Irvin hasn't come under fire for the statement. If a white commentator made a similar comment, the world would go crazy. Yes, there's a double standard. A black analyst can get away with comments that would bring a white commentator's career to a crashing halt.
But the double standard is not the worst part of this mess. Ethnic, racial and religious groups will always be able to make comments about themselves that an outsider understands he cannot get away with. As long as the comments are harmless, that double standard is a fact of life; it's not particularly problematic.
But Irvin's comments so crossed the line between safe intra-group vernacular and bald-faced racism. His statement, on the surface, implies that only blacks can be very athletic. So it's a little racist against whites insofar as it insults their athletic potential. But, of course, Irvin does the most harm to blacks, for he endorses-jokingly or not-a thoroughly disproven, harmful, absurd image of blacks as little more than raw athletes. Everyone, but especially ESPN and leading black sports commentators, should denounce Irvin for his damaging ignorance.
Even the few people who have spoken out against Irvin have missed the point. In researching for this column I came across an opinion story by CBS Sports' Mike Freeman, whose piece seemed eminently sensible until this analogy, which proved he horribly misunderstood the wrong that Irvin had committed: "This is Irvin's logic. I enjoy making Italian food. I'm actually pretty good at it. Therefore, my distant relatives must be Italian." Freeman's analogy accepts the basic premise that athleticism indicates blackness, which is false, and must be understood as false in order to make any progress in the debate.
In the end, maybe it's not worth wasting time with Irvin's ignorance. I asked a black friend of mine how much Irvin's comment bothered him. "We should worry more about Michael Richards," he said. That's true, and it highlights an important point. Irvin engaged in stereotyping, Richards spewed hate. Big difference.
Nike just does it
With the possible exception of Geico's monopolistic domination of the car insurance commercial competition, I can't think of a company whose commercials beat its competitors more than Nike. It hits commercial home run after another, combining creativity with humor and star power, and setting new trends and standards in the process. Naturally, adidas does its best to match Nike's brilliance. But it just comes across as pathetic and disingenuous in its fruitless effort. Take adidas' "It Takes Five" commercial line as Exhibit A. First of all, it's not funny, not even a little. There's no great music; there are no great basketball moves. They boil down to a cheap slogan that ostensibly endorses teamwork: "It Takes Five." But I didn't know adidas had the gall to have Tracy McGrady and Gilbert Arenas tell me that it takes five. It may or may not take five, but one thing is certain: McGrady and Arenas don't believe that it takes five, or at least they don't play as if they believe that it takes five. And even if they did, the slogan, and the commercial, still flop. Adidas needs a new advertising director.
Mullins too small for fans; Jeffs have no competition
A friend and I tried to go to the UMass-BC men's basketball game Saturday at UMass' Mullins Center, but the game was sold out. Turns out the Mullins Center holds 9,000 fans, so the building sold out quickly. But the 9,000-person capacity struck me as low for a 30,000+ student university that once boasted a world-class basketball program. In the glory days of Marcus Camby, John Calipari and the Final Four, how did the Mullins Center suffice? If 30,000 student fans clamor for less than 9,000 student seats, mathematically speaking, most of the campus must have ended up unhappy, watching the games on ESPN in their dorm rooms.
I, for one, never get sick of walking to LeFrak Gymnasium and watching the men's basketball team steamroll its way to a 17-point lead three minutes into the first half. But I wonder: Why do these hapless early-season opponents even want to travel to Amherst to play us anymore? The games aren't close enough for opponents to learn any valuable lessons, other than how to empty the bench. Do we really need to schedule a half-dozen season-opening 40-point wins? Can't we limit it to one or two and get to the serious games in December? At the very least we should want to host a somewhat competitive contest in order to entertain Bob Ryan, the nationally renowned Boston Globe sportswriter and ESPN analyst who visited LeFrak Friday night for the game against WNEC.
Carolina Choke
The Carolina Panthers, down three points to the Eagles on Monday Night Football, had a first down on the Philadelphia 10-yard line with 38 seconds left in the fourth quarter. This situation offered Carolina several free chances to win the game in regulation; barring a remarkably stupid error, the worst possible outcome would be overtime. Curiously, Carolina decided to throw a "jump ball" to Keyshawn Johnson in the corner of the endzone. If there is one play I wouldn't call when a turnover is all that could hurt my team, it is the jump ball throw into one-on-one coverage. If you want to take a risk-free shot at the endzone and eliminate any substantial possibility of a turnover, then run the ball, or throw it where there is no defender. But a jump ball? By its nature the jump ball turns into a fight between the receiver and the defender; each has a chance to come down with the pass. It just so happens that Carolina quarterback Jake Delhomme horribly overthrew the ball, but even if he hadn't, the play call made about as much situational sense as throwing to your third receiver in triple coverage in the middle of the field.