a junkie in a New York City jail than king, queen and jack of all you Europeans. We eat little countries like this for breakfast and shit them out before lunch.
Ladies and gentlemen, I rest my case...