My homegirl BY (pronounced bee-why) is always on some other stuff.
She’s one of those people who has that innate ability to say exactly what you don’t want to hear at the precise moment you don’t need to hear it.
Case in point: We’re in an editorial writing class about a month and a half ago waiting for our professor.
Mind you, out of the dozen or so enrolled in the class, only two aren’t die-hard sports heads — she’s one of them.
You can imagine how heated the pre-class debates can get.
The teacher from the class next door has had to come over to quiet us on several occasions.
But we got mind control over dude. When he tells us to calm it down, we hush up.
But when he leaves, we start talking again, getting our Pardon The Interruption on, no holds barred, 12 deep, louder than a bomb.
At the end of one our battles, BY got us all left.
I haven’t been right since.
“What if they came to America and decided to take away all your professional sports teams, then what would you do with your time?”
Then, I started to ponder.
What if there were no sports?
What would cats do?
Come on and go with me to this wretched land.
But be warned, it’s nothing nice.
Let’s call this place…Hell.
We would have to find another pastime to direct our attention toward.
I can’t speak for the female sports fans of the world, but I know the ‘fellas would be forced to pursue our other passion full-time.
Jigga spoke about its power along side Kels on the “The Best of Both Worlds” album.
It’s the last P in OPP but it for d— sure don’t stand for property.
In Hell, the crime rate is higher than Ricky Williams on the top of a mountain meditating in India.
Why?
Because the stakes are higher in Hell.
It’s survival of the fittest.
My boy James has a quote from one his frat brothers on his Facebook profile that personifies the potential problems that could arise in Hell perfectly.
“I mean the h— wasn’t feelin me at all, and they was feeling this n—-, so I decided to stand by him.”
Normally, this is a simple solution for a simple problem.
Everybody has an off night.
Sometimes Kobe only drops 32.
But in Hell, you can’t just chalk it up and concede king of the jungle to another so easily.
You can’t just cop some wings, retire to the crib to watch SportsCenter and live to put down another day. Such alternatives aren’t available.
So when some dude has the unmitigated gall to have three or four women interested in him and you can’t get one, your very manhood and integrity are on the line.
Something’s got to give.
Somebody’s got to go.
Now, I’m not saying you should kill somebody, but I understand.
All jokes aside, I don’t think BY truly understands the vital role sports play in our society.
It’s not just a game.
It’s often the tie that binds the unbendable.
In no other aspect of life can you see black, white or whoever working in cohesion toward a common goal, with no pretense.
Sports is the only place where you will ever see grown men embrace one another and say, “Man, I’m happy you’re here.”
We should look to sports and try to use its concept of true teamwork and dedication as a model we can apply to other aspects of life.
Because, truth be told, it’s the only place where genuine diversity is at work.
And, oh yeah, this here is the victory lap.
Shout outs to everybody that came in fall 2002.
I’m done.
And last, but not certainly not least. Rest in peace to Al McCoy, a true old school Rattler to the heart.
Nick Birdsong is a senior newspaper journalism student from Tampa. He can be reached mrbirdsong@hotmail.com.