So NICOLE MITCHELL tells Essence ragazine that she didn’t know the full story about her man EDDIE MURPHY.
Meanwhile everybody in the ‘hood knew he was up to no good.
So NICOLE MITCHELL tells Essence ragazine that she didn’t know the full story about her man EDDIE MURPHY.
Meanwhile everybody in the ‘hood knew he was up to no good.
L.M., P-City and TONY are the only losers readers visiting this crappy website that still care about beisbol so this post is for them. No brokeback, of course.
What is all of this noise about concerning JOHN JORDAN ‘BUCK’ O’NEIL and his omission from the Major League Basebal Hall of Fame. BUCK must have one of the best rabbis on his home team, because I have never seen the New York Times fellate a Black man this much since they pulled their silver spoons out for MALCOLM GLADWELL’s ballsachs. Although, since MALCOLM is a tragic mulatto I guess that doesn’t really count as Black then does it?
All this liberal boohooing and handwringing is coming from the very same sportswriters that have elected NOT to vote BUCK into baseball’s prestigious Hall of Fame. Well if all of you sage and just writers really wanted this old codger to be able to smell the roses while he was still breathing you would have voted for him. No sense in giving a Black any credit while they are alive anyhoo I guess. Just look at how 3-6-MAFIA acted.
GEORGE VECSEY waxed poetically about how the sky would have opened up and baseball might have finally exorcised all of the ghosts of greatness overlooked and most times outright denied.
GEORGE needs to stop smoking that WHITNEY HOUSTON, or to keep things in a baseball perspective, stop sniffing my man DWIGHT GOODEN’s white pudding. BUCK O’NEIL is a pioneer that’s for sure, and there are many other Negro Leaguers that played the greatest pasttime with verve and skill. The Hall of Fame should recognize all of the Negro League players. For a select few of them skin color was the least of their disabilities.
RONNY ‘TURKEY LEG’ JENKINS
RONALD JENKINS was from a small Tennessee coal mining town. At the age of 16 he lost part of his left leg in a mule cart accident, but that didn’t deter him from pursuing his dream of playing baseball. He fashioned a prosthetic limb for himself made with scrap wood from the dining room table in his parents’ house. He promised his parents that one day he would return to them with a new table so that they wouldn’t have to eat dinner sitting on the floor any longer.
RONNY was well known for his grace in the outfield, but it was his world class speed that would make him a Hall of Fame caliber Negro Leaguer. RONNY set records in the league for stolen bases during 4 consecutive seasons. He averaged more than 3 steals per game in three of those years. It wasn’t unreasonable for RONNY to score from first on an infield ground ball to the pitcher. RONNY would swipe third so often it was renamed ‘Turkey base’
Much fuss was made of the incident where RONNY’s prosthetic leg failed during a game and he had the wherewithall to hop all the way to home plate. RONNY played for the Detroit Stars for twelve years and he came to be regarded as one of the clutch players in the league. RONNY’s smooth style on the field was complemented by his grace off the field. After his retirement he became a local celebrity in the Detroit swingdancing scene.
VIVICA ANJANETTA FOX done broke her new titties already. And how does that shit happen?!? When you won’t stay your azz home for a minute. VIVICA be at every premiere party she can go to meanwhile she hasn’t done any real work since forever. I think I just saw ‘Two Can Play That Game’ on B.E.T. for the fifty-eleventh time!
I met VIVICA about 10 years ago at the Memorial Day jig festival in Cancun Mexico. She is a down azz bitch if there was ever one in Hollywood. Just funny and foul mouthed. VIVICA is a cutie-pie, but she is also a bonafide hoodrat. The only way you would take her to meet your momma is if your moms smoked a pack of Newport ay’day and drunk Colt45 from a tall can with a straw.
Because I love you VIVICA and I know how real you used to be I have to give you this advice…
HOE SIT DOWN! And give your damn tittie bags a rest.
When I had noticed that I was no longer the first person that the swoosh brand was checking for my feelings were a little hurt. I mean. hadn’t we done big things together? I still keep a copy of the love letter I sent to Beaverton, begging her to bring back the Dunk style. She was only interested in Jordan fans now and giving Air Force 1’s to undeserving rap artists. Where were these dudes when the Air Train was on the streets? I bet none of them knew you for your wild beauty during the Air Tech Challenge ’90 years. But there I was kicked to the curb, while some newjack rookies received all of your attentions.
I was holding on even though it was obvious that you were going in another direction. I wasn’t ready to share my heart again after so many years. Who would want my love anyway. Everybody wants someone that is younger and more beautiful than the next. My young, beautiful days were well beyond me now. I thought that I would just go to PayLess and settle down. Forget about what used to be and just be happy with the memories of the good times.
During the summer I bumped into a pair of leather ROD LAVERs and they told me that the three stripes brand was looking for a committment from an older guy. I admit that I was intrigued. The three stripes had the classic Forum in a New York state colorway that was my 1986 Shea Stadium workshoe. It was comfortable as all get out and that helped me scale the steep upper mezzanine seats with my Harry M. Stevens propaganda. So I visited the three stripes and we started dating a bit. I liked the way the three stripes reflected on their history. I thought that it was a real appreciation of the past, but I soon found out it was just a facade. The past was used just for exploitation without any serious reverence for the journey. I had traveled all the way to Paris in seach of the navy/burgundy ILIE NASTASE. Instead I found only disappointment.
I was prepared to go on now alone because there is no way in hell I would ever touch the apartheid supporters again. As soon as I had been told that Reebok’s Union Jack insignia was becaue of their support from South Africa I never again purchased a pair of the sneakers.
I rode the Metro to Les Halles to satisfy my heart with a delicious freshly prepared raspberry Gran Marnier crepe. As I walked through the courtyard I saw so many happy kids wearing their Dub-Zeros and the latest Jordan retros that were flooding the streets. As I walked past the most non-descript boutique I could hear a Wu-Tang baseline pulsating from the open door. I curiously looked inside just to see what a Parisian boutique that features Wu-Tang would sell.
The store was filled with NIKE Dunks. It was visually exhilarating to see all of these sneakers at once. There were colors that I hadn’t seen in America since the mid-eighties. The Michigan Wolverine’s high tops, the Iowa Hawkeyes, Kentucky Wildcats, the Ohio State, Syracuse’s orange and white. It brought back memories of heaven. When I went to the Latin Quarter I used to wear one Wildcat dunk on one foot and one Syracuse Dunk on the other foot. A fringe benefit from working at Shea Stadium was that I had ‘found’ several authentic Mets jerseys and caps because I was enterprising like that. My orange and blue color coordination was a favorite of those in my crew and the haters prah’lee felt a kind of way too, but we had too much posse for my mix match Dunks and my Mets gear to be an issue.
So even though the swoosh brand had apparently moved on it was obvious that she still had affections for me and she remembered all the good times that we shared. I decided that I could live with being her ‘old school john’ because she still knew how to make me feel like a million bucks when we were together.
Just don’t step on my feets when you see me in the streets.
One Hundred.