Editor’s note: Brooklyn’s own is gone but never forgotten
Before I get all sick over the Big East representing so thorough in this years NCAA tournament I thought I should give some love to my brother that brought his brand of Brooklyn excitement to the hardwood. CONRAD McRAE was nicknamed McNASTY for the ferocious zeal that he played the game with. His specialties were thunderous slam dunks and emphatic shot rejections.
CONRAD was a athletic and energetic player, but at 6ft. 9in. he was undersized to play the center position in the big leagues despite finishing Syracuse with a stellar career. CONRAD took his game overseas and found tremendous success playing in the Italian and Turkish leagues. The following press blurb was taken from the Ankara Daily News…
“A hat-trick of basketball stories for you today, the first one we would prefer not to have to write. Forward Conrad McRae has died of a heart attack while in training with the Denver Nuggets. McRae was well known to Turkish basketball lovers from spells with Fenerbahce and Efes Pilsen. In his Fener days, he made himself one of the most popular players in the Turkish League, not only because of his fluent points scoring but because of his flamboyant style and crowd-pleasing antics. With Efes he was less successful. Some of the magic seemed to have gone and it was apparent he was never going to be the team player then- coach Aydin Ors wanted. The club released McRae before he had completed a single season. Nevertheless the fans will remember with affection the sight of him soaring in like a giant eagle for one of the slam dunks he and they so loved.”
This weekend DP.com is brushing the wig of Combat Jack. CJ went in with a drop that I should have posted a long time ago. Our good friend JAMES BLAGDEN aka Blagavelli created an animated short for Chris Isenberg’s No Mas sportsblog. The short used the actual audio of former Pittsburgh pitcher ‘Doc’ Ellis recounting his 1970 no-hitter against the San Diego Padres.
The story is hilarious in itself since Doc claims to have been tripping on LSD for the entire game. He also describes a major leagues that was wild for the night (and day game doubleheaders [ll] conversely). No wonder the facial hair back then was so crazy.
I’m excited for the upcoming season of Major League baseball for a bunch of reasons. It’s the sixtieth anniversary of JACKIE ROBINSON’s entrance into the majors, BARRY BONDS will likely become the new all time home run leader, the Mets will pwn the league, and the whole human growth hormone has been silenced ever since it became apparent that the entire league was on it (read: beloved WHITE athletes). I even joined an Internets Celebrities roto league. Looks like good times all around this summer.
This drop was inspired by OSCAR GAMBLE’s favorite website on the internets, Passion Of The Weiss. He had the idea for giving a shout out to MLB’s greatest moustached mavericks and mavens. Don’t act like it was only porn stars that sported the ridiculous facial hair from our youths. Baseball players were the real mutton chop superstars. From LUIS TIANT to MIKE SCHMIDT, seventies baseball was all about crappy polyester uniforms and personal style below the nose.
The Californian teams in the big leagues were certainly the fashion forward leaders in the facial hair movement. The San Diego Padres alone could field an entire squad of facial hair Hall of Fame players. Add in the Angels, the A’s and L.A. and you’ve got yourself a mountain of moustaches. Combine that with some of the greatest afros evar and you are talking about a follicle apex for American culture. When steroids and HGH came into the great American pastime hair would never grow the same. But I’m not into placing asterisks over afros…
Here’s the DP Dot Com list of the facial hair Hall of Famers…
GEORGE FOSTER
By the time he came to the Mets after his years with the Big Red Machine GEORGE’s bat didn’t have the same pop, but hotdamnit his moustache sideburn connection was still on some official ‘grown man in the club’ status.
DOYLE ALEXANDER
Dude needed more than his sideburns to cover those sonar scoops he had for ears.
CECIL COOPER
I gotta make sure I put one in for LM so he doesn’t retract his sponsorship.
GREG LUZINSKI
Chicago native GREG put in crazy work with the Philadelphia Phillies, but he could still bring it in his Chi-Town uniform when his drunk ass made it to the ballpark. Just like another of Chicago’s favorite sons and longtime DP Dot Commie, P-CITY.
DAVE WINFIELD
Did y’all cats know that DAVE WINFIELD was drafted by a pro football team despite the fact that he never played a single down in high school or college? And CHARLIE effin’ WARD wins a Heisman but didn’t get a single call. Facial hair = draft day hype.
ROLLIE FINGERS
ROLLIE was without question one of the greatest to ever do it. His Snidely Whiplash moustache should be telling you that much.
OZZIE SMITH
The Wizard of Oz was stylin’ on fools from the moment he came into the league.
GOOSE GOSSAGE
San Diego damn near had the entire facial hair All-Star squad. GOOSE GOSSAGE was just a big ol’ burly country boy who threw fire from his fist. Nothing subtle or sneaky in his repetoire, just fast, and faster.
DAVE PARKER
Can you imagine his gaudy career numbers if big DAVE PARKER had played during the steroids era?
STEVE BEDROSIAN
STEVE reminds me of MICHAEL McDONALD. Remember that Yacht Rock hit song that STEVE and KENNY LOGGINS made together? Yeah, it seemed like only yesterday…
MIKE SCHMIDT
Show some mother effin’ respect to the Jewfro when you see them on the streets.
BRUCE SUTTER
There’s no relief in sight from the gangsta of homey’s birdnest beard.
REGGIE JACKSON
The big homey had his own candy bar.
RON CEY
I’d swear that he retired from the Dodgers to do porn with his moustache.
DON STANHOUSE
DON pimped his matching afro and moustache style all the way into the 1980’s.
OSCAR GAMBLE
OSCAR is the G.F.H.H.O.F.O.A.T. of this shit. Right off the bat take into consideration the fact that his initials are O.G.
The sideburns and nappy moustache are official, but the afro is straight up on some HGH. That’s word to Oh Word!
Combat Jack has started a series of drops over at the Daily Mathematics about his remembrance of the legendary NYC nightclub Paradise Garage. In the first part, CJ deftly describes the setting of the nightclub. Fridays were the so-called “straight” night mainly because Saturdays were so balls out ghey that anyone who got inside on a Saturday night is now dead from AIDS. Good thing for me that I wasn’t able to get in the first time that I went there (Saturday).
If I had a little money I would fux with the Garage after leaving the Quarters. Union Square was closed on Friday at this time and the Saturday party in that space was a dancehall joint called the Underground. Combat Jack also mentioned Bentley’s as a spot were Black folks convened, but the Bentley’s crowd had several other spots to do their thing like The Red Parrot and Silver Shadow. Paradise Garage had a downtown crowd which was distinctly different from any other spot where Blacks partied.
First of all, there was no liquor being served. NYC’s liquor laws were such that any place that had a license to sell liquor had to close for business by 4am. The Garage would be open from 12am until next month. I distinctly remember leaving the Garage one afternoon AFTER noon. I was leaving and people were still in the main room dancing and jacking their bodies. That was the phrase for dancing in the Garage. You were supposed to ‘jack’ your body. When people would first get into the cavernous club you could find them in one of the many rooms stretching themselves like Rosa Acosta. You needed to be in fairly decent shape if you were going to smoke crack and then dance for 10 straight hours and that is exactly what folks were going to do.
It was in the Garage where I first experienced the acrid, yet surprisingly sweet smell of crack cocaine. I never knew what that shit smelled like. I knew what it looked like but I had never seen anyone actually smoke it. The Paradise Garage was where I learned a lot about other drugs that were popular. I got turned on to mescaline and acid while I was up in there. I don’t want to over-emphasize the drugs aspect of the Garage because that really wasn’t what was happening inside of the building. Don’t get it twisted, people up in that bitch were getting fucked the fuck up hardbody, but some folks were in there straight-edging and strictly vibing.
I started fuxing with the Garage after this chick I knew from L.G. (Lafayette Gardens) named Diane told me she was going there after Latin Quarters. I had tried to go there before on a Saturday night but I couldn’t get in [ll] and I didn’t realize that Saturday was the super ghey night. I didn’t have a gaydar then, truth is that I still don’t because I don’t give a fux. So I went down to the Garage after the LQ closed. Polotron and Big Du from the ‘Stuy rolled with me. Du’s brother Brian rolled too. All these fools were older than me and they had already been up inside of the Garage.
Polo and Du are both four years older than me. They graduated from Brooklyn Tech that June before the September I first went in. these dudes were nightclub OGs. 10-18(Roxy), Danceteria, The Fever, Union Square. They went to the Quarters on Friday to pre-game for the Garage. The deal was that we had to split up and get with chicks in order to get inside, or better yet, I had to find a chick to help me get inside. My girl Diane was on line after we had parked the car so I got with her and Polo rocked with her girl. The line to get inside the Garage was almost as fun as being in that piece. The energy was there.
The difference between the Garage and the Quarters was the direction of the energy. The Quarters and Union Square were dominated by dudes who from time to time(every single fuxing night) would set it on some other dudes [ll]. Whereas the Garage had energy that was high but moving in the opposite manner. You could bag up a shorty and dance with her all night. I mean dance with her so much that you had her smell on your body. If she was having a visit from her Aunt Rose you would be wearing that scent too. My girl Diane changed out of her LQ sweats into a cycling singlet. Actually I think she just took off her sweater and jeans.
That was the uniform for chicks in the Garage. Biker shorts and t-shirts. I always had on a Polo rugby or sweatshirt that I would literally sweat out into oblivion. I would leave that club looking like I went swimming fully clothed. You couldn’t go in there and not dance for hours on end. The vibe in the Paradise Garage was what that party was all about. No one fuxed with you the wrong way. I didn’t violate any girls and I never had a problem getting action. There was no alcohol to make dudes act foolish, altho’ cocaine is a helluva drug. The vibe was a true spaceship making its way to a distant planet.
What shaped the vibe was the music, primarily spun by the resident deejay, LARRY LeVAN. Google that brother’s name if you are into music for real music. The Garage was an actual garage with concrete floors, walls, columns and ceilings. The main room was pitchblack and the sound bounced off the walls at the speed of sound. You were in noisechamber and you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. What you did was you took your girl into the main room and you found a clearing for y’all to dance. Then you jacked your body. And you soul clapped. When I tell you that you could do anything to your girl on the dancefloor I am telling you that you could do anything with her consent. I earned my stripes as the fingerbang champ at the Garage.
LeVAN’s grooves would reach fever pitches and then come back down to Earth only to fly up again. If you played the rhythm right you could orgasm with the music. I mean, that was the point you dig? When I could dance with a female in the Quarters (I never danced with a chick at the Square, niggas would murderlate you) it was like we were always in competition for who had the better moves. In the Garage you and your girl were trying to lock a groove together. You would be riding in her seat, holding her thighs or her hips trying to thrust in to her at the exact second she was backing into you. Not all aggressive either, but smoothly and fluidly as if you were swimming.
The thing I have to give the Garage the most credit for is putting me in the mind to get my own apartment so I could go bang. It wasn’t all about the drugs or decadence for me since I had already seen all of that in Corona where I grew up. I wanted to get some of these girls back to my spot to really express the primal dances we were doing in the dark. I also remember the music that made me feel a kind of way. While Public Enemy #1 and UltraMag’s Funky were the Hip-Hop jams the band that made the funkiest, most soulful house music was Fingers, Incorporated. With Mr.Fingers on the keys and Robert Owens on the vocals this band established the sound for a deep house groove.
I’m not of the mind that the types of parties I enjoyed in NYC when I was 16 don’t still happen here in the city today because they do. KeiStar Productions (shouts to Keita who used to party in LQ) puts together events that still have that energy if not the total ambiance. Paradise Garage had the feel it did because the full spectre of AIDS, crack, heroin and poverty hadn’t fully manifested itself yet. It was tumbling to that place where we could no longer trust anyone in this city and when that moment truly arrived the Garage was no longer a Paradise and its doors closed forever. But I did have a chance to experience a distant planet. And it was good.
Fingers Inc. featuring Robert Owens – ‘Distant Planet’
Fingers Inc. featuring Robert Owens – ‘Bring Down The Walls’
Fingers Inc. featuring Robert Owens – ‘Never No More Lonely’
My peoples, SuperBAD MC Solace, from Timeless Truth blessed the kid with a vintage Gore-Tex NorthFace mountain jacket from his archives. Sun is prA’li making room for some of the most vicious I-T’s evar. I ain’t mad at him neither since I get one of the illest jackets Face ever produced. This joint is easily 15 years old and it is still so crispy that I nearly shit myself. Between Timeless Truth and Meyhem Lauren looking out for me with pieces I am gonna stunt hardbody for the rest of 2010.
The Gore-Tex fabric that NorthFace used for this jacket is reminiscent of the material that coated one of my all-time favorite I-T’s. I once had a Wilderness Experience jacket I copped from Tent & Trails back in 1990 and that joint was the illest jacket of all time. I could only wear a t-shirt under the coat because it would get that hot inside. The Gore-Tex was so thick and strong that I couldn’t scuff or rip the jacket. I felt like it was bombproof. Little did I know how right I was.
It turns out that Gore-Tex is a derivative of Teflon which is some shit called a Polytetrafluoroethylene. Essentially it’s a carbon-based compound that is ultimately pulled from fossil fuel production. Imagine putting a diamond-hard, scratch-resistant coating on a microscopically perforated plastic bag.
The Gore-Tex company is a family owned business that held the patent for their material for many years. After the patent’s expiration a lot of companies started manufacturing their own cheat of the OG Gore fabric. If you are lucky enough to get a product that is made with actual Gore materials you should take good care of it because the garment is made to last you a lifetime. Before NorthFace was acquired by Jansport this was how they manufactured their products.
The inner details of the jacket are Ridiculon-3000. I might have spent an hour just studying the seams and the hidden zippers and the overall construction. I’m gonna rock this jacket like it was 1995 all over again. Except I will be stuntin’ with a pair of Air Max 2009. Or maybe I should pull out a pair of Air Max ’95s?
