Who Will You Be Rooting For?

“America always does what’s right, once it exhausts all other options”

---Winston Churchill








I imagine it would be hard to capture any one of the world’s cultures and neatly package it into 28 days of history. And, as absurd as the possibility, the reality is, in just 250-plus hours you will start to learn all over again and over again who invented the traffic light—the stories will probably fall short of who is disproportionably pulled-over and most often shot at those lights, but remember this is history, not his story.

During the warm & fuzzy Black February Winter Fest, you’ll read that for the first time in history, there will be two black candidates running for the highest office in the land. No, not the Super Bowl—that’s an event where someone HAS to win. These two candidates will be running for president. Pretty anticlimactic, huh? One of the candidates has absolutely no chance of winning, (Al Sharpton) and the other has a white girl at the Apollo chance, (Barack Obama). Obama’s chances would increase if he married that white girl at the Apollo, but not by much. I believe the black candidate with the best chance of winning is Colin Powell and the fact that he’ll never run is the despondency of American history. Nevertheless, in both cases, Sharpton and Obama’s, merits won’t be the determining factor, as 80% of the Americans have made their decision on those two and the race doesn’t officially begin for another 10 months.

History always gave me an uneasy feeling… mainly because right after you witness the beauty, you are too often reminded of it’s ugly past. Watching Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith re-write the NFL white pages just makes you wonder how much sooner this historical football moment would’ve happened if blatant racism didn’t deny them of the opportunity to begin with.

With all due respect, I could care less who wins the Super Bowl, because once the game is over, neither coach will be asked: “What happened to the middle class?” Or, "Why is it that black people keep getting shot on the same land their forefather’s paved? I imagine Sharpton or Obama would have a better perspective than someone who coaches the Bears or Colts, but (as I stated earlier) 80% of the population will be plugging in their earphones when that answer is revealed.

On Super Bowl Sunday, while Tony and Lovie are battling to see who goes to Disneyland, I will be rooting for someone black to change the landscape of this land. I hope it happens soon because before you know it February will be over and the traffic light will be red again.

1 love,
Ray Lewis

When It's Your Time

"If I had two minutes to live, I'd spend it choking a white man."

--Miles Davis






I have seen some remarkable things in my life, some of them even I find hard to believe.

For example, I went to high school with this really tall, skinny, quiet kid named Ed. Every third period I used to watch the 6’9” Ed walk into math class, duck his head through the door and head straight for the back of the class. The morning ritual usually woke me from a sound sleep. The whole year Ed probably spoke three times—and two of those times were to answer questions about the weather. Kids can be so unoriginal at times.

Four years later--On April Fools Day, in 1985—with Vegas odds at 33-to-1, Ed’s Villanova hoop team beat the famed Georgetown Hoyas in what still stands as one of the greatest upsets in college basketball history. Skinny Ed Pinckney, who had swollen-up by then, was voted the Most Valuable Player. That game ended the college career of sure-fire Hall of Fame inductee, Patrick Ewing. The forecast that day was partly cloudy and, as usual, the weatherman was wrong too—unless of course you were a Georgetown fan.

One day a friend and I was hanging in this night spot on 68street and Broadway, called Sweet Waters. Neither of us had any money, nor apparently did the dozen or so patrons who sat quietly, drink-less. The REALLY REALLY fine vocalist on stage was literally walking around trying to get a rise out of the (loosely termed) crowd. My homie leaned over to me and said; “ If she walks by again, I’m going to get her number.” She did, and he did. They hung out for about a month or so and a couple of years later I moved to Atlanta and fell out of touch. One night, my boy Chris called me devastated as he read the infamous “I’m Tired” note that Phyllis Hyman wrote right before she overdosed on Vodka and sleeping pills. Every time I hear a song by Phyllis I think of that night.

In the early 70’s, this bigheaded English kid used to get beat-up on the mean Bronx streets of New York—mainly because of his British accent. He used to come outside and innocently asked, “Does anyone out here want to ramble?? (which is British for play). The Bronx kids thought he meant rumble and jumped on that free-for-all opportunity. Years later in an Atlanta hotel room Johnnie Cochran conducted one of his last face-to-face print media interviews, which to-date is the highlight of my (loosely termed) journalist career.

In every one of the abovementioned scenarios, the commonality is ordinary people who were given an opportunity… an opportunity to become extraordinary.

This week Oprah Winfrey opened the doors to a theme school in South Africa, affectingly dubbed Dream Girls. From birth, these girls did not have a fraction of the opportunity that we have in America, which simply means their stories are going to be much better than the ones outlined above.

Since you are reading this, it means you are one of the fortunate people on earth whose clock is still ticking.

What will you do with your 60 Minutes?

1 love,
Ray Lewis