Buster Douglas: I wasn’t impressed with the success Mike Tyson was having When Douglas knocked out Tyson, he was fighting for more than just a win

In this installment of Playing for Something, Buster Douglas, as told to The Undefeated’s Kelley Evans, opens up about his mother and how she motivated him in his fight with Mike Tyson, who was heavyweight champion of the world and unbeaten in 37 fights. Oddsmakers in Las Vegas gave Douglas 42-1 odds of beating Tyson.

(ESPN Films’ new 30 for 30 documentary, 42 to 1, about Douglas’ epic 1990 defeat of Tyson for the heavyweight championship of the world, premieres Tuesday at 9 p.m. EST on ESPN.)

My mother slammed me on the ground, put her knee in my chest, and said, ‘If you don’t get out there and fight that boy, you’re going to have to fight me.’

My mother, Lula Pearl Douglas, was my motivator. At 10 or 11 years old, she made me go out there and face that bully, and when I came into the house crying, she jumped on me bad. It was, like, the next day I went outside, and we were shooting basketball. I called a foul. The bully was like, ‘What?’ And I turned around and said, ‘Foul!’ And I was looking at him, fists all balled up, and he just gave me the ball. Ever since then, he never said anything else to me.

She was my world — my rock. That’s how she was with me and my brothers.

She died three weeks before my fight against Mike Tyson on Feb. 11, 1990, a day that marked my sporting life. That was my pinnacle. On that day, I was the best. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I was blessed with the opportunity and I conquered. If you had to say, ‘This is how I want to be remembered, how I want people to know me, to look at me,’ it’s as a gentleman, a kind man who believes in himself, a humble guy who had an opportunity and took advantage of it.

Douglas fought with a heavy heart on Feb. 11, 1990.

AP Images/Sadayuki Mikami

But the person who motivated me was my mother. She visited me the week before she died on Jan. 18, 1990, to check on me as I was preparing for the fight. She was really ill at that time — I didn’t know how ill, but she mustered enough strength to get in her car and drive over to my house and ask me a few questions to see where my head was at. She was 46 years old, I was 29. It would have just been devastating, knowing that I was unable to continue because of her passing, but it just built my strength even more, in a sense.

Fighting Mike was a relief. I was like, ‘Man, I’ve got so much s— pent up in me, this is your a–.’ I mean, really, I was just at that point to where I could give a hoot about the naysayers. In my mind, I was getting ready to be a nightmare to him.

Make no mistake, I knew that if you weren’t bending steel or eating mercury, you had no chance against that man. But I knew what I could do.

I had no doubt at any time during training. I couldn’t wait for the fight. My biggest worry was something happening that would postpone or delay it — like Mike getting hurt in training. I just couldn’t wait for Feb. 11.

30 for 30 presents “42 to 1”

The thing about Mike is he’s not a trash-talker. He was a man of few words. I remember a reporter asking him how he thought the fight would go. He said the fight would be like any other fight — something like, ‘I’m going to knock him out,’ or whatever. Short and sweet.

I knew he was a talent. But I looked at the person. I looked beyond that figure in the ring, and I had to compare myself to the individual, so I wasn’t really impressed with all the success he was having. I knew he was a warrior in the ring, but I looked beyond that. That helped me a lot.

I went into the fight with a lot of confidence, and I wanted to express that. Everyone was expecting a quick, 90-second knockout, but I’m well-educated in this game. I knew what I was doing. I knew nobody gave me this opportunity; I had earned it. I fought killers to get this opportunity. Fighters who I figured would beat me, guys who lost their careers, I ended up beating and turning everything around to get a shot at the title. Even with all of that, I still wasn’t getting any respect because Mike Tyson was just a god.

“I knew it was over. He wasn’t even in the fight at that point — he was sleeping.”

When I went down late in the eighth round, I knew exactly why it happened. I got caught standing square, standing right up in front of him. That was the one time he really got me. I was angry and motivated — at the same time. I was pissed because I got caught looking. He caught me with one of those hooks, uppercuts. I hit the canvas like, ‘F—!’ When he knocked me down, I wanted to look at him, take a moment and say: ‘Come on, Mike. What do you think about this?’

I got caught because of that brief moment of reflection, when I stopped fighting. He was showing me that he was still alive. But I got up.

I knew I had to get serious after that. I dominated the ninth round and gave him a swollen left eye. Then that 10th round came, when I dropped him at one minute and 22 seconds into the round. When Mike didn’t get up, I knew I had him. I knew I had won, because when he reached for his mouthpiece, I knew he was incoherent. If he would have been coherent, he would have just gotten up, let the referee get the mouthpiece and extend the count. But when he reached for it, I knew he was hurt then. That’s when I raised my hands. I knew it was over. He wasn’t even in the fight at that point — he was sleeping.

When Tyson and promoter Don King complained about the referee’s count at the end of the eighth round, I didn’t feel disrespect, I just felt like they were crying like babies. I looked beyond all of that and realized that it was just some force trying to stop me from obtaining my goal. I knew then that I was on the right track of succeeding at my childhood dream, which started when I was 10, when my father started me in boxing.

On February 11, 1990, I was fighting for more than a win.

Sixers assistant coach Monty Williams: ‘God makes me look much better than I deserve’ Athletes believe they can overcome anything, he says, but that’s not the case

A look at the intersection of sports, faith and religion

Monty Williams was hesitant. He instinctively shied away from an exchange that would turn his personal thoughts on faith into a “glorified modesty-type thing.”

“I always tell people God makes me look much better than I deserve, and that’s just where it is for me,” said the Philadelphia 76ers assistant coach. “I don’t like coming off with the fake humility stuff.”

Less than an hour had passed since he’d finished practice at the team’s training complex in Camden, New Jersey. Now, he was talking not so much about basketball but about those times that faith kept him afloat.

“There’s a lot of times within the faith, as a Christian, that most people think we walk around like we have it together, and I just got to be straight with you,” said Williams, 47. “The longer you’re walking with the Lord, it’s the exact opposite. It’s like way on the other end. I need the Lord because I don’t have it together. I am broken. I am flawed no matter how I’m viewed.”

Williams’ initial introduction to faith came through his grandfather, James Williams Sr., who was a pastor at Cleveland Avenue Christian Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. He still plays an integral role in his grandson’s life.

As a child, Williams regularly attended vacation Bible school during the summer, and every Sunday morning he was alert and ready for Sunday school. As he matured, he realized there was a lot more to faith than going to church.

“There was a relationship involved with God that allowed me to delve deeper into some heavy questions and ask myself what did I believe even before I knew what to believe,” he said. “I had to figure some things out, and then you realize you can’t figure it out. It’s all about faith.”

As his career path changed from player to coach, he leaned more on his faith.

“Whether it’s winning or losing or getting a contract or not getting signed by a team and all the in-between, my faith allows me to hopefully have something to hold onto that’s much bigger than sports,” Williams said.

“You realize you’re not the cat’s meow. Most athletes, we feel like we can overcome and withstand anything. There’s been a few times in my career where I couldn’t change the consequences with lifting more weights or getting more shots or whatever the case may have been. And that’s when you realize how small you are and how much you need a relationship with God. And I felt like that was where I started to grow.”

A 6-foot-8-inch small forward, Williams averaged 30 points and 16 rebounds as a high school senior at Potomac High School in the Washington, D.C., suburbs. He went on to play for Notre Dame, averaging 22 points and eight rebounds as a senior. He was selected by the New York Knicks in the first round of the 1994 NBA draft. He married his college sweetheart, Ingrid, after his rookie season.

Over his nine-year NBA career, he played in 456 games and averaged 6.3 points while suiting up for the Knicks, San Antonio Spurs, Denver Nuggets, Orlando Magic and Philadelphia 76ers. His coaching career includes time with the Portland Trail Blazers, New Orleans Hornets/Pelicans, Oklahoma City Thunder and 76ers.

Five children (Janna, Micah, Faith, Lael and Elijah, now ranging in age from 8 to 20), eight cities and 26 years of marriage make up the triad that represents his life with Ingrid. The couple wrote a faith-based book in 2010 with another couple, Dave and Kaci Bullis. Called Look Again 52, which refers to the number of weeks in a year, the book provides scriptural readings for every day of the year.

His faith has evolved over time.

“I had the idea that because I was faith-based, things would work out well for me,” he said. “I thought that being a man of faith, that was a byproduct of that. Having been around a little bit, I’ve come to realize that my faith is something I can hang on to in the good and not-so-good times, and it allows me to deal with both the success and the failures and the in-between. It’s not a good-luck charm.”

The hardest time in his life came in February 2016, when Ingrid died from injuries she suffered in a car accident in Oklahoma City.

“Nobody’s strong enough to get through that, not on their own, and I certainly did not,” Williams said. “I had a lot of people praying for me. If not for the grace of God, I probably would have been more frustrated than I was. …

“She was the greatest example of faith that I’ve ever been around because she was my best friend. It was what attracted me to her when I first met her. So to lose her to a senseless car accident was by far the toughest thing I’ve ever had to deal with and am still dealing with. That’s something that I’ll never be able to explain or rationalize. I just have to trust God that he’s going to get us through it all, and he has.

“The problem is what you see on TV is usually painted a certain way, so I was probably painted stronger than I really am. The reality is it’s been a struggle to deal with something like that, and to not only deal with it but have to raise five kids in the process. That part no one can do on their own. If it wasn’t for the grace of God and him putting really good people around me and helping me, I wouldn’t be here today for sure.”

Williams continues to provide a faith-based household for his children, and he encourages them to establish their own relationship with God.

“My older girls know, and they’ve known since they were teenagers, that they can’t live on my faith,” he said. “Earlier, when we were doing devotions at home, we would go to church and we would go to different faith-based activities. They’ve reached an age where I have to be straight with them, like, ‘This is my faith. You have to have your own faith.’ ”

Williams and his family are nondenominational Christians and attend Fellowship Alliance Chapel in Medford, New Jersey, outside Philadelphia.

He uses the Holy Bible app daily and has friended other family members, coaches and NBA players.

“I use it every day because I like the Bible plans that they have on there,” he said. “They’re pretty encouraging, and sometimes they punch you in the mouth. But I learn more about the Lord, I learn a lot about myself. It’s a really cool way to connect with other believers and other people in general who are just like me, just trying to live this thing out in a real way, but do it in a way that would glorify God without being offensive or goofy to other people.”

Gospel artist Todd Dulaney traded his professional baseball career for a life of faith ‘I wanted to give myself to the wholehearted pursuit of God, so that is what I did — and I never looked back’

A look at the intersection of sports, faith and religion

Growing up, all Todd Dulaney wanted to do was play professional baseball. When he was drafted by the New York Mets in 2002, the second baseman was in seventh heaven.

But it was his initial meeting with famed pitcher Pedro Martinez that had a lasting effect on Dulaney.

“Man, I thought you were bigger,” Dulaney said to Martinez.

“I just have a big arm, and a big faith in God,” Martinez replied.

“That moment really shocked me,” Dulaney said. “Martinez is someone who continued to share his faith in God with me and with younger players in the league, and I will never forget that. I appreciated it.

“Sports has such a pull on our hearts. We love our sports … and I believe that people are actually looking to turn to God. We are looking for answers, and we are looking for faith answers. It makes sense for the two to collide, because these are the two things that capture our attention. We can bring love and peace into our world through something that we enjoy doing so much. We enjoy getting together on Sundays to watch football. We love to gather at the ballpark and watch a game …

“Sports has our attention and offers a message of love and hope and peace during a time when we need it most. It is a beautiful relationship because the sports world is one place where you get a chance to see different ethnic backgrounds working together.”

Dulaney was drafted out of Wabash Valley College in Southern Illinois when he was 18 and spent four years in the minor leagues. He was a talented and tough athlete, with grit earned from playing streetball.

“When I was a kid, we played every sport, depending on the season,” Dulaney said. “We played football in the street during football season and baseball during baseball season. I was the youngest kid on my block, so I played against kids who were older and stronger than me. I ended up really excelling at baseball. I saw people doing well and making a lot of money playing ball professionally, so that’s what I thought I wanted to do for the rest of my life.”

When he signed his professional contract, Dulaney was a boy thrust into a man’s world.

“Playing professional baseball at 18 was more than I was prepared for. Mentally, it was a lot,” he said. “I was playing from the perspective of being a kid … and I realized quickly that this is a job and people are serious about feeding their families and pursuing it as more than just a game. That caught me off guard. I realized that I was no longer a kid and I couldn’t conduct myself as a kid.

“You don’t get a day off because ‘Oh, this guy isn’t very good,’ ” he said. “Everybody is strong, everybody is fast, everybody throws hard, everybody hits hard.”

Four years into his professional baseball career, Dulaney went home to the Chicago area during the offseason. A young lady he was dating invited him to church. That day would change the trajectory of his life. By the end of the service, he was standing at the altar. For the first time in his life, he felt something stronger than baseball tugging on his heart. He wanted to go all-in — this time, for God.

He decided to leave baseball to pursue a life dedicated to his faith, which led him to become a gospel singer.

“My family and friends thought I was crazy for leaving baseball,” Dulaney said. “But I knew that is what I needed to do and what I wanted to do. I wanted to give myself to the wholehearted pursuit of God, so that is what I did — and I never looked back.”

The church Dulaney had attended that evening was Victory Cathedral Worship Center in Bolingbrook, Illinois, led by pastor and Grammy-winning singer Smokie Norful. After retiring in 2005, he began singing background vocals for Norful and toured with him.

Today, Dulaney is 34 and a chart-topping, Grammy-nominated gospel artist. He still loves baseball and keeps in touch with some of his former teammates. Dulaney recently recorded a power anthem called “I Can’t Be Stopped” that was inspired by the sports world and his experience as an athlete. Still, he believes his life and his impact are bigger and more potent than he could have ever dreamed.

Besides his brief encounter with Martinez, Dulaney recounted what he learned from former MLB All-Star Cliff Floyd. Dulaney considers himself a giver at heart, a trait he picked up from Floyd.

“He was a millionaire many times over who really took me under his wing,” Dulaney said. “I was in the minor leagues and didn’t have much, and Cliff would make sure I ate and send me bats and gloves, and just made sure that I was never without anything. Once when I was going on a date, Cliff loaned me his car. The young lady thought I was the man. Words cannot express the gratitude that I have for him. Cliff Floyd taught me how to be a giver in my own life. That seed is still in my heart. I love to give to people the way that Cliff Floyd gave to me.”

As Dulaney has matured as a Christian, he believes being a professional baseball player and a man of faith can coexist.

“If I had known then what I know now, I would have used one to catapult the other. But I was not mature enough then to use my gifts at the same time,” Dulaney said. “Thinking about that now, I would definitely do both of them. … My faith would play a huge role in keeping me consistent about playing professional ball. When I grew in my faith, I realized that I didn’t need to engage anymore in about 70 percent of what I was doing. I didn’t need clubbing, drinking, staying out late. I didn’t need or want any of that. Maturing in my faith really opened my eyes to how much time I was wasting.”

Sports is still a part of Dulaney’s life. He’s a fan of the Carolina Panthers, and his favorite athlete is LeBron James.

“More so because of who he is off the court,” Dulaney said. “He is doing what I want to do as far as being a husband and a father.”

Dulaney maintains an intense travel schedule, but he works out regularly on the road.

“I’ve bulked up to 200 pounds now [30 pounds more than his playing weight]. When I am at home, I miss workouts because I feel compelled to be at home, spend time with my wife, take my kids to school and just be present.”

Faith and sports continue to stay in his heart.

“I would not trade that [baseball] experience for anything,” Dulaney said. “It instilled professional competition in me. You don’t get that type of competition at amateur levels, and when you leave, you take that with you. I have something on the inside of me that has competed at the highest level, and I take that everywhere. So, even with music, my approach is that I don’t release a song to be No. 5. I release a song to be No. 1. I have that level of competition and excellence with everything.”

Bilqis Abdul-Qaadir endured the heartache of choosing faith over basketball The former Memphis and Indiana State player helped overturn a FIBA rule banning hijabs

A look at the intersection of sports, faith and religion

College basketball star Bilqis Abdul-Qaadir was faced with a choice: faith or sports.

Faith won.

Abdul-Qaadir, now 28, played her entire high school and college career in a hijab. She wore tights under her shorts and a long-sleeved shirt under her jersey. Her face and neck were exposed, but her hair was covered.

She didn’t make the WNBA in 2014, so she sought to play overseas and possibly work her way into the league. Those plans were derailed when her agent told her about the International Basketball Federation’s (FIBA’s) headgear rule: It wasn’t allowed.

“It was devastating,” she recalled. “I struggled with being a Muslim. Having to choose between my hijab, which is essentially my faith, it is more than a piece of material. But to give up my passion was a struggle.”

She joined the #FIBAAllowHijab campaign to garner support to change FIBA’s policy, and it paid off. In 2017, FIBA changed its rules to allow head coverings such as the hijab, tichel and turban in international competition. But after three years of training, rather than jump back on the court, she’s decided to stay on the bench.

“I’m still making peace with the decision,” she said. “People still call me and ask me to play for them.”

FIBA had defended its initial stance on religious headgear as a way to prevent injuries and promote a religiously neutral environment. In 2014, FIBA communications coordinator Simon Wilkinson told Ummah Sports that FIBA rules and regulations “apply on a global scale and make no distinction between the various religions.”

“This measure is in place for reasons of safety and uniformity on the basketball court in particular. This article makes provision for only one exception — headbands no wider than 5 centimeters, which allow for hair and sweat to be held back in order not to disturb the player.”

Abdul-Qaadir, however, saw the policy as a form of discrimination. She saw a life without basketball or her hijab as simply wrong. At one point, Abdul-Qaadir considered playing without a scarf.

“Why can’t I go overseas to a country where nobody knows me, take off my scarf for 40 minutes and put it back on afterwards?”

But that thought never sat well.

“Am I going to give up who I truly am to please this organization who doesn’t want me to represent who I am?” she asked.

Abdul-Qaadir still holds the high school career scoring record in Massachusetts. Her 3,070 total points broke the record of WNBA star and fellow Massachusetts native Rebecca Lobo, whose total of 2,740 points had stood unchallenged for 18 years. Abdul-Qaadir then became the first NCAA Division I athlete to wear a hijab, first at the University of Memphis (2009-13) and later at Indiana State University. She finished her collegiate basketball career there, averaging 14.2 points per game.

President Barack Obama invited her to the White House in 2015 to break the Ramadan fast and again for the White House Easter Egg Roll, where she won a game of H-O-R-S-E with the president. Her journey prompted a documentary film, Life Without Basketball, which was shown Nov. 10 at the DOC NYC film festival.

The NCAA requires athletes to get a waiver to wear “head decorations.” Requests must include why the hijab would not be a danger to other players, a description of the material and how the hijab would be worn. Even if a waiver is granted, referees can still bench a player if they think the hijab appears to pose a danger to other players.

The NCAA was not able to confirm how many waivers have been granted since Abdul-Qaadir started playing. However, they did say that one waiver was granted for the 2016-17 season and another for a different athlete in the 2017-18 season.

The WNBA permits players to wear religious head coverings, but no player has ever competed in one in the U.S. since the league’s inception in 1996. International soccer’s governing body, FIFA, only allowed players to wear hijab in 2014.

Earlier this year, Abdul-Qaadir played in the Arab Women’s Sports Tournament, where more than 1,000 women competed in basketball, volleyball, table tennis, fencing, archery, shooting, karate and more. The basketball competition allowed teams to have up to three American players, and she played for a team from Somalia and scored 31 points in a game against Jordan. Abdul-Qaadir said she was recruited afterward by several pro teams outside of the U.S. but declined the offers.

Although the hiatus from high-level basketball hasn’t diminished Abdul-Qaadir’s love for the sport, it forced her to focus on other things.

In 2015, she earned a master’s degree from Indiana State and started her own campaign, Muslim Girls Hoop Too, which encourages Muslim girls to play sports and openly express their faith. Two years later, Abdul-Qaadir got married and started Dribbling Down Barriers with her husband, A.W. Massey. The program facilitates play between Muslim and non-Muslim athletes to get people of different faiths to be comfortable with each other. She now works as an athletic director and volleyball coach for a pre-K through eighth grade school in London, Ontario.

Instagram Photo

Now, she spends time sharing her story and encouraging Muslim girls to play basketball.

“I need to stand up for the girls who are going to come after me,” Abdul-Qaadir said. “If I don’t open up these doors for them, who’s going to do it? And there’s going to be another Muslim girl who wants to ball and be good enough to play and they’re going to have to make this decision, and I don’t want them to.”

Michael Sorrell took Paul Quinn College from barely surviving to thriving The school’s WE Over Me Farm, born out of desperation, boasts the Dallas Cowboys as a client

An interview with Michael Sorrell, president of Paul Quinn College and one of Fortune magazine’s 2018 World Leaders


When Michael Sorrell agreed to a controversial decision to disband the football program at Paul Quinn College in 2007, he saw it as the only way to save the financially troubled historically black college. Located in a working-class African-American neighborhood in south Dallas, Paul Quinn was on the verge of shuttering unless Sorrell, a relative novice in higher education, somehow came up with a miracle.

Paul Quinn was founded in 1872 and was the first institution of higher learning for African-Americans west of the Mississippi River. But as enrollment plunged from 1,000 to 150 students and annual deficits soared to as high as $1 million a year a decade ago, the school devolved into an eyesore, with several buildings in disrepair while others sat vacant.

No one wanted to be the president of Paul Quinn, which is why Sorrell, a Dallas-based attorney with no experience in higher education, initially accepted the job on a 90-day contingency basis as the board of trustees searched for a full-time president. Sorrell, who was part of a group in negotiations to purchase the NBA’s Memphis Grizzlies and name him team president, awaited his fate. When the deal to acquire the Grizzlies fell through, Sorrell became Paul Quinn’s permanent president.

His idea to terminate the football program and convert the field into the state-of-the-art WE Over Me Farm where students can work, and from which food is donated to the surrounding community and sold to area businesses for profit, was born out of Sorrell’s desperation and innovation. It worked because Sorrell convinced everyone, including himself, that it couldn’t fail.

Paul Quinn, which was once on the verge of bankruptcy and de-accreditation, has seen its enrollment increase to more than 550 students today, and the graduation rate for students enrolling in 2006 and 2009 improved from 1 percent to 13 percent. In August, the school broke ground on a 40,000-square-foot educational and residential building made possible with $7 million in donations — the school’s first new building in 40 years. Paul Quinn now operates at a profit and has received the most seven-figure gifts in school history while securing full accreditation from the Transnational Association of Christian Colleges and Schools.

“I took some criticism, but we couldn’t afford football,” Sorrell told The Undefeated. “The dominant reason for us terminating the football program was economic. But another reason was maybe there’s more than one way out of poverty for young black men. Maybe your mind will sustain your climb out of poverty more than your body.”

A lunch meeting with Dallas businessman and environmentalist Trammell S. Crow prompted Sorrell to reveal there wasn’t a single grocery store for miles to accommodate the community surrounding Paul Quinn. Crow inquired about the feasibility of an on-campus garden. Sorrell suggested the football field, which had been unused for two years.

“He said, ‘Can you do that?’ I said, ‘I’m the president,’ ” Sorrell said. “So he gave some money to turn 30 yards of the football field into a community garden. He also gave money so we could open up a community garden at the church across from the school.” Crow later connected Paul Quinn with Pepsi Co., which also contributed financially to the farm. In 2014, Crow provided the largest gift in school history, $4.4 million, and has become so influential that the new building will be named after him.

“We didn’t know anything about farming,” Sorrell said. “We were inexperienced, but we had righteous rage and we were unafraid to fail. True failure would have been never trying to improve the condition of people in this community, and we thought that was wrong.”

Students at Paul Quinn College at the football field turned farm.

Courtesy of KSJD Radio

As of August, the WE Over Me Farm has grown more than 60,000 pounds of produce and features a 3,000-square-foot greenhouse. Some of the produce is consumed in the dining halls. It’s also sold to Dallas restaurants and grocery stores. The school’s largest customer, Legends Hospitality, serves AT&T Stadium, home of the Dallas Cowboys. In 2015, Paul Quinn hired a farm director who specializes in organic farming and opened a farmers market that brings together 10 to 12 vendors each week. Popular items include collards, mustard greens, cabbage, lettuce, carrots, sweet potatoes, tomatoes, garlic, okra, cucumbers, corn, peas, watermelon, cantaloupe, pumpkins and squash.

“It saved our school in one regard because it changed the narrative,” Sorrell said. “No longer were you going to talk about Paul Quinn from the perspective of a need institution that did not have what it needed and should be pitied. When you are in a crisis, you have to change the narrative, and that’s what it allowed us to do. It gave people a reason to look at us and see hope. It’s one thing for me to go around giving speeches about believing and hope and we’re going to accomplish things. It’s something entirely different to give people tangible proof of hope. And from that moment forward, we began to exceed people’s expectations.”

Speaking at the prestigious SXSW EDU Conference & Festival in March in Austin, Texas, Sorrell emphasized that what works at Paul Quinn won’t necessarily yield similar results at schools with greater resources. For instance, cutting football wasn’t the only way to go. But it was considered the best way among other options.

“When I was a young college president, I was stressed out,” said Sorrell, who was named one of Fortune magazine’s 2018 World Leaders, one of only two college presidents to receive the honor. “I had just turned 40. I was frustrated. I was in charge of a school that was failing and there was no guarantee this was going to work. I faced a very real possibility that Paul Quinn College could have survived Reconstruction, it could have survived Jim Crow but it couldn’t survive my presidency. That scared the daylights out of me. At Paul Quinn, people look at our students and dismiss them. Eighty to 90 percent of our students are Pell Grant-eligible. Our average ACT score is 17. So what? That’s just numbers on a page. Maybe the problem isn’t that you couldn’t learn. Maybe the problem is that people couldn’t teach you.

“There was no path forward for us simply doing what other schools did because they were doing it longer and better. That wasn’t going to work for us. We weren’t that type of institution. We didn’t have those type of resources. Our way forward was going to have to be something different. And that different for us was turning the institution around and saying if we were going to design a university for today’s students, what would that look like? If we were going to demand our place in higher education, how would we break down the doors? We were going to have to be less of a college and more of a movement.”

The WE Over Me Farm was only the beginning. In 2013, Paul Quinn experimented with an urban work college in which all students are required to work at jobs on campus and later off campus for potential employers. Students have $2,400 of their wages go toward their tuition and keep the rest. In 2017, Paul Quinn was designated by the U.S. Department of Education as the ninth federally recognized and the first historically black work college.

“What’s truly amazing about what Paul Quinn has become is this idea that we created our own system of higher education,” Sorrell said. “We lost 80 percent of our student population in my first two years. We’re now over 550. We’ve had to manage that growth because we didn’t have [sufficient] housing. There were no urban work colleges [before Paul Quinn]. That model did not exist. If you live on campus, all of our residential students have a job. They work an average of 15, 16 hours per week. They work on and off campus. They have work transcripts so they can show what they can do, and they have their academic transcripts to show what they learned. We also reduced tuition and fees and made it easier for students to graduate with less than $10,000 in student loan debt. We have taken aim at what we have felt are the most dominant issues of our day and are working to solve them.”

In July, Paul Quinn announced that the inaugural site of its urban work college network will be in Plano, a Dallas suburb. Thirty-three students will live in apartments the first year, and corporate sponsors will provide paid internships and classroom space.

“We’re not saying our way is the only way or the best way. We’re saying what we believe yields the best results for the community we serve.”

“We want to open Paul Quinn global campuses and urban work colleges all over the world,” Sorrell said. “Plano was our expansion model. This is about identifying your competitive advantage. We’re in one of the strongest, most thriving business centers in the country. Why wouldn’t we craft a way that allowed us to take full advantage simply of what we have in our midst?

“The farm was just the tip of the iceberg. That gave people the first example of us being able to do things that people weren’t doing or hadn’t done. We’ll use what we have to serve our institution and the community we serve. We give away close to 15 percent of everything we grow. Our largest customer is the Dallas Cowboys because, you know, we still run a business here. But, quite candidly, the farm is wonderful, but the farm isn’t what makes us special.

“I’ll tell you what I tell everybody: We are just warming up,” Sorrell said. “We haven’t even taken our best stuff off the shelf yet. We’re not saying our way is the only way or the best way. We’re saying what we believe yields the best results for the community we serve.”

Becoming a father is Bishop Marvin Sapp’s ‘greatest accomplishment’ His faith in God, his belief and his victories keep him afloat

Bishop Marvin Sapp needed prayer. His congregation and fans immediately responded to his plea, joining him. His wife of 17 years was battling stage 4 colon cancer. MaLinda Sapp died on Sept. 9, 2010. Sapp raised their three children while preserving her legacy and continuing to maintain a life of victory, peace and healing. Facing the death of his beloved wife and relying on his faith to persevere, he continued maintaining victory in peace and healing.

On of his greatest accomplishments in life was becoming a father to his children, Marvin II, Mikaila and Madisson.

“I’ve been blessed to be nominated for every award known to man,” he said. “And that’s been rare in this field of gospel music. But being a dad, to me it’s the greatest reward ever. Honestly, that actually means more to me than anything else.”

Sapp’s father and mother divorced when he was 9 years old.

“It was a real challenge,” he said. “So I made a commitment when Marvin [II] was born that I was going to try to be the best father that I could possibly be, because I didn’t have a father. The challenge with it was that I was learning on the fly, because I didn’t have a real example where the father is supposed to be about, what a father is supposed to be like. So thanks be to God, I had people around me that mentored me from afar …”

Sapp’s children attend historically black universities. Marvin II attends Howard University in Washington, D.C., and Mikaila and Madisson attend Alabama A&M.

“My kids went to predominantly white schools,” he said. “So they made up their minds to go to universities where they could see young people that looked like them. They’re doing very well. Both of my daughters are on the dean’s list, and I don’t know if I get to necessarily take credit for that aspect. Their mother was a wiz when it came to school and stuff.”

Sapp balances life through prioritizing.

“Before I’m anything else I’m a father. After being a father, I am a pastor [Lighthouse Full Life Center Church]. After being a pastor, I am a recording artist. After being a recording artist, I do all my other entrepreneurial responsibilities, from my day care to my full-service bar, be it a mani-pedi, a salon to a restaurant to all the real estate properties that we own, apartments and houses. What I’ve learned for me is that if I keep everything in proper order, it allows me to be able to be successful in each of those areas.”

A gospel music award-winning artist, Sapp transcends generations and first crossed over from gospel to secular in January 2007 when his hit song “Never Would’ve Made It” was released.

Bishop Marvin Sapp

Courtesy Worth Ink Public Relations

“I just think that my relevance is solely based upon me tapping into the culture as it pertains to where they were, and what they feel,” Sapp said. “When I wrote ‘Never Would’ve Made It’ … the reason why the song is timeless is because everybody has had a never-would’ve-made-it moment. And kids connect to it. Adults connect to it. Grandparents connect to it. So the message is universal … ”

The tune spent 46 weeks at the top of American gospel radio charts and became the longest-running No. 1 radio single of any format. The song topped The Associated Press list of Best Songs of 2008. The record-breaking tune was the first song by a gospel artist to sell more than 1 million ringtones.

He’s also a strong believer that “nobody can tell your story better than you.”

“If you get it out before other people, you’re going to win,” he said. “So, my goal has always been to just be as open and honest and transparent as I possibly can be. And it’s caused me to win, across musical genres as well as across age groups.”

Sapp is a testament to steadfastness in faith and remaining relevant in an ever-changing music landscape nearly three decades after he launched his career. In April, he won two Stellar Gospel Music Awards, bringing his total to 24. His latest CD, Close, has been atop the Billboard charts since it was released in September 2017. He is also featured on the Snoop Dogg Presents Bible of Love album.

One bit of important advice Sapp received was from Bishop T.D. Jakes.

“I did a concert at the Potter’s House [Jakes’ church in Dallas] maybe some eight years ago. And afterwards I had the opportunity to sit down and talk to Bishop Jakes. After the concert, we went downstairs and he said, ‘Marvin, in this season, you have to learn how to friend up. What you need to do is you need to start trying to hang around people that’s not at your level but who have accomplished what you desire to accomplish. Connect with them …’ ”

Sapp recently lost more than 50 pounds through changing his diet and beginning to exercise while reclaiming his health.

“I kind of lost myself over the last eight years. I stepped on the scale and I was like, ‘My God, 310 pounds.’ I never would have thought that I was that big. So I changed my diet, found this app that taught me how to count calories, and I started going to the gym every day.”

Sapp often uses sports as his way to connect to hope, faith and victory.

His favorite player, LeBron James, had left the Cleveland Cavaliers in that same year for the Miami Heat, seeking a victorious situation in his own life: an NBA championship.

“I don’t necessarily have a favorite team,” Sapp said. “I’m like, wherever LeBron is. I used to fly to Miami like four or five, six times a month just to go to the games. I would get up in the morning and tell the kids, ‘Hey, I’m going go to Miami and going to the game. I see y’all tomorrow.’ I take my kids to, like, all the Christmas games. I honestly did think that LeBron was going to L.A.”

That time for Sapp is one example of how religion and sports intersect. The two held an unlikely and possibly unnoticed bond: desire for victory.

With the victory Sapp has embodied, there is nothing in his life he would change.

“I think that the challenges of life, the hills and valleys, they are the things that make you who you are,” he said. “I look at my life and I’ve gone through some crazy stuff over the last eight years. I know what it’s done for me. It caused me to really have a more deeper relationship with God, and to trust him like never before.”

Golden Knights’ Pierre-Édouard Bellemare reflects on shaving his head for breast cancer awareness ‘I figured if I could shave my head, maybe they would see that as a less negative situation’

One in 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, and many of them will undergo chemotherapy and shave their heads before enduring one of the treatment’s side effects: hair loss.

Vegas Golden Knights left winger Pierre-Édouard Bellemare elected to share that experience. To kick off this year’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month, he joined patients and survivors at Comprehensive Cancer Centers of Nevada by shaving his head. The act was also in memory of two family members who died of cancer.

Bellemare recently shared his thoughts on the Oct. 2 head-shaving, just before the start of the team’s season.

“I figured if I could shave my head, maybe they would see that as a less negative situation,” he told The Undefeated. “I’m just a normal person. The only difference is that I do a sport and work my entire life to be able to be a part of a team. And because of that it has put me in a position where I can do something as little as just shaving my head.”

Bellemare’s wife, Hannah, lost her grandmother to cancer two years ago. It was a battle that lasted for more than a decade — one that started off as breast cancer and ended in brain cancer. During her grandmother’s battle, her grandfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He died one month later, shortly before her grandmother.

“For my wife, it was a tough moment,” he said. “I was a part of that, recovering and helping cope with one of her grandparents passing away. Her grandma’s been fighting for a lot of years, and then suddenly her grandpa had it. Then, boom — he was gone in a month.”

Comprehensive Cancer Centers of Nevada has provided an array of oncology services since 1979. Bellemare first got involved with the organization as a spokesman. While shooting a series of commercials, he met with patients and survivors and learned about their journeys.

“To know what they had to go through every day for the entire cancer … it’s just a decent perspective that you get,” Bellemare said. “It’s something that is so devastating for a woman to have to shave their head. It’s like a big part of a woman.”

He’d always told Hannah that it would be an honor to participate in the cause.

“Because of my wife’s grandma being affected with first the breast cancer and obviously my wife, there is risk also for her to have it,” Bellemare said. “So it became something really close to us.”

Two days before the puck dropped on the Golden Knights’ 2018-19 season, Pierre-Édouard Bellemare joined patients from Comprehensive Cancer Centers for a head-shaving event outside of T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas.

Courtesy: Comprehensive Cancer Center of Nevada

As a member of the Vegas community, Bellemare believes it’s important to connect with places such as Comprehensive Cancer Centers.

“I was like, all right, let’s try to give a little bit back,” he said. “My hair will grow back, so it’s not the biggest gesture I can do. … There is already so much they have to fight to be able to survive. Having your head shaved shouldn’t be something to have any focus on.”

For Bellemare, 33, playing a rigorous sport day in and day out does not compare to the fight against cancer. Bellemare was born in a suburb of Paris. His father was born on the French Caribbean island of Martinique. He began playing hockey when he was 6 years old and was a professional player in France by age 17. He signed with the Philadelphia Flyers in 2014 and joined the Golden Knights expansion team in their first year. They made it to the Stanley Cup Final, and he finished the 2017-18 season playing in 72 games and compiling 16 points.

“They have to fight to be alive. What they do every day, it’s so much harder than what I’m doing,” Bellemare said. “I got there and I was a little stressed. I talked to two of those women and suddenly I’m realizing, like, what the heck am I scared of? It’s supersimple, I don’t have to deal with their stress. When you hear what they have to go through in the last few months, you’re like, all right, this is just really easy. Just do this half and we’ll make sure that the people enjoy it.

“They are the heroes of the story. They are the people that are inspiring me more than I am inspiring them,” he said.

Golden Knights’ Pierre-Édouard Bellemare reflects on shaving his head for breast cancer awareness ‘I figured if I could shave my head, maybe they would see that as a less negative situation’

One in 8 women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, and many of them will undergo chemotherapy and shave their heads before enduring one of the treatment’s side effects: hair loss.

Vegas Golden Knights left winger Pierre-Édouard Bellemare elected to share that experience. To kick off this year’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month, he joined patients and survivors at Comprehensive Cancer Centers of Nevada by shaving his head. The act was also in memory of two family members who died of cancer.

Bellemare recently shared his thoughts on the Oct. 2 head-shaving, just before the start of the team’s season.

“I figured if I could shave my head, maybe they would see that as a less negative situation,” he told The Undefeated. “I’m just a normal person. The only difference is that I do a sport and work my entire life to be able to be a part of a team. And because of that it has put me in a position where I can do something as little as just shaving my head.”

Bellemare’s wife, Hannah, lost her grandmother to cancer two years ago. It was a battle that lasted for more than a decade — one that started off as breast cancer and ended in brain cancer. During her grandmother’s battle, her grandfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He died one month later, shortly before her grandmother.

“For my wife, it was a tough moment,” he said. “I was a part of that, recovering and helping cope with one of her grandparents passing away. Her grandma’s been fighting for a lot of years, and then suddenly her grandpa had it. Then, boom — he was gone in a month.”

Comprehensive Cancer Centers of Nevada has provided an array of oncology services since 1979. Bellemare first got involved with the organization as a spokesman. While shooting a series of commercials, he met with patients and survivors and learned about their journeys.

“To know what they had to go through every day for the entire cancer … it’s just a decent perspective that you get,” Bellemare said. “It’s something that is so devastating for a woman to have to shave their head. It’s like a big part of a woman.”

He’d always told Hannah that it would be an honor to participate in the cause.

“Because of my wife’s grandma being affected with first the breast cancer and obviously my wife, there is risk also for her to have it,” Bellemare said. “So it became something really close to us.”

Two days before the puck dropped on the Golden Knights’ 2018-19 season, Pierre-Édouard Bellemare joined patients from Comprehensive Cancer Centers for a head-shaving event outside of T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas.

Courtesy: Comprehensive Cancer Center of Nevada

As a member of the Vegas community, Bellemare believes it’s important to connect with places such as Comprehensive Cancer Centers.

“I was like, all right, let’s try to give a little bit back,” he said. “My hair will grow back, so it’s not the biggest gesture I can do. … There is already so much they have to fight to be able to survive. Having your head shaved shouldn’t be something to have any focus on.”

For Bellemare, 33, playing a rigorous sport day in and day out does not compare to the fight against cancer. Bellemare was born in a suburb of Paris. His father was born on the French Caribbean island of Martinique. He began playing hockey when he was 6 years old and was a professional player in France by age 17. He signed with the Philadelphia Flyers in 2014 and joined the Golden Knights expansion team in their first year. They made it to the Stanley Cup Final, and he finished the 2017-18 season playing in 72 games and compiling 16 points.

“They have to fight to be alive. What they do every day, it’s so much harder than what I’m doing,” Bellemare said. “I got there and I was a little stressed. I talked to two of those women and suddenly I’m realizing, like, what the heck am I scared of? It’s supersimple, I don’t have to deal with their stress. When you hear what they have to go through in the last few months, you’re like, all right, this is just really easy. Just do this half and we’ll make sure that the people enjoy it.

“They are the heroes of the story. They are the people that are inspiring me more than I am inspiring them,” he said.

JaVale McGee is focused on being a Laker and on clean water worldwide ‘There are people in the world that can’t drink more water because they don’t have access to it’

It was the NBA’s opening tip and JaVale McGee, waiting to watch games in his home, was fighting a fire alarm sounding off every two minutes.

“They’re testing the alarm,” the Los Angeles Lakers center said as he briefly spoke about his team’s season.

“We’re the Lakers,” he said. “It’s an amazing organization. And to be able to actually be looked at maybe even being a contender is even more amazing. So we just have to make sure we stay focused, and really, it is exciting though.”

But McGee really wanted to discuss an off-court issue dear to his heart: water.

“We drink gallons of water, jugs of water every day,” McGee said. “Personally, my body feels better [when I drink water], and I wanted to let people know to drink more because 83 percent of Americans don’t drink enough water at all.”

There is also a water crisis. Around the world, more than 780 million people lack access to clean, safe water, resulting in millions of water-related illnesses and deaths every year.

McGee found himself wanting to do something about it.

So he partnered with entrepreneur Kez Reed in 2012 and co-founded JUGLIFE, an organization that promotes a healthy lifestyle by providing clean, safe drinking water in underdeveloped areas of the world. Its message is “water is essential to life and drinking water is a lifestyle.”

McGee began promoting his efforts on Twitter and Instagram with the campaign #JUGLIFE, built around the idea of drinking a gallon of water each day. Then he got a phone call from Reed, who was involved in missionary work around the world.

“There are people in the world that can’t drink more water because they don’t have access to it,” McGee said. “He [Reed] came upon this school with 500 kids who were HIV-positive. They were secluded by their village, so they didn’t have the access that everybody else had to water. He messaged me and communicated they need water out there. Reed said, ‘It would be a blessing for you to be able to build a water well just for that one community.’ ”

McGee answered the call. He traveled to Uganda in the summer of 2017 to build wells and returned in 2018 during the offseason.

Instagram Photo

“When I went over there, especially the first time, I had never been to Africa before. The second time, it’s like you know what you’re going to see and what’s going to happen,” he said. “It was extremely humbling. Just seeing people not having anything and not complain, smile, happy, running around, just enjoying life. And it really just changes perspective on things that we complain about, for me personally. Like, we’re worried about traffic and things like that and people are walking 26 miles from the water source to their village, daily.”

McGee said he saw villagers with little to no knowledge of water preservation and waterborne diseases drinking contaminated water from a pond.

“They are bathing in this water, washing their motorcycles, pets, animals, feces, all in the water,” McGee said. “And then kids are coming and taking big jugs of that water. But from them taking that water, it really brings diseases to the village.”

JUGLIFE chose to build the wells next to schools to teach students how to maintain the well.

The experience taught McGee to humble himself.

“I learned that there are people with bigger needs than the needs that we have out here in our own backyard,” he said. “So the feeling that I get helping someone who literally doesn’t know me, never even met me before, is a passion. I want to go forever, every summer.”

He also wants to travel to South America to educate citizens about a clean water environment.

“Hopefully JUGLIFE will become big enough where we don’t just do it once every year,” McGee said. “Like we can do it all year long and have people go out there and experience everything and it becomes a program.”

On the 20th anniversary of an iconic Game 6, six facts about the ‘Last Shot’ Air Jordan 14s Was the XIV gang-related? Was the sneaker patented? We have answers

It was a missed shot, not just the most revered game-winner of Michael Jordan’s career, that made the Air Jordan 14 iconic. It began with the final play in Game 5 of the 1998 NBA Finals between the Chicago Bulls and Utah Jazz. With 0.8 seconds remaining on the clock and the Bulls trailing 83-81, head coach Phil Jackson drew up a play to get the ball into the hands of the greatest of all time. A 2-pointer would tie the game and force overtime. Yet, with Chicago leading the series 3-1, a make from beyond the 3-point arc would mean a victory and a championship. Of course, Jordan was going for the win.

The referee handed the ball to the inbounder, Ron Harper, which triggered His Airness to employ an explosive burst from the free-throw line to the sideline. Harper tossed the ball in, and a swift, one-motion move became a 35-foot, off-balance heave. The potential game-winning 3 fell about a foot short, as Jordan landed back on the hardwood in a pair of his signature Air Jordan 13s.

Michael Jordan of the Chicago Bulls watches his final shot as Bryon Russell of the Utah Jazz looks on during Game 5 of the NBA Finals at the United Center in Chicago on June 12, 1998. Jordan missed the basket, and the Jazz won the game 83-81.

JEFF HAYNES/AFP/Getty Images

The air ball extended the series to a Game 6 at the Delta Center in Salt Lake City, where Jordan wouldn’t miss in crunch time this time around. With 5.2 seconds left in the game, Jordan put a helluva (albeit controversial) move on his defender, Utah’s Bryon Russell, and drained a 20-foot jump shot from the top of the key to give the Bulls an 87-86 lead that would deliver their sixth championship in eight seasons. By January 1999, Jordan would retire for the second time in his career, making the heroic Game 6 jumper his final shot as a member of the Bulls. (Jordan came out of retirement in 2001 to play two seasons for the Washington Wizards.) The ending of the ‘98 Finals also cemented a legacy for the shoes he wore in that moment: a pair of Air Jordan 14s, which have since taken on the nickname “Last Shot.” Had Jordan hit the 3-pointer to win it all in Game 5, the 13s, not the 14s, would’ve become “Last Shot” Air Jordans. But both the basketball and sneaker gods had other plans. In honor of the 20-year anniversary of Game 6, here are six facts about the timeless “Last Shot” Air Jordan 14s.

Had Michael Jordan hit the 3-pointer to win it all in Game 5, the 13s, not the 14s, would’ve become “Last Shot” Air Jordans.

Jordan only wore the 14s in three games

Jordan opened the 1998 Finals on the road in Game 1 against the Jazz in the “Bred” Air Jordan 13s. He began Game 2 in an all-black pair of player-exclusive, low-top 13s (which would never release at retail) before switching back to the traditional mid-top version of the shoe after halftime. In Games 3, 5 and 6, he’d don the Air Jordan 14. Because, if you remember, in Game 5 he returned to the 13 by breaking out the “Playoffs” colorway. By the time of his debut with the Wizards in ‘01, he’d be rocking the “College Blue” Air Jordan 17s.

The shoe was inspired by Michael Jordan’s Ferrari

Michael Jordan leaves the arena in his Ferrari after the Bulls win Game 6 of the 1997 NBA Finals at the United Center in Chicago. The Bulls defeated the Jazz 90-86 to win the series and claim the championship.

On Oct. 27, 1998, a few days before the commercial release of the sneakers that debuted on the court months earlier in the Finals, The Associated Press reported that designer Tinker Hatfield was influenced by the luxury cars Jordan owned, particularly his Ferrari 550 Maranello, when crafting the Air Jordan 14. “He told us directly that we should be looking at automobiles,” Hatfield, Nike’s vice president for design and special projects, told The Associated Press. “He actually suggested that I come out and look at his Ferrari, just to be inspired by it.” Hatfield’s clean and simple design of the 14 includes an air-intake pocket similar to what was found on a Maranello in the late ’90s, as well as the same type of paint and bumper materials implemented in high-end vehicles of that era. The shoes dropped at retail for $150 a pair on Halloween 1998 in a “Candy Cane” white-and-red colorway. The “Last Shot” black-and-red model that Jordan wore in the ‘98 Finals wouldn’t hit stores until March 1999.

The shoe was awarded a landmark patent

According to The Associated Press, the United States Patent and Trademark Office presented Nike with patent No. 400,000 in the governmental agency’s then-(ironically)-23-year history for the sports car-inspired elements incorporated into the Air Jordan 14. A news conference was held to celebrate the occasion.

The 14 quickly became a top 100 sneaker

In December 1998, less than two months after the Air Jordan 14 went on sale, Dallas-based shoe retailer Footaction (acquired by Foot Locker in 2004) unveiled a list of the top 100 athletic shoes of all time. At No. 82 sat the 14, which checked in ahead of notable sneakers such as the Air Jordan 8, the Converse Jack Purcell and the Adidas Powerphase. It’s a testament to how much of an impact the shoes — and the epic shot the greatest of all time made in them — had in the early days of their release, without Jordan even playing in the NBA. It didn’t take long for the 14 to reach cult classic status.

“Michael Jordan, the Jordan Brand and Nike condemn violence and vigorously assert that any Jordan brand product and, specifically, the Air Jordan XIV has no connection to any gang or gang-related activity and is intended for use as a basketball product.” — Statement released in 1999

The shoe falsely became associated with gang-related activity

“Nike has learned from local police departments and school administrators that the Roman numeral ‘XIV’ on this year’s Air Jordan is coincidentally associated by some with a gang based in Northern California. Michael Jordan, the Jordan Brand and Nike condemn violence and vigorously assert that any Jordan brand product and, specifically, the Air Jordan XIV has no connection to any gang or gang-related activity and is intended for use as a basketball product.”

This is an excerpt from a statement released on March 26, 1999, denying any link between the shoe and the Norteños street gangs, which use the No. 14 and Roman numerals XIV as a representation of the 14th letter in the alphabet, “N,” to pay tribute to the Mexican-American organization of prison gangs known as Nuestra Familia.

The 20-year anniversary of Game 6 marks the 14’s third retro

Since the shoe’s original release in 1999, the “Last Shot” Air Jordan 15 has been retroed on three separate occasions: in 2005 for $130, in 2011 for $160 and on Wednesday, in celebration of 20 years since Jordan’s jumper, for $190, as part of Nike’s Art of a Champion collection. Moral of the story: Every sneakerhead’s closet deserves a pair of the Last Shots.