On this MLK holiday, it’s important to know how Memphis Greenspace took down those Confederate statues The South’s historical parks for too long have held racist symbols and histories

When a group of African-American men hit upon a strategy to rip statues of Confederate leaders Nathan Bedford Forrest and Jefferson Davis from Memphis’ parks, they did more than remove images of racists from places of honor to places of obscurity.

They wrote the first chapter of a how-to manual on how black people can begin to liberate their leisure spaces from racist symbols and racist histories.

After Tennessee’s historical commission denied, once again, Memphis’ request to remove from two parks the statue of Forrest, the Confederate general who led a massacre of hundreds of surrendering black Union soldiers at Fort Pillow in 1864 and who was an early leader of the Ku Klux Klan, and Davis, who was president of the Confederacy, a group of black men formed Memphis Greenspace Inc.

Because the Tennessee Heritage Act doesn’t apply to private parks, they were able to persuade the city to sell the parks to them for $1,000 each. Then, in the dark of night on Dec. 21, cranes arrived, tore the statues of Forrest and Davis from their bases and hauled them away.

While Greenspace was formed to get rid of the Confederate statues, its actions should shine light on the fact that, like in Memphis, many parks and recreational spaces throughout the nation are fraught with racist symbols and racist histories that repel many African-Americans — and that it’s way past time to flip the script on that.

This predicament, in fact, was the subject of a 2016 study by KangJae Lee, an assistant professor at the University of Missouri whose research centers on parks and recreation. After examining findings that show most visitors to national and state parks are disproportionately white, he looked at why black residents who live near Cedar Hill State Park in Cedar Hill, Texas, rarely go there.

His work revealed a legacy of Jim Crow. For generations, their parents and grandparents were barred from the park, contributing to a cultural disposition that kept them away, not to mention the fact that Cedar Hill Park was once a large slave plantation — a fact that goes unmentioned at the park’s historical sites and feeds into black resentment.

Kind of like how Forrest’s history of being a Klansman and a slave trader were nowhere to be found on his statue.

Other ghosts of racism haunt city recreational spaces.

In Savannah, according to Donald Grant’s 1993 book The Way It Was in the South: The Black Experience in Georgia, an 1866 law barred black children from its parks unless they were accompanied by white children, and in 1890, when bicycling became popular, it forbade black people from using its bike paths.

In 1911, around the time Confederate statues began to be erected in many public spaces in the South, all of Atlanta’s parks were off-limits to black people, and by 1926, they could only use three of its parks. Many, in fact, were arrested for walking through the “white parks” on the way to work.

That scenario resonates with Van Turner Jr., director of Memphis Greenspace. He said one of the factors that drove him to take down the statues of Forrest and Davis was the fact that they were grim reminders of a time when his father and other black people weren’t allowed in those parks unless they were with a white person.

Confederate symbols in public spaces also conjure images of oppression in Jacksonville (Florida) Confederate Park, which sits north of downtown and has a monument to women of the Confederacy, stirring resentment in many of the African-Americans who live near the area.

A Confederate monument erected in 1898, at the beginning of the Jim Crow era, in downtown Jacksonville’s Hemming Plaza praises the Confederate soldier for “deeds immortal” and “heroism unsurpassed.”

Sixty-two years later, African-American civil rights demonstrators would be beaten bloody in that same place by racists wearing Confederate uniforms and wielding ax handles.

No mention of that in Hemming.

Yet, as Memphis Greenspace has shown, that past doesn’t have to be black people’s future when it comes to parks and recreational spaces.

Besides demonstrating and strategizing to expunge racist monuments from recreational spaces, a broader purpose exists here. That purpose is to persuade black people that they are entitled to enjoy recreational spaces that their tax dollars were supporting even during a time when they were either intimidated, or outright barred, from enjoying them.

Brothers like Turner have shown the way. And while the strategy that Memphis Greenspace used may not necessarily be fit for other places grappling with how to take down monuments honoring racists, their actions can be used to begin a blueprint to empower black people with the belief that they deserve to enjoy public spaces that white people have always enjoyed.

That’s because although those places may hold memories of past pain, they also hold potential for future health, for battling the obesity and inactivity that disproportionately plague African-Americans.

And now that we have a way to get rid of monuments to white supremacists who died to keep us out of those public spaces, it’s time for us to begin to claim them as our own.

Why these three Dallas Cowboys players decided to get baptized in the team’s pool The exclusive story behind the touching viral video that took the internet by storm

FRISCO, Texas – Three members of the Dallas Cowboys decided to make a move that will forever alter their lives.

They got baptized. And it was videotaped.

But it wasn’t a typical video of a conventional baptism. What created a stir was that all three players got baptized in the Cowboys’ rehabilitation pool at the team’s swanky practice facilities.

Linebackers Anthony Hitchens and Justin March-Lillard, and safety Kavon Frazier had the honor of having the Cowboys’ team chaplain, Pastor Jonathan Evans, baptize them. By all accounts it is believed to be the first baptism at The Star, the Cowboys’ $1.5 billion headquarters and practice facility, which opened last year.

“We spend a lot of our time here [at the practice facilities],” March-Lillard told The Undefeated. “You’re more with the guys here than you are with your own family, so it’s like a family environment.

“We have our team chaplain, who kind of helped change our lives, and we wanted him to be able to have that honor, so we’re honored to have him to be the one who baptized us. This is kind of faith and football for us – it’s a lifestyle – so it all goes together.”

Frazier said about 15 teammates witnessed the baptisms, adding that the moment was surreal.

“For me, I got baptized at a young age, and I was always a believer, but I never really had a real relationship with God until now,” Frazier said. “So that’s why I just wanted to redo that, because now I actually have a relationship with him and I see what he’s doing in my life and I actually truly have faith.

“I think it brought our team a lot closer in that aspect, because we’re so used to seeing them cheering us on the field. But they were actually cheering us on at getting baptized in a whole different aspect of life.”

Running back Alfred Morris was one of the players in the room where the baptisms occurred and was left inspired by what he had just witnessed.

“Scoring touchdowns, making tackles, getting yards – that stuff is awesome and that stuff is temporary,” Morris said. “But making a decision like that, that’s forever, that’s eternal.

“It was huge for me to see that and to be able to witness that and I’m glad I got to, because it was awesome and I’m superexcited for those guys. I even put it on my social media I was so excited for those guys, because it’s a big step in life.”

It was a big step Hitchens was more than willing to take even though the baptisms didn’t occur in a traditional church.

“I was contemplating that I needed a church to go to in order to get baptized,” Hitchens said. “I just didn’t know it was going to end up like that.

“But it’s crazy how God put different people in your life. [Evans] came out of his way to come here on a Tuesday to baptize us, so it was just a blessing. It just happened out of nowhere.”

The video of the baptisms caught the players off guard when it went viral. Evans shared a two-minute clip on his Facebook page and it has been viewed nearly 6 million times.

Upon entering the pool, Evans read from 2 Corinthians 5:17, stating: “Therefore those who are in Christ are a new creation. The old has gone and the new has come.”

The players had no idea that a video of them turning their lives over to God would go viral.

“Going viral, that was God’s plan,” said Frazier, adding he got baptized real early in response to his mom’s demands. “He made it go viral just so we can use our platform in a whole bigger sense than just football.

“It wasn’t supposed to blow up, it just happened. We didn’t do it for the press. We did it to renew our vows with God.”

As word circulated around the Cowboys’ locker room about the baptisms, fullback Keith Smith was enjoying a spiritual awakening and explaining how his three teammates were starting over on life’s journey.

“I feel like those are three guys that are really on the right path, especially spiritually,” Smith said. “I feel like your faith plays a lot into your game, too, so just seeing them take that step is big-time.

“I heard it got a whole bunch of publicity, so it’s always a good thing to spread the word of God.”

March-Lillard, whose father and younger brother both died within the last 13 months, said that it was a no-brainer to get baptized at the Cowboys’ practice facilities. Especially since he’s noticed that some of his teammates have openly gravitated toward the word of God.

“Every Bible study, every conversation about the word of God, they were a part of it,” March-Lillard said. “So it was unique to see them not be afraid to share their beliefs.

“Our church is here, so for us it was kind of like that’s why we got baptized here, because this is our church, this is where we have Bible study.”

By bringing attention to God by getting baptized at The Star, Frazier hopes it will resonate with younger kids across the world. Particularly those kids, he said, who don’t think it’s cool to embrace God.

“They don’t see their friends really worshiping God and really talking about God,” Frazier said. “Even me growing up, I went to a Christian school all my life, but I really wasn’t going around talking about God.

“But now it’s different. Now I actually get it. I think it takes some time and people just have to grow up until they really build that relationship with God, but from this video, hopefully younger people will start learning [about God] a little bit quicker.”

March-Lillard said he gave his life to Christ three years ago. He added that the recent baptism was just icing on the cake for him and his two teammates.

“That was life-changing for us and we wanted to put that on display and to have that visualization about just what it means and how it feels to be reborn,” March-Lillard said. “It was a huge decision for all of us.

“We all backed each other up as well as everyone else in the locker room backed us up. So it was a big decision that we all made together.”

It’s a decision that all three players said they would repeat if they had to do it all over again. And they all strongly believe their baptism was designed to get athletes and people in all walks of life discussing its impact.

“It was amazing just seeing our teammates cheering us on, and it’s just amazing how much it blew up [on social media] and the platform that we can use just by getting baptized at our workplace,” Frazier said. “So now, younger kids might not be so nervous to come out of the closet in their faith.

“They may not think it’s the not-so-cool thing to do. It was all God’s plan to make it go viral.”

Daily Dose: 12/5/17 Willie Taggart heads to FSU

What up, gang? Tuesday was a TV day again, so do check out Around The Horn at 5 p.m. on ESPN.

Rep. John Conyers is going to retire. The Democratic congressman from Michigan, who is facing multiple allegations of sexual misconduct, said his exit is effective immediately, but he is endorsing his son to fill his seat. It sort of feels like there should be rules against that kind of thing, but, alas, that’s what’s happening. Elsewhere in politics, the GOP is now back to supporting Senate candidate Roy Moore of Alabama, who is accused of having relationships with underage girls over the years. Guess that presidential endorsement was worth something.

If you smoke weed and live in New Jersey, good news! The Garden State is planning on legalizing recreational marijuana, thanks to huge wins by the Dems across the ballot last month. The state is no stranger to tourism, so this could end up being a huge boon for a place that’s suffered all kinds of issues over the years after natural disasters. It’s not going to be easy to get off the ground, but when it does, you can bet this is going to be an extremely popular thing to do.

LaVar Ball continues to be a legend. Look, whether you agree with his decision to pull his son LiAngelo out of UCLA, his public appearances continue to be epic. This morning, he appeared on CNN with Chris Cuomo again, this time with a roaring fireplace behind him at 6 in the morning, looking like he was about to belt out a holiday tune, which he then kind of did. Anyway, Ball wants his son to at least be able to develop as a ballplayer, which UCLA wasn’t letting Gelo do because of his indefinite suspension.

Looks like Florida State is going to have a black head coach. After Jimbo Fisher took off for Texas A&M, leaving that program in a bit of a lurch, they found a guy who’d once coached in Florida before. His name is Willie Taggart, and he’s coming from Oregon. Thing is, so many guys have changed jobs over the past month that who knows what’s a good gig anymore in college football? Basically, everyone is chasing Dabo Swinney and Nick Saban, and it doesn’t appear that anyone else is really in the running.

Free Food

Coffee Break: Have you seen the latest viral online challenge? Most of these are pretty ridiculously boring, but the invisible box challenge is excellent. You know you’ve got a good one when the failures are as good as the people who do it right.

Snack Time: When I was a kid, Mega Man was a great game. But there hasn’t been a version of the Capcom game to come out in eight years. Now they’ve got a new one on deck, and it looks AWESOME.

Dessert: If I’m still breaking it down like this when I’m this old, I’ll have done something right.

Welcome back, Tiger Woods is coming back to the PGA as a human, not a symbol of his father’s or golf’s hopes and dreams

The father spoke glowingly about his son to anyone who would listen. Once, at an awards dinner in honor of his son, the father issued a bold claim — or, under most circumstances, an asinine boast.

“My heart fills with so much joy when I realize that this young man is going to be able to help so many people,” the father said. “He will transcend this game and bring the world a humanitarianism which has never been known before. The world will be a better place to live in by virtue of his existence and his presence.”

His son would “do more than any other man in history to change the course of humanity.” Limiting the absurdity of such a prediction strictly to sports, that would be more than Arthur Ashe or Jackie Robinson or Jesse Owens. More than Muhammad Ali. The father’s logic (to stretch the definition of the word) was that the son was “more charismatic, more educated and more prepared for this than anyone.”

More charismatic than Ali.

“He is the Chosen One,” the father said, anointing the son who he also said would have more of an impact upon the world than Nelson Mandela.

More impact than Nelson Mandela.

This father isn’t LaVar Ball. His son Lonzo had not yet been conceived when these statements were made. These words uttered in 1996 are the vocal property of one Earl Woods, father of Eldrick Tont Woods or, as first his father and then fame named him — simply Tiger.

Earl Woods was many things at many times. He was a philanderer and, at times, an opportunist. But he loved his son deeply and passionately and believed absolutely in the once-in-a-lifetime talent his son carried on his shoulders. It’s an impossible question to answer, but worthwhile to ponder. Much like Kanye West and his late mother, is so much of Woods’ rudderless time in the past few years toiling between mediocrity, irrelevancy and frustration because his father and his absolute faith is gone?

J.D. Cuban /Allsport

That Woods is not as socially transformative as Ali is as expected as the rising of the sun. That’s just a wild boast into the wind (even if you believe it). It also does not seem possible in this time space continuum that he will eclipse Mandela’s legacy. He is not the Chosen One. And yet.

Woods did try. In the 21 years since those words were uttered, Woods changed the entire culture of golf. There is very little beyond the rules of play left unchanged in his wake. He became a tour de force, the most dominant player of his generation. There is such a thing as Tiger-Proofing and a Tiger Effect. Only Sam Snead has more tournament victories than Woods’ 79 victories, and his attack on Jack Nicklaus’ majors record was thrilling to watch. His father has died — its own complex story. Then Nov. 27, 2009, happened. The fire hydrant crash and all the revelations of all the infidelities obliterated his idealized image. Injuries ground his career to a halt. Then in May, his mug shot from a DUI arrest became as synonymous with his life story as the red polo on Sunday. And yet.

Here we are, as Tiger, almost 42 years old, a father himself, a ghost of the player he once was, embarks on another “return” to competitive golf. And he is still the most captivating name in the sport by a country mile. Tiger is why the 18-man Hero World Challenge is on TV. He’s why, as the 1,180th-ranked golfer in the world, he commands more attention than the 1,179 in front of him combined.

If only the son, in so many ways, hadn’t tried to live up to the prophecy his father set forth for him as if they were the Eleventh, Twelfth and Thirteenth Commandments. If only Woods had known that his father was wrong twice more in that benediction that could also double as a curse. There is no education or preparation for the burden he assumed.


Golf knows it needs Woods back more than Woods needs golf. Young stars such as Rory McIlroy, Jordan Spieth and current world No. 1 Dustin Johnson, immensely talented and superstar golfers in their own regard, have failed to move the needle. There is no post-Tiger plan.

His dominance reverberated around pop culture in a way the game could have never imagined (or desired) for the better part of a decade — portrayed by Sean “Puffy” Combs” in The Notorious B.I.G.’s “Mo Money, Mo Problems” music video and the subject of legendary Chris Rock and Dave Chappelle bits. Not after his statistical tyranny over golf made Babe Ruth’s stats look trivial, even now a decade after injuries and scandal exiled him. And surely not after his game assured him a spot on golf’s Mount Rushmore.

Oh, and Woods unquestionably dominated America’s most segregated sport. Jim Crow didn’t fully perish. It continued to live in country clubs when it could no longer legally claim residency at buses, lunch counters and water fountains. Woods reigned in a sport that drew much of its identity from its exclusion, snobbery, socioeconomic status and walled-off fairways.

Getty Images

When asked about golf’s history with racism in 1990, a 14-year-old Woods’ answer was telling, cognizant of the world around him and perhaps more prophetic than anything Earl Woods envisioned.

“Every time I go to a major country club I can always feel [racism]. Always sense it. People always staring at me. ‘What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.’ When I go to Texas or Florida you always feel it,” he said. “They say, ‘What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.’ And that’s probably because that’s where all the slavery was.” But in his very next statement, there was Earl Woods’ optimism, his aim-for-the-stars mentality shining through in his son. Woods recognized his power. “Since I’m black, it might be even bigger than Jack Nicklaus. I might be even bigger than him. I may be like a sort of Michael Jordan in golf.”

Diversity was an issue in golf long before Woods. That, not even he could change. Nor should that responsibility have sat so squarely on his shoulders.

Golf failed to expand its reach when it had the biggest phenomenon in sports on all the TVs, winning all the trophies and making it look good too.

The game will never see another Tiger Woods. That rare combination of irresistible force and immovable object that shook the game up forever and once made it almost cool. That so-rare combination of power, grace and infinite marketability. But every run has an end, and Woods’ is nearer than any of us would like to admit, even with the excitement of his return to competitive golf.

He returns to golf as a human, not a symbol. He’s a 41-year-old man, not the 26-year-old phenom. That Tiger is dead. At this point, he’s playing for two goals. He mentioned one Tuesday during the Hero World Challenge news conference. He wants his kids to see how good he was, not just through word of mouth and YouTube videos. That their dad was once a pillar of precision and skill in a sport that demands laserlike focus even on bad days. The other one — and this is a hunch, and he’d never admit it anyway — is to go out like Peyton or Kobe. Woods likely won’t eclipse Nicklaus’ record of 18 major championships, but a 15th would be the nightcap on a career that’s seen meteoric highs and soul-crushing lows.

Throughout Woods’ decade of course destruction, it was never his job to recruit people of color to play more competitive golf. To get the kids, who years earlier would have only been allowed to be caddies, and turn them into the stars of tomorrow. Woods was a window, not a door. Symbolically, he did lead people of color to take up golf in ways they hadn’t in the decade. Diversifying the sport fell in golf’s lap. But here we are, nearly 21 years after Woods became a household name at the Masters, and golf has shown minimal progress in the area. In 2011, Joseph Bramlett became the first player of African-American descent to make the PGA Tour since Woods in 1997.

Much remains the same on the LPGA Tour too. Founded in 1950, only eight black women have played the tour. Althea Gibson and Renee Powell were the first two, Cheyenne Woods (Tiger’s niece) came in 2015, and this year there is Mariah Stackhouse. Many black female golfers at historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) are up against a lack of avenues to improve their games as programs are slashed. No black woman has ever won an LPGA title.

But beyond the pristine beaches of the Bahamas and the competitive but fraternal bond of the Hero World Challenge, one unsettling question and one certainty looms.

Question: If this is really the beginning of the end of maybe the greatest golfer to ever live, was it all worth it?

Fact: A chunk of this is on Tiger, a chunk on Earl. The great majority, however, falls on golf and how it chose to capitalize on Woods’ glory years and ignore the diversity of the sport long term — determined to keep their chosen one. Woods may still owe a debt to the people closest to him. Golf and all who love it, though, owe him.

Daily Dose: 11/6/17 Another church massacre: Gunman kills 26 in Texas

Happy Monday, kiddos. It was quite the weekend around the football world and, alas, another devastating one in terms of violence in America. Hug your friends and family a little harder tonight.

Another day, another mass shooting. I don’t mean to be flip about the matter, but this is basically where we’re at in this country, which is really scary. A guy walked into a church in Texas and killed 26 people with a gun and injured 20 others. He was later shot and killed. Authorities believe the gunman had some type of connection to the specific congregation he chose to attack. The president is choosing to blame this tragedy on mental illness, not gun control, which seems like something that I’m not sure anyone can really call right now. But, yeah, guns kill people.

If you’re wondering whether an iPhone X is a smart investment, I’ve got some news for you. They are rather fragile. Of course, they look and feel incredible, but because the whole thing is basically made of glass, you’ve got to be EXTRA careful handling it, because if you drop it, the likelihood of it breaking is extremely high. No, like, for real, people have tested this and basically the phones instantly shattered. I’m sure you can get a case that’ll keep your worries down, but that’s gonna be one delicate device to deal with.

ComplexCon happened over the weekend. Basically, every hypebeast and tastemaker in America descended upon Long Beach, California, to celebrate all things related to what we’ll just call “the culture.” While there were quite a few news items to come out of the proceedings, for me, there was one standout. N.E.R.D unveiled a new album and performed for the first time in a couple of years. Obviously, the three of the group members are in completely different life places at this point, but I’m very much looking forward to the complete project.

Lamar Odom has suffered another setback. The former NBA basketball player and Kardashian-adjacent reality star collapsed at a Los Angeles nightclub over the weekend, which is extremely troubling. Let’s not forget that his battle with substance abuse is well-known, so while his people are saying that a heavy workout and hot conditions at the venue are to blame, we just hope he’s OK. It’s unfair to speculate about what he may be doing, but we do know his health has taken a major hit in the past few years.

Free Food

Coffee Break: The situation with Tyrese has taken another turn. While his beef with Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson has apparently subsided, his friends Jada Pinkett Smith and Will Smith threw some paper his way and told him to shut up. What did he do? He posted about it on the internet. This dude just doesn’t get it.

Snack Time: Remember that lady who flipped off the presidential motorcade while she was riding her bike, and went viral? Well, her boss found out and she got fired.

Dessert: San Antonio Spurs coach Gregg Popovich continues to be a national treasure.

NASCAR driver Jesse Iwuji talks diversity, his learning curve and working with Shawne Merriman He’s one of three African-American drivers across NASCAR’s series

One of Jesse Iwuji’s favorite quotes is from motivational speaker Les Brown.

“He said, ‘Someone’s opinion of you does not have to become your reality’ and that’s huge,” Iwuji said.

The 30-year-old NASCAR K&N Pro Series driver incorporates that axiom into his personal and professional life.

A former naval officer, Iwuji says his goals are to progress through the ranks in NASCAR while promoting sportsmanship, mentorship for youth and representing the military community with professionalism. As a rookie in 2016, Iwuji finished among the top 10 in points for the season out of 59 drivers in the NASCAR K&N Pro Series West.

He recently teamed up with former NFL star Shawne Merriman. Merriman and his company Lights Out became Iwuji’s first big sponsor. Merriman is the owner of Iwuji’s car through Patriot Motorsports Group.

“I met Shawne at this fashion show for the grand opening of his store in L.A.,” Iwuji said. “His products were going to be sold from Lights Out. When I saw him, I mentioned to him about the NASCAR stuff I was doing and the journey I was taking in the sport, and he took interest in it. We decided to link up and make him the car owner of my car in NASCAR, and that was going to get him the opportunity to get his feet wet and into the door of NASCAR so that he could start making big waves and an impact in the sport, especially on the diversity side of things.”

Diversity is a goal of NASCAR, as the organization currently has only three African-American drivers. Twenty-five-year-old Jay Beasley rides in the K&N Series with Iwuju, and Darrell Wallace Jr., known as Bubba Wallace, just became the first black full-time driver in the NASCAR Cup Series.

“I think it’s awesome that he’s getting the opportunity to do this,” Iwuji said of Wallace. “It’s definitely been a long time coming for him, and I think he’s going to do some great things. The guy’s a really good driver. He’s had a lot of great opportunities in his life to be on some great teams and learn a lot and compete at a high level, which has been great. I’m just trying to follow along and hopefully get the same opportunities to compete on great teams and make it up to his level so that maybe I can be the second African-American in recent times to race full time in the NASCAR Cup Series.”

His company, Red District, has hosted drag racing events since 2015.


How did you take the dive into racing?

I’ve always loved cars and racing my whole life. When I was younger, I used to watch a little bit of NASCAR here and there randomly. I don’t know why. None of my family comes from any racing background at all. We’re Nigerian. Both my parents were born and raised in Nigeria before they came over to the U.S. in the ’80s and had me, my two brothers and my sister. Living in Texas, football was the main thing. So my big goal was to get to college, play football for a big Division 1A school, and have a great education, too.

In the middle of college, I started gaining a big interest in cars and racing, and I started researching it more. When I graduated college in 2010, I finally had a little bit of money to go buy a Dodge Challenger. I started drag racing with it at different tracks in Southern California. I kept on building it up and adding more horsepower. Around 2013, I bought a Corvette and started taking that to different road course tracks, where I was spending a lot of time learning how to take turns, left and right, at speed.

In 2014, I met a guy at a car show who had asked, ‘Hey, would you be interested in trying some stock car racing?’ I was like, ‘Stock car racing as in NASCAR?’ He was like, ‘Yeah.’ Then, I was like, ‘Sure. I mean, I’m open to it. I’ve always loved cars and racing. I’ve been thinking about becoming a professional driver, and this might be my opportunity to start going down that path.’ So I went and did a test with his racing team in May 2014. It went well. Right after that, I went on deployment with my ship. When I came back from deployment in early 2015, I decided to start going down that path of the whole NASCAR route. That’s when my racing career began in, really, April 2015.

What drives your passion?

I’m always seeking challenges. I love challenging myself. I love doing things that are fun and exciting and that you can look back on when you’re 57 years old and know that, hey, I lived an exciting life.

How is the NASCAR K&N series for you?

I’ve been learning a lot. Unlike most drivers who race in the series, I don’t have a lot of racing experience. Like I mentioned earlier, I’ve basically only been racing for about 2½ years now, whereas some of the people racing in my series have been racing for 20. I have that learning curve that I’m trying to get over. … I’ve been getting better and better every race, every year. I’m just going to continue to do that and try to really continue to move forward so that I can keep going up the ladder of NASCAR.

How is NASCAR approaching diversity?

They’re trying to reach out to different demographics of people nowadays like African-Americans, Hispanics, Asians, you name it. They’re trying to diversify a little bit to gain more fans from different backgrounds, and I think they’re doing a pretty good job on it. Yeah, it could always be better. There’s more things that they can do, and I think they’re working hard to try to figure that stuff out. There’s a lot of opportunity to really bring new demographics into NASCAR so that we can continue to grow, get more fans out there, and continue to be the No. 1 watched motor sport in the U.S. and maybe, one day, the No. 1 watched motor sport in the world.

What goals have you set for yourself on the track and off the track?

I see myself making it to the Cup Series. I want to get up to the top level of NASCAR. I want to compete. I want to be good and eventually win a championship in that series. Also, on the way going up and while I’m there, I want to be able to help people get to their goals and dreams. A lot of people look up to me because I’m just a regular person trying to do some big things. Every step I take that is in the positive direction, people see it, they love it, and it gives them hope for them to know that, hey, they can also do the same thing, too, whether it’s in racing or the business world, school, their relationships, whatever.

What’s been the hardest part of your journey?

The toughest part of my journey has just been the experience and the funding part of it. You know, racing’s not cheap at all, and it takes a lot of money. Thankfully, I’ve been able to make it this far so far, but it hasn’t been easy at all. I had to go and start my own company to put on drag racing events. I just recently captured my second big sponsor, which is Perfect Hydration. Perfect Hydration, they are a 9.5 pH alkaline water company based out of Southern California. They sell water in Costco and places around the U.S. Great company, great people, and they’ve been really supportive.

For the culture: Dodgers and Astros should embrace their cities’ personalities in World Series If sports are a melting pot, why isn’t that reflected in all aspects of the stadium experience?

Alls my life I had to fight/Hard times like, “God!”/ Bad trips like, “Yeah!”/ … But if God got us, then we gon’ be alright!

— “Alright” by Kendrick Lamar


With Game 2 of the World Series between the Los Angeles Dodgers and Houston Astros tied 3-3 heading into the middle of the ninth inning, the Dodgers DJ finally picked a song representative of the situation and of the city where the game was being played.

After spending three days at Dodger Stadium for the pre-World Series media scrum, Game 1 and Game 2, I hadn’t heard much music that originated from the City of Angels.

I heard a lot of Top 40 music — don’t get me wrong, I like that mix — but that music can be played anywhere. In a region that produced the likes of Kendrick Lamar, Dom Kennedy, Dr. Dre, YG, Snoop Dogg, Ice Cube, Tupac Shakur and N.W.A. (artists representative of the city’s toughness, swagger and finesse), why did it take pitcher Kenley Jansen giving up a game-tying home run to the Astros’ Marwin Gonzalez on an 0-2 pitch to tap into that? Picking “Alright” by Lamar, who’s from Compton, California, after the team gave up its 3-1 lead was a smart and timely decision.

Outside of the home runs and scores the Dodgers put on the board, the loudest I heard the crowd in that stadium was when Jansen came out of the bullpen to Shakur’s “California Love” (or Kenleyfornia Love, as he calls it) and when the Dodgers fought back from a 5-3 deficit in the 10th inning and the DJ dropped Dr. Dre’s “Next Episode,” when Los Angeles tied it up, 5-5, going into the 11th. The Astros ended up winning 7-6.

Houston went with a heavy dose of country, rock and Top 40 hits to keep the crowd engaged in Games 3 and 4. Frankly, fans were the loudest when “God Bless America” was played — and the team followed with “Deep in the Heart of Texas.”

Otherwise, the music at Minute Maid Park was almost background noise. It didn’t excite often and certainly didn’t offend. It definitely didn’t get the people going, except for those two songs. Now, in an interesting plot twist, there was a section of fans near Torchy’s Tacos who absolutely loved DMX’s “Roughriders Anthem,” which George Springer had as his walk-up song. They loved it so much they went a cappella and sang it throughout Game 4.

If fans in Houston want to rap the lyrics from the region (New York) they just beat in the American League Championship Series, then go for it. I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t disappointed that “Grillz,” featuring Paul Wall, couldn’t get some love, since Astros fan Wall offered to give the Astros customized grills (jewelry worn over teeth).

In baseball, much of the city’s musical culture is not about who shows up to represent but rather depends on the selections of its players, the composition of the fan base and the brilliance of the DJ in charge of the playlist. Cody Bellinger and Andrew Toles’ walk-up songs, for instance, are Lamar’s “Humble” and “DNA,” respectively.

The only time I heard music originating from Latin America from either DJ was when Latino players came up to bat. That’s pretty disappointing when you consider that Houston’s Latino population accounted for 35.3 percent of the city’s population in the 2010 census, just 4 percentage points less than white people (39.7), and Los Angeles County and California “have the largest Latino populations of any state or county in the nation,” according to a U.S. Census Bureau report released in 2015.

Just before the start of Game 2, Dodger Stadium played a public service announcement about being courteous to other fans, and the video included almost all Latino children. That was nice to see because in 2014, Latino people took over as California’s largest racial/ethnic group with 14.99 million people in the state. But it reinforced my questions about why I only heard music from the Latin genre when Yasiel Puig, Enrique Hernandez and Yasmani Grandal walked up instead of throughout the game.

No fewer than seven of the 13 position players on Houston’s World Series roster are of Latino heritage. You are bound to hear Latin music in the Astros’ clubhouse. Is it asking too much to blend in some of this music during a three-hour game?

Remember when PSY’s “Gangnam Style” took over Dodger Stadium in 2012? The Korean pop song didn’t just bring Korean people to their feet — fans of all types got in on the Dodger Stadium dance cam action. In that case, and when the Dodgers brought PSY to the stadium in 2013, it was an example of how easy it was to play music inclusive of a community or fan base.

One could argue that inside the ballpark the demographics are not nearly as representative of the overall cities themselves, and the music is being played for the crowd attending. Especially when you’re discussing who does and does not have the disposable income to attend a big four championship event and foot the $1,863 average ticket price.

Fans play a role in the music playlist, but the people playing, at least in the NBA and NFL, are the ones who set the tone with the listening selection. It may not seem like a big deal in the grand scheme of watching a game, but I’ve got to tell you, a good music set can keep fans hyped and locked in.

If both venues can take the time to create food inspired by cultural influences, a more time-consuming task, then is it too much to ask for the stadiums to play music that embodies these different communities on their rosters and in their fan bases? If sports are the melting pot they are billed to be, that should easily extend to music representative of the cities in which the teams play.

Five breast cancer organizations that help communities of color Black women are 40 percent more likely to die from the disease — and these places are trying to change that

Black is the new pink. This is a strong statement that could ring true when attributed to the alarming rising death rates among black women with breast cancer.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and each year, millions come together for a variety of events to show their solidarity and support. While breast cancer affects women of all ethnicities, it is unfortunately now more fatal for black women.

Breast cancer is the most common cancer among black women, and they are 40 percent more likely than any other group to die from the disease. The newest study from the American Cancer Society published in October shows that lack of insurance is linked to higher breast cancer rates in black women.

According to a 2015 report from the American Cancer Society, studies show “breast cancer rates among African-American women in the United States are continuing to increase. For decades, African-American women had been getting breast cancer at a slower rate than white women, but that gap is now closing.”

The findings in CA: A Cancer Journal for Clinicians and in Breast Cancer Facts & Figures 2015-2016, two reports that are published every two years, reveal that “from 2008 to 2012, breast cancer incidence rates increased 0.4% per year in black women and 1.5% per year among Asian/Pacific Islanders and remained stable among whites, Hispanics, and American Indian/Alaska Natives. In fact, the black-white disparity in breast cancer death rates has increased over time; by 2012, death rates were 42% higher in black women than white women.” The authors of the report say that trend is expected to continue. “Black women are more likely than other racial/ethnic groups to be diagnosed at later stages and have the lowest survival at each state of diagnosis. They are also more likely to be diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer, an aggressive subtype that is linked to poorer survival.”

Although organizations such as Susan G. Komen have gained great popularity in awareness efforts over the years, there is work still to be done to reach the communities most at risk. Additionally, many well-known organizations, including Komen, have been linked to reports that reveal breast cancer donations are not being put to good use.

According to USA Today in a report from The New York Times, “the organization’s reputation was damaged slightly after a decision in 2012 to cut its grants that funded breast cancer screening and outreach programs at Planned Parenthood erupted into controversy. The group quickly reversed its decision.”

From partnering with companies that produce cancer-causing products to giving little money to actual breast cancer research, some of the bigger breast cancer organizations have actually contributed to the chasm between breast cancer awareness and breast cancer action.

Luckily, some have acknowledged this void and have created organizations that decrease the impact of breast cancer while prioritizing the black woman’s experience in the process.

If you’re looking for an organization to support in the fight against breast cancer, with an emphasis on those who are affected the most, we’ve compiled a list of groups that are punching well above their weight.


1) Sisters Network Inc., founded by breast cancer survivor Karen E. Jackson, is an organization centered on sisterhood and camaraderie for African-American women battling breast cancer. When Jackson learned of her own diagnosis in 1994, she didn’t have a representative support system to help her through the difficult time, so she created one. Jackson recognized how important it is that women have other women who they can relate to and share commonalities with other than this disease, without the divisiveness of race and socioeconomic factors getting in the way. Sister Network’s mission is to help bring awareness to the impact that breast cancer has on the African-American community. The hope is that this specialized awareness will influence early detection and help save more lives. Donations to the organization can be made with confidence, as programs such as the Sister House display just how appropriately their funding is spent. Sister Network’s Sister House is the nation’s first temporary home for African-American breast cancer survivors to meet, bond and receive supportive services while undergoing treatment at the Texas Medical Center.

2) The African American Breast Cancer Alliance is committed to spreading awareness and providing resources and support to black women and families who are affected by breast cancer. Survivor Reona Berry, along with a team of dedicated women, recognized that black women tend to have more aggressive and deadly breast cancers and can benefit the most from more frequent screenings. Together, they founded the African American Breast Cancer Alliance to promote awareness, early detection and prevention. Realizing that representation matters, this alliance provides emotional and social support to black women patients and survivors, with programs and information designed with a culturally specific emphasis on women of color. Donations to this organization go directly to rehabilitation programs, health fairs, support groups and annual celebrations.

3) Black Women’s Health Imperative, founded in 1983, is still the nation’s only health organization dedicated solely to improving the overall wellness of African-American women and girls. Through programs, policy and advocacy, and research translation, this organization seeks to help black women live longer, healthier lives. Its #WeRefuse initiative focuses on breast cancer, and through it the organization provides resources and information to ensure that fewer black women die from the disease. With a goal of increasing the number of healthy black women from 9.5 million to 12.5 million by 2020, each donation will go toward services, resources and research to make this goal a reality. From college chapters of young black women spreading health information to a full index of black women’s health data, this organization is putting its resources to good use.

4) Sisters by Choice (SBC), founded in 1989 by the prominent Atlanta-based breast surgeon Dr. Rogsbert Zell Phillips, exists to provide support services, education and early detection to women fighting breast cancer. Unfortunately, a key cause of the high mortality rate for women of color is the lack of resources and access to quality health care. Sisters by Choice aims to eliminate the access barrier and bring quality care to those who may have difficulty receiving it and has created the Sisters By Choice Mobile Clinic that comes right to communities in need. SBC aims to increase the survival rate of breast cancer patients by offering free mammograms and breast exams to uninsured and underserved women in Georgia. With a breast specialist doctor on site, the SBC Mobile Clinic offers full-service health care, which, besides breast exams, also includes “remote radiology support, comprehensive diagnostic testing, i.e., ultrasound, needle biopsy, stereotactic biopsy, minor surgery, breast MRI, patient navigation and prevention education, treatment referral and access to clinical trials,” according to its site. The SBC Mobile Clinic aims to reach 3,000 women each year, and donations can help make this possible. Donors can be sure that their offerings to SBC will go toward providing breast cancer prevention and early detection services to women who may otherwise go without.

5) Smith Center for Healing and the Arts, founded in 1996, is a Washington, D.C.-based organization that focuses on nonprofit health, education and arts. For years, the Smith Center has operated a creative breast cancer awareness program specifically designed for low-income black women in D.C. Its Patient Provider Education Project connects health providers to African-American breast cancer survivors in an effort to collectively develop broad avenues to healing. At the Smith Center, a distinction is drawn between curing, which is medically induced, and healing, which is believed to be a deeper, more experiential process, and the center is fully committed to both. The Smith Center is another surefire donation choice, as it was recognized by the Catalogue for Philanthropy as one of the best small charities in the Northeast region for the 2016-17 year.

There are many breast cancer organizations to support as breast cancer research continues. However, with breast cancer being the second-leading cause of death for African-American women, it would not hurt to lend support to a few lesser-known organizations that are providing special attention to the ones who are affected the most.

On the fifth anniversary of Kendrick Lamar’s ‘good kid, m.A.A.d city,’ California athletes reflect on the epic ‘Sing About Me’ DeMar DeRozan, Chiney Ogwumike and Arron Afflalo remain emotional about Lamar’s most powerful song

I used to be jealous of Arron Afflalo / He was the one to follow.

— Kendrick Lamar, from 2012’s “Black Boy Fly”

Now in his second stint with the Orlando Magic, shooting guard Arron Afflalo, recently of the Sacramento Kings, was one of the key pieces in a 2012 offseason blockbuster: then-superstar center Dwight Howard’s trade to the Los Angeles Lakers. Five years ago, Affalo’s name wasn’t only ringing off in the city internationally known as the home of Walt Disney World — it was also popping off in his hometown of Compton, California.

On Oct. 22, 2012, Afflalo’s fellow Compton native, Kendrick Lamar, had released his much-anticipated second album, good kid, m.A.A.d city (Top Dawg/Aftermath/Interscope). Among big hits songs like “B— Don’t Kill My Vibe,” and “Poetic Justice” (featuring Drake), “Black Boy Fly” was a bonus record — an homage to hometown heroes whose talents survived the streets of South Central Los Angeles: He was the only leader foreseeing brighter tomorrows / He would live in the gym / We was living in sorrow. Lamar rapped these lyrics, remembering the days when Afflalo was the star of their Centennial High School basketball squad: Total envy of him, he made his dream become a reality/ Actually making it possible to swim/ His way up outta Compton/ With further to accomplish.

Caption: Fan-made video of Kendrick Lamar’s “Black Boy Fly.”

Lamar and Afflalo knew of each other, even if they didn’t run in the same crews. Aside from being a star athlete, Afflalo was the school’s biggest supplier of music. “If you heard [50 Cent’s] ‘In Da Club’ coming from a car stereo in Compton in 2003,” he told The Players Tribune, “there’s a really good chance that CD was burned by Arron Afflalo.” Business was so booming that teachers and students alike flooded him with requests ranging from Marvin Gaye to The Hot Boys. One student in particular made an appeal for Jay-Z’s 1996 debut Reasonable Doubt. That classmate was Kendrick Lamar Duckworth, who would eventually become a seven-time Grammy winner with 22 nominations.

DeMar DeRozan #10 of the Toronto Raptors looks on during the game against the Cleveland Cavaliers in Game Four of the Eastern Conference Semifinals during the 2017 NBA Playoffs on May 7, 2017 at the Air Canada Centre in Toronto, Ontario, Canada.

Nathaniel S. Butler/NBAE via Getty Images

Good kid, m.A.A.d city, five years old this week, is of course a modern hip-hop classic, one of the true cultural linchpins of the 2010s. The project is a product of a teenage Lamar’s fascination with The Autobiography of Malcolm X as well as his own experiences on Los Angeles’ Rosecrans Avenue, the Louis Burgers where his Uncle Tony was murdered, Gonzales Park, and street corners where gang members served as gatekeepers. It’s a gospel of a Compton life — stories that don’t make it to CNN, and rarely ever leave the neighborhoods. The album reflects growing up in Compton “one thousand percent,” said Toronto Raptors All-Star guard and Compton native DeMar DeRozan. “It takes you back to exact moments of growing up in there. Everything was the norm. Growing up, that’s just what we knew.”

The album’s standout track is an epic bit of storytelling called “Sing About Me. I’m Dying of Thirst.” The song was produced in 2011 by the three-time Grammy-nominated Gabriel “Like” Stevenson of the Los Angeles-based hip-hop trio Pac Div while on Mac Miller’s Blue Slide Park tour. “He hit me back in a couple hours like, this is crazy,” Like recalled Kendrick’s text message after hearing his beat. “I’m writing to it right now in a room with lit candles. I’m like, word, that’s tight,” he said, laughing.

An appropriate setting given the haunting chorus: When the lights shut off and it’s my turn to settle down/ My main concern/ Promise that you will sing about me/ Promise that you will sing about me. The overall narrative of the song is all too familiar to Lamar, Afflalo and DeRozan. The three verses emerge from three different perspectives. The rage inflicted on black bodies unite them. The tales of gun violence, societal ignorance of women’s pain, and survivor’s remorse are common in the United States and around the world.

Arron Afflalo #4 of the Orlando Magic handles the ball during a preseason game against the Dallas Mavericks on October 9, 2017 at the American Airlines Center in Dallas, Texas.

Glenn James/NBAE via Getty Images

“[Kendrick and I] grew up in the same environment,” Afflalo says. “I didn’t really get a sense of nobody else seeing big things in their life the way I did. It’s fulfilling to know there was another young kid, at the same school, that had the same types of dreams. If not bigger.” Those dreams, though, were cultivated through nightmares.

Dumb n—-s like me never prosper/ Prognosis of a problem child, I’m proud and well-devoted/ This Piru s— been in me forever/ So forever I’ma push it wherever, whenever/ And I love you ’cause you love my brother like you did/ Just promise me you’ll tell this story when you make it big/ And if I die before your album drop, I hope… **gunshots**

— Kendrick Lamar, from 2012’s “Sing About Me”

“‘[Sing About Me]’ is the song version of an epic movie,” said Chiney Ogwumike, a rising ESPN broadcaster and forward on the WNBA’s Connecticut Sun. The 2014 No. 1 overall pick and Rookie of the Year is a native of suburban Houston. She was a star sophomore at Stanford University — 200 miles north of Compton — when good kid, m.A.A.d city dropped five Octobers ago.

And she’s right. In many ways, good kid, m.A.A.d city is a remix of Tre Styles’ (Cuba Gooding Jr.) viewpoint in 1991’s landmark Boyz N The Hood—a young black male who grew up in the ‘hood and witnessed its daily joys, pains and fears from the frontline. It’s a comparison Lamar embraced on the song’s second half “Dying of Thirst.” Whereas YG’s 2014’s seminal debut My Krazy Life pinpoints the revolving door of gangbanging and street life seen through Doughboy (Ice Cube).

“The whole purpose … is to describe that lost child that you don’t hear about,” said Ogwumike, focusing on the song’s first verse. Featuring a conversation between Lamar and “a friend” (voiced also by Lamar), following the murder of the friend’s brother, the moment recalls the legendary Either they don’t know Tre and Doughboy conversation following Ricky’s death in Boyz. Twenty years year, Lamar’s friend reasons in the song, America still didn’t know didn’t show or didn’t care what happened in his ‘hood and to his brother.

“It’s crazy, because you never notice it until you’re on the outside, when you’re able to look back at it,”said DeRozan. “I went to a Crip high school [Compton High]. I grew up in a Crip neighborhood. I talk just like him. I walk just like him. I do this just like him. It’s instilled in you, and you follow those rules in a sense of what comes with it. It’s crazy. A lot of people don’t make it out.”

“But now,” Ogwumike said, “you do hear about this child. Now … because of these protests.”

DeRozan said a lot of people should just sit down and dissect “Sing About Me.” “They should understand what he’s talking about. This is an everyday thing! It’s still going on all over the world. There’s all types of inner cities.”

Instagram Photo

The verse is deeper than rap. It’s what Keisha Ross of the Missouri Psychological Association describes as historical trauma. Life in the ghetto is traumatizing. I’m fortunate you believe in a dream, Kendrick raps from the perspective of his slain friend. This orphanage we call a ghetto is quite a routine. Anger, hatred and aggression, she said, are both self-inflicted and inflicted on members of one’s own group. “A lot of people know Kendrick Lamar for who I am today,” he said in 2013. “[But] for me to think the way I do, I had to come from a dark space.”

“I think of people I grew up with, that love basketball and love music in my community,” said Ogwumike. “It’s unfortunate because I feel like not a lot of people understand this day-to-day. A lot of hoopers come from certain situations where they are — or they know people that have been — affected by violence. It’s ingrained within sports culture. It’s a humbling reminder that you have to play every possession with a purpose. You gotta live your life with a purpose overall because you want people to sing about you when you’re gone.”

This is the life of another girl damaged by the system / These foster homes, I run away and never do miss ’em / See, my hormones just run away and if I can get ’em / Back to where they used to be, then I’ll probably be in the denim / Or a family gene that show women how to be woman / Or better yet, a leader, you need her to learn something / Then you probably need to beat her.

— Kendrick Lamar, from 2012’s “Sing About Me”

If the first verse is an example of the suddenness of the loss of black life as it relates to men, the second leans into the harrowing experience of how black women are expunged from society. While it’s tempting to think of it as a 2017 version of Tupac Shakur’s 1991 “Brenda’s Got a Baby.” the verse is actually a continuation of the cautionary tale “Keisha’s Song (Her Pain)” found on Lamar’s “final warm-up,” 2011’s Section.80. In it, Keisha is a prostitute who is raped and murdered. In “Sing About Me,” her sister (voiced by Lamar) responds, furious that Lamar would use her life for gain. This, too, is based on real life.

“I met her … and she went at me about her sister, Keisha,” Lamar told MTV days after the album’s release, “basically saying she didn’t want her … business out there and if your album do come out, don’t mention me, don’t sing about me.” Keisha’s sister falls down the same path. How could you ever just put her on blast and s—?/ Judging her past and s—?, he raps, Well, it’s completely my future / Her n—a behind me right now asking for a– and s— / And I’ma need that $40 / Even if I gotta f—, suck and swallow.

She doesn’t die in a hail of gunfire. And with beings such as Shaniya Davis, Sandra Bland and the 276 schoolgirls abducted by Boko Haram as tragic contemporaries, Keisha’s sister, her voice, her pain and the resentment for the only society she knows just fades away. Almost as if she was never here.

Chiney Ogwumike #13 of the Connecticut Sun prepares to shoot a free throw against the Minnesota Lynx during a WNBA game on September 4, 2016 at Target Center in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Jordan Johnson/NBAE via Getty Images

“When you have a man who uses his platform to show how women are independent, but then also face even more adversity than their brothers — it’s everything,” Ogwumike said with a sigh. “That was superpowerful to me, about how she’s trying to make a way for herself in any way possible. But that way may end up being her demise. It needs to be told. It needs to be destigmatized.”

And you’re right, your brother was a brother to me / And your sister’s situation was the one that pulled me / In a direction to speak on something / That’s realer than the TV screen / By any means, wasn’t trying to offend or come between/ Her personal life, I was like ‘It need to be told’/ Cursing the life of 20 generations after her soul/ Exactly what would happen if I ain’t continue rappin’/ Or steady being distracted by money, drugs and four-fives …

Kendrick Lamar and DeMar DeRozan are friends. They’re both from Compton. Their high schools are separated by three miles. What links the two creatives isn’t recognizable off the rip — both suffer from survivor’s remorse.

For Lamar, stories of those who never escaped Compton are spirits tattooed on his soul as his career continues to ascend, as his all-time great portfolio has fans including former president Barack Obama, Beyoncé, Compton’s own Serena Williams, LeBron James, Russell Westbrook and Dave Chappelle. These tattooed spirits will never see the birth of the “new Compton” led by Mayor Aja Brown. Why did they have to die while I live? How could God let this happen Did they suffer?

For DeRozan, a three-time All-Star and 2016 Olympic gold medalist, success does little to erase the pain of the past. In many ways, it only intensifies. “It’s something I deal with,” he said. “I lost a lot of friends that was with me when I was younger, but I took a different route … Then you get a phone call hearing something happened. You start to say, ‘Damn, if I just would’ve took them with me, or if they would’ve stayed with me, this wouldn’t have happened.’ ”

good kid, m.A.A.d city, a half-decade later, is a form of counseling for DeRozan. It’s way deeper than words over beats. It’s his life on what has become the metaphorical wax. But perhaps more than any lyric from the song, its final lines resonate more than anything as he prepares to enter his ninth season in Toronto — 2,500 miles from the place he first called home: Compton.

Am I worth it, Kendrick ponders. Did I put enough work in?

“That’s everything,” DeMar said. “You get to a point where you start questioning yourself sometimes. People don’t feel my pain, and my passion that I’m putting into it. But in the midst of questioning yourself, you find a new inspiration to keep pushing, and be even greater to get that point across.”

He pauses for a second. “I take that approach in everything that I do.”

America is comfortable with protesting athletes on their screens, but not in their stadiums In the movies and on TV, white players join in and no one demands athletes kneel on their own time

From Curt Flood to John Carlos and Tommie Smith to Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf to Colin Kaepernick, there’s a long tradition of black athletes standing up for themselves and the rights of others.

Such protests are highly controversial, both with authority figures in sports and with fans: Carlos and Smith were immediately banned from the Olympic Village, Abdul-Rauf’s NBA career came to an early end and President Donald Trump called players who kneel during the national anthem “sons of b—-es” and demanded they be fired. Some of those still-employed kneeling players met with NFL owners earlier this week to discuss a path forward.

Yet when America sees protesting athletes in movies and on TV, the dynamic is different from what happens in real life. Really, really different.

In the idealized settings of television and film, just as in real life, the protests come with great cost and risk. Still, when screen athletes stand up for their principles, not only do they win, they’re clearly identified as the “good guys.”

Audiences are comfortable with fictional athletes who stand up to corporate bullies, in part because movies and TV demand character development. Even when fictional players begin as compliant automatons, being told what to do and how to do it, their personal journeys are characterized by growth and self-awareness. There’s an expectation that once athletes discover their power and witness injustice, they will be compelled to act. After all, a bunch of guys looking at a problem and shrugging their shoulders doesn’t make for good drama.

But those expectations don’t translate well to real life, as polling data on NFL player protests has shown.

When fans and political critics demand that players “stick to sports,” they’re saying they want the excitement of games and terrific athletic ability, but they want it divorced from players’ full humanity. They want the action sequences, but no plot or character development. Which is how we get people saying athletes should protest “on their own time” — essentially, after the credits have run and no one’s watching.

In TV and film, once we’ve gotten to know characters as people who have the same emotional needs as we do, it becomes easier to digest the necessity of their protests. Their motivations drive our sympathy. We want them to win.

The racial dynamic is different on-screen as white characters are cast as protest leaders. And these works also communicate why the element of public spectacle is so important: It raises the stakes. Public or near-public showdowns are a key trope in these stories because they’re seen as necessary to achieving the desired results.

Here’s a look at some of the movies and television shows in which athletes stood up to the man(agement):

Survivor’s Remorse (2014-17)

Courtesy of Starz

The recently canceled Starz comedy starred Jessie T. Usher as Cam Calloway and Chris Bauer as Jimmy Flaherty, the owner of Cam’s professional basketball team in Atlanta. The two have a few standoffs, but the disagreement between Cam and Jimmy that carries special resonance these days comes after Flaherty signs a $5 million contract with a firm to put advertising patches on players’ jerseys. The problem is that the company is the second-largest funder of private prisons in the country. Cam, flanked by his lawyer and manager, tells Flaherty he won’t play as long as the patches are on the jerseys. Every great fortune may have a great crime behind it, but this is where he draws the line.

This standoff takes place in the arena, hours before tipoff, and Flaherty, who knows he can’t win without Cam, backs down. This confrontation takes place not in the first season but at the end of the fourth, after we’ve had plenty of episodes to witness how Cam’s activism has been inspired by the suffering he sees around him, and after we know that Cam’s commitment to criminal justice reform is motivated in part by his own father’s imprisonment. Not only that, we know that Cam is generous to a fault. His manager is constantly trying to talk him out of giving away more of his money. If Cam hadn’t taken a stand on the patches, it would seem unnatural given what we’ve learned about the content of his character.

Varsity Blues (1999)

The cast of Varsity Blues.

Getty Images

I forgive you if the only thing you can remember about this movie is Ali Larter in a whipped-cream bra, but it really did have a bigger message.

James Van Der Beek starred as Jonathan Moxon, a backup quarterback for a Texas high school football team that has won two state titles under coach Bud Kilmer (Jon Voight). But Kilmer is merciless, racist and megalomaniacal — traits the school and community at large are happy to overlook so long as he keeps adding wins to West Canaan High’s record books.

Kilmer uses his star black running back, Wendell (Eliel Swinton), as little more than a mule, repeatedly deploying him for physically taxing runs but never allowing him to score a touchdown. The audience is treated to a bruising up-close-and-personal experience of those hits and the toll they exact on Wendell’s body. They’re gruesome.

Moxon is talented but not nearly as invested in football as his father or his coach are. And he hates Kilmer’s racism and mercenary disregard for the health of his players. Moxon gets tapped to lead the team because first-stringer and all-state quarterback Lance Harbor (Paul Walker) suffers a career-ending injury. It’s Kilmer’s fault — he insisted on pumping Harbor full of cortisone and forcing him to play until he was no longer physically able, costing him a college football scholarship.

When Moxon starts calling his own plays, gets Wendell into the end zone and generally pisses off his coach while still winning, Kilmer goes ballistic. He threatens to alter Moxon’s transcripts and derail his plan to attend college on an academic scholarship. But Moxon’s teammates have had enough of Kilmer’s antics, and they mutiny during halftime of the final game of the season. Kilmer’s team will only take the field of the second half without him, and the coach must relent or risk further public humiliation. The team wins the game, and Kilmer is forced to leave West Canaan and football for good.

The Longest Yard (2005)

In this remake of the original 1974 film that starred Burt Reynolds, prison inmates play a football game against a group of racist, sadistic prison guards who are constantly abusing their power.

In the 2005 version, Adam Sandler plays Reynolds’ role of washed-up quarterback Paul Crewe. Crewe isn’t an easy person to root for. Besides point-shaving, Crewe endangers himself and others when he gets drunk and leads police on a high-speed car chase in his girlfriend’s Bentley.

When he gets to prison, the warden, Rudolph Hazen (James Cromwell), forces Crewe to assemble a ragtag team of prisoners to give the guards an easy, confidence-boosting win before their season playing against guards from other prisons begins. The other prisoners sign on because they see an opportunity to give the guards a taste of their own depraved behavior. They’re comically bad at first, but under Crewe’s stewardship, they pull together. They start to develop hope and confidence of their own. Maybe they can really win this thing!

The black prisoners, led by Cheeseburger Eddy (Terry Crews), are loath to join the team until another prisoner, Megget (Nelly), is forced to swallow his dignity and pride. The guards confront Megget in the prison library and repeatedly call him “n—–,” in an attempt to cajole him into a fight. Megget resists the bait but relishes the opportunity to get his revenge on the field.

Once game day arrives, the prisoners are unaware that Hazen has made a deal with Crewe to throw the game. Crewe must comply or face life in prison for a murder he didn’t commit, one that resulted in the death of his closest jail friend, Caretaker (Chris Rock).

When the big day arrives, Crewe starts out leading the prisoners in what looks like a rout of the guards. Hazen reminds Crewe what he has to lose, and Crewe begins to throw the game. But he has a crisis of conscience and tells his teammates what’s happening. He decides to try to beat the guards anyway, leading the prisoners to a game-tying touchdown and a two-point conversion to win as the clock runs out.

In both Varsity Blues and The Longest Yard, the protests are led by charismatic white quarterbacks who have their own grievances but are happy to loop in those of black players as well. Would kneeling be more acceptable if Aaron Rodgers and Tom Brady had started doing it first, citing the same reasons as Kaepernick? Would Brady and Rodgers be criticized as un-American and unpatriotic, or praised for their compassion and for using their privilege to help minorities? And if the reactions to them would be different from those to Kaepernick or other black players, what does that say?

Both The Longest Yard and Varsity Blues feature unambiguously terrible antagonists in the warden, prison guards and Kilmer. They paint pictures of racists as unsubtle, selfish and uncultivated. They portray bigotry as a problem of individual extremists rather than something that’s endemic to the country. Again, we’re faced with the luxuries afforded by (admittedly uncomplicated) character development. If we don’t know NFL players and owners as well as we know the characters in these movies, how do we judge their actions?

The White Shadow (1978-81)

Ken Howard (right) portrayed high school basketball coach Ken Reeves and Byron Stewart (left) portrayed student and athlete Warren “Cool” Coolidge in the CBS series The White Shadow.

CBS Photo Archive/Getty Images

Ken Howard stars as Ken Reeves, a former player for the Chicago Bulls who injured his knee, ending his professional career. One of his college teammates, Jim Willis (Ed Bernard), offers him a job coaching basketball at the dilapidated, majority-black Carver High School in Los Angeles. The team is a band of undisciplined misfits — Reeves has a bad habit of referring to them as “animals.”

Carver’s star player, James Hayward (Thomas Carter), needs a job to care for his mother, who has ulcers, and his siblings because their father is dead. Another player, Curtis Jackson, doesn’t want to face the fact that he has a drinking problem.

Unlike the other examples here, the relationship between Reeves and the team is more symbiotic than purely adversarial. The chief conflict doesn’t hinge on Reeves being a bad person. Rather, Reeves is blindly navigating his new job and everything it entails. He’s in charge of a group of players who talk back and who are skeptical of authority because they’ve learned that no one expects much of them. The state of Carver’s campus — strewn with detritus, missing letters on its signage — communicates to its students that they don’t matter much. And if the students know they don’t matter, how is anyone going to be able to get them to care about school?

Vice principal Sybil Buchanan (Joan Pringle) acts as interpreter and student advocate in her interactions with Reeves, giving a credible voice to the players’ concerns. She tells Reeves he’s not a “white knight” and won’t be able to swoop in to the school and fix everything in 20 minutes. She’s indignant when Reeves enlists the team to move him into his new apartment on a Saturday for free, telling him the days of slave labor are over. Reeves and Buchanan are working toward the same goal, which is helping the students. But she and the basketball team are teaching a man who probably doesn’t think he’s racist not to behave like one. Created by Bruce Paltrow, The White Shadow offers a more nuanced view of race and racism than The Longest Yard or Varsity Blues. And it also says something about what it takes to be a useful ally.

Eddie (1996)

Whoopi Goldberg (center) starred in Eddie.

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Eddie (Whoopi Goldberg) is a limo dispatcher and devoted New York Knicks fan who wins a public relations contest to coach the floundering team. There’s a twist though: Eddie’s a pretty decent coach. Fans like her.

Eddie becomes more than a novelty act. She quickly discovers there’s more to coaching than calling plays. She’s the team’s chief haranguer, marriage counselor, therapist and mother. Her pestering and rule-setting pays off, and the team starts not only winning but also enjoying basketball again. They lose their arrogance and sense of entitlement once they realize they have a person who cares about them as more than ball-dribbling widgets to be yelled at, traded and cut. She’s a real coach.

Meanwhile, the team’s owner, “Wild Bill” Burgess (Frank Langella), a Texas billionaire oil baron, has decided to convert the Knicks’ unbelievable good fortune into profits — by secretly negotiating a move that would send the team to St. Louis.

Eddie, once she gets wind of the plan, stands up to the man whose ego is about as inflated as the 10-gallon Stetson on his head. Burgess sees the Knicks as chess pieces he can move about the country at his pleasure. When he won’t listen to Eddie privately, she takes their disagreement public, revealing Burgess’ plans to a packed house at Madison Square Garden and daring him to censure her for it. After Eddie risks the job she loves and the cushiest salary she’s ever had in her life, it’s not just her team who backs her up. It’s the city of New York.

In Varsity Blues and The Longest Yard, the athletes in question are not millionaires. The audience doesn’t have to overcome feelings of class resentment to sympathize with them. But what happens when that’s not the case? What happens when the players in revolt are professionals who make piles and piles of money?

You use an intermediary.

Eddie received terrible reviews when it was released in 1996, but it’s really smart about one thing: It uses Eddie first as a vehicle for criticizing spoiled players. And then, once it’s clear that Eddie is a sports fan, just like the audience, the perspective of who is “good” and “bad” begins to shift. Once we see Eddie and the Knicks players as part of the same team, working toward the same goal of making the NBA playoffs, we’re willing to accept their revolt — which, again, is public — against Wild Bill.

There’s a delicate balance that’s achieved, and there’s a thoughtfulness in positioning Eddie this way. When she stands up to Wild Bill, she’s a fan advocating for other fans. Eddie comes the closest of these shows to placing fans (particularly the ones who have been vocal about wanting athletes to sit down and shut up) on the same side as the pro athletes who make so much more than they do. Even though the movie isn’t directly about race, it illustrates how being rich doesn’t automatically zero out the balance on life’s problems. It doesn’t matter how much money you make if your boss simply sees you as a moneymaking property, and that’s a sentiment any populist can get behind.