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Then
in 1996, a basketball player named Mahmoud Abdul Rauf
refused to stand for the National Anthem. Rauf believed
the flag to be "a symbol of oppression and tyranny,"
and was willing to suffer the consequences. His courage
was stunning, but even more shocking was the howling
cries for his head. When Rauf was suspended, some news
reports resembled lynch mobs. But others likened him
to Muhammad Ali, whose title was stripped for being
a draft resistor during the Viet Nam war. This was a
history I barely knew. As Rauf began to buckle under
the tremendous pressure of right wing bombast, it became
clear that our side needed a history of the resistance
in US pro sports. To aid this effort, I started writing
a column called Edge of Sports, and just completed my
first book "What's My Name, Fool? Sports and Resistance
in the United States."
When some friends back home heard what I was writing,
a Friar's Club Roast seemed to spontaneously generate.
These guys seemed to magically morph into a gaggle of
Henny Youngmans in baggy jeans. "Pro Sports and radical
politics?" one budding Borscht Belter smirked. "That
will make a helluva pamphlet!" Or "What's your next
book, Dick Cheney's Diet Tips? John Ashcroft's Favorite
Black History Moments?"
Everyone had a jibe. But my buddies are like Shaquille
O'Neal's free throws: simply way off. The history of
how social struggles have exploded onto the playing
field is vibrant, thrilling and very real. More importantly,
it's a tradition that arms us with the ability to challenge
the dominant ideas in that swoosh adorned ivory tower.
The problem is that its political teeth have been so
thoroughly extracted that the most compelling parts
of our history, the parts that have the most to show
and teach us today, reside forgotten on the ESPN cutting
room floor.
For example, we may know that baseball was segregated
until 1947. But we don't know the story of Lester "Red"
Rodney, the sports editor of the Communist Party's newspaper
the Daily Worker. Rodney ran his 1930s sports page as
an organizing center to fight for baseball's integration.
This campaign garnered over a million signatures, collected
at ballparks around the country. ["Red" Rodney is still
with us at age 95, and interviewing him for this book
was an experience I will never forget].
We may know that Jackie Robinson was the first player
to integrate baseball. But we know him only as a kind
of quiet suffering black saint, who did it "the right
way," under the paternal eye of Dodgers General Manager
Branch Rickey. We don't know him as the person who thought,
"'To hell with Mr. Rickey's noble experiment. To hell
with the image of the patient black freak I was supposed
to create.' I could throw down my bat, stride over to
the dugout, grab one of those white sons of bitches,
and smash his teeth in with my despised black fist.
Then I could walk away from it all."
We may know that the great boxing champ Muhammad Ali
refused to fight in Viet Nam. But we don't know he consciously
stood with the National Liberation Front in Vietnam,
- the resistance - saying, "The real enemy of my people
is here. I will not disgrace my religion, my people
or myself by becoming a tool to enslave those who are
fighting for their own justice freedom, and equality."
We may know about the famed Black Power Salute, of Tommie
Smith and John Carlos at the 1968 Olympics. But we don't
know that they wore beads to protest lynching, went
without shoes to protest poverty, or that John Carlos
wore his shirt open because as he said to me, "I was
representing shift workers, blue-collar people, and
the underdogs. The people whose contributions to society
are so important, but don't get recognized."
We may know about Billie Jean King's "Battle of the
Sexes" tennis match against Bobby Riggs at the Astrodome.
But we don't know how intertwined that tennis match
was with the fight for Title IX, one of the enduring
victories of the women's liberation movement of which
King was proudly a part. We also don't know that King
was far more than a symbol. She also started a union
for women's tennis players to fight for equal pay.
We need to know this history because it is a living
history - which is precisely what makes it so threatening.
As Carlos said to me, "So much is the same as it was
in 1968. Look at Mississippi or Alabama. It hasn't changed
from back in the day. Look at the city of Memphis and
you still see blight up and down. You can still see
the despair. It's alive."
He's right. But it's also alive anytime athletes today
attempt to use their platform to speak on social issues
or draw inspiration from struggles in the street. It's
alive when NBA Most Valuable Player Steve Nash says,
"The war in Iraq is based on oil," while wearing a t-shirt
that reads "No War! Shoot For Peace." It's alive when
then-Toronto Blue Jays slugger Carlos Delgado made clear
that he wouldn't stand on the steps during the seventh
inning stretch to God Bless America because the war
in Iraq is "murder based on lies". It's alive every
time when the NBA's Etan Thomas shows up at anti-death
penalty events to read his slam poetry; poetry that
calls out the racism of the system in utterly stark
terms. And it's alive when the US Congress feared calling
Barry Bonds to testify on steroids for concern that
he would say to them what he has been saying to reporters,
namely "Why is steroids cheating but making a shirt
in Korea for 50 cents and selling it here for $150 isn't?"
Knowing this history positions us to support and embrace
athletes who go out on a political limb, risking their
careers for principle. This method allows us not only
engage and embrace the Etan Thomases, Carlos Delgados,
and other 21st century Athletic Rebels but also the
fans that thrill to their exploits.
My friends believe that having a "some kind of theory"
or analysis drains the life out of sports. The opposite
is in fact the case. By confronting the messages pumped
out through our play, we can dissect what we like, what
we dislike, and begin to challenge sports - and our
society - to change.
When warplanes fly overhead we can ask how many physical
education classes are cut to pay for each Blue Angel.
When college athletes are pilloried for taking under-the-table
payoffs, we can ask whose blood, sweat, and tears paid
for the brand spanking new enormo-dome that grace their
campuses.
When insanely sexist commercials trade on women's oppression
for the high cause of selling beer, we can make clear
that this has no place in sports.
When the announcers on Fox become as aghast as a Southern
belle when a touchdown dancer gets raunchy, we can ask
why a network that pays Bill O'Reilly millions and promotes
shows like Who's Your Daddy? and The Littlest Groom
has the right to be the purity police.
When our cities are soaked by sleazy stadium deals,
we can stand up as sports fans and say, "Hey, we love
baseball, but I'm not going to give a billionaire a
$350 million present for the privilege of watching it."
By speaking out for the political soul of the sports
we love, we do more than just build a fighting left
that stands for social justice. We also begin to impose
our own ideas on the world of sports - a counter morality
to compete with the rank hypocrisy of the pro leagues.
These are ideas that can embrace and cheer competition.
That can appreciate the artistic talents of athletes
and the strategy of coaches and players alike. That
can thrill to seeing Barry Bonds swinging a bat, or
Michael Vick shredding a defense, or Mia Hamm kicking
a soccer ball. But unlike the mainstream sports jabber,
it's a morality that recognizes male and female athletes
- and all women - as human beings with minds as well
as bodies.
It also needs to understand that the incentive of athletes
to speak out for social justice lies not in their individual
brilliance but in our ability to build a struggle outside
the arena and in the streets. If we want more Muhammad
Alis, more John Carlos', and more Billie Jean Kings
- if we want to see a gay male athlete have the courage
to risk his neck by coming out - then we need to build
a broader movement for social justice outside the arena,
so our "heroes" will also have people to look up to.
In that fight we need every drop of history, experience,
and tradition we can get our hands on. As Tommie Smith
himself said about his famed Black Power salute, "It's
not something I can lay on my shelf and forget about.
My heart and soul are still on that team, and I still
believe in everything we were trying to fight for in
1968. [It] has not been resolved and will be part of
our future."
Dave
Zirin's new book "What's My Name Fool? Sports and Resistance
in the United States is now in stores. You can receive
his column Edge of Sports, every week by e-mailing edgeofsports-subscribe@zirin.com
Contact
him at dave@edgeofsports.com. To hear Dave Zirin speak
at a venue near you, please consult his book tour schedule
at: www.edgeofsports.com/tour.html
Media outlets wishing to obtain a free review copy of
What's My Name, Fool? Sports and Resistance in the United
States or to interview Dave Zirin may fax requests on
company letterhead to Julie Fain at Haymarket Books
at: (773) 583-6144.
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