Zooey wrote:

I am just more depressed than ever.

I read a lot of the comments under the various articles on the Rams’ “Don’t shoot” and on stories of Derrick Rose and some Cavaliers wearing “I can’t breathe” shirts.

And the tenor of the comments is just depressing. A bunch of (obviously) white guys proving they don’t get it. At all.

It’s not that I didn’t expect those reactions. It’s just the sheer preponderance of them.

Well the upside iz,
the talking-monkeys will probably
destroy the biosphere before too long
and Gaia can start over. Maybe, with
talking moss, or talking grapes
or something less virulent.

Nice to see Lebron being the anti-Jordan, btw.
I saw a thing on espn’s Outside The Lines.

Go Rams,
w
v

http://espn.go.com/nfl/story/_/id/11978096/after-ferguson-sports-stars-waking-up
The “anti-jordans”

Howard Bryant

This story appears in ESPN The Magazine’s Dec. 22 Interview Issue. Subscribe today!

AFTER THE BLOOD AND FIRE of Ferguson, the video of a killing in New York that went unpunished and a 12-year-old shot dead in Cleveland, a wave of protest is rapidly defining America, awakening athletes once considered too busy with their stock portfolios to notice much of anything. It isn’t just the St. Louis Five, the Rams players united in the wake of the Ferguson non-indictment, but also Saints tight end Ben Watson speaking out on Facebook. It’s Pacers forward David West on Twitter, more invested in the black lives that fall at the hands of the police than in how his words might risk his brand. It is LeBron James and the Heat in hoodies after Trayvon Martin’s death last year, and Kobe Bryant this year indicting not Michael Brown nor Darren Wilson but an entire broken system of justice that in many ways created both of them.

The awakening represents the arrival of the anti-Jordans, the athlete as a living, breathing, thinking citizen and not just a sneaker pitchman. If the aftermath of September 11 politicized the ballfield by valorizing American militarism, athletes after the non-indictments in Ferguson and New York now reject the public demand of shut up and play. They see that America, divided by race and class, could not be less “post-racial,” a term intended to bury yesterday and soften tomorrow. It is an awakening in which some black athletes see no reward for being dutiful front men, for saluting the police as heroes at halftime; they instead see themselves reduced to a pre-racial place, no more American or human for their loyalty, so convinced that black lives don’t matter that they’ve joined the national movement demanding that they do.

These anti-Jordans know their enormous sums of money can shield their children from attending a broken public school system or from living in a neighborhood with no services, no self-determination and no hope. But they also know they cannot shield their friends, their aunts and uncles, from those same realities, and they cannot be sure that following all the rules will keep their loved ones from being shot by police. Money cannot shield players from their own consciences, or from the video of a New York policeman killing Eric Garner with a choke hold. Players’ silence has kept them tethered to systems they now find they must protest. Violence has shattered the post-racial myth and finally ended the silence.

Rams receiver Kenny Britt’s message on his taped wrists-“Mike Brown” on the right, “My Kids Matter” on the left-directly challenged that tethering, a severing of those ties. The patronizing aftermath-the St. Louis Police Officers Association demanded the NFL discipline Britt and his teammates-validated Britt’s voice, the massive overreaction connecting protected black players to the abandoned black poor.

The racial divide in this country is most powerfully demonstrated by white America’s ironclad belief in a legal system that black America views as hopelessly, oppressively broken. Ferguson flayed open the division. For African-Americans, race is personal, all day, every day, legally and emotionally the defining characteristic of our American existence. For whites, race is often but a topic, one to be debated and engaged or dismissed as whining and tabled for another day. It is a gap that cannot be bridged by flimsily blaming hip-hop culture or demanding that blacks need to be more responsible, for black responsibility is inseparable from blockbusting, redlining, and the other government and cultural forces that created the debilitating conditions in the first place.

The current awakening confronts the intersection of race and power, but if players successfully challenged power by toppling Donald Sterling, and if they now feel emboldened to protest police brutality, domestic violence is a reminder that the activist male player should not get too comfortable. Men must now confront another power, and that power is themselves. The next awakening will be in discovering just how many of these dots players choose to connect, for the trinity of class, race and gender is inseparable. The masculinity system, like the justice system and the racist and classist elements that fuel today’s protests, now requires reform. Players’ actions will tell us whether they are more than just a commercial. If so, maybe their awakening will be complete.
===================

• This reply was modified 10 years, 3 months ago by wv.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfXqLm6UgUo

Ya know, its true that the
Raiders and Washington suck,
but the 99-GSOT team beat-down
a ton of awful teams. It wasnt
the fact they beat bad teams
that was salient — it was the “way”
they beat them.

This team has beaten two awful teams
in an intriguing way. (with a backup QB)

w
v

Agamemnon wrote:

Tavon Austin with 203 all-purpose yards today: 46 rushing, 14 receiving, 143 on punt returns.

Shouldn’t a penalty have been called on
his long punt return?
I mean, is it legal for him to actually
return one without a penalty?

w
v

Well, some of the ‘running qbs’ have
had a bad year, but a ‘running qb’
still quarterbacked the team that won
the Ring last year.

And yes i know about Seattle’s
D and running game. But ask
any seattle-watcher what they think
of R.Wilson. He’s clutch.

w
v

rfl wrote:

I would bet on the Rams this week…

But, it’s time. Barring a catastrophic wave of injuries, I think this team takes a step tomorrow. I think they play up to their ability, not down to the weakness of the opposition. More importantly, they win a game that matters….

I think tomorrow we take that small step leading to the bigger step against AZ. I think things are set up well for us and against WASH. I think we’ll get it done.

Holy Shit.
RFL just picked the Rams.
O dear lord, this cant be good.

Dogs and cats will rain from the sky.
The apocalypse is near.

Washington 666
Rams 0

w
v

zn wrote:

How does Barron look now?

Just wondering.

http://espn.go.com/espnradio/play?id=11969591
The Olberman podcast

http://www.stltoday.com/sports/columns/bernie-miklasz/bernie-bryan-burwell-will-always-live-in-our-hearts/article_729ce51b-92b1-5394-995d-72f1a8a4819a.html
Bernie on Burwell

===

Bernie: Bryan Burwell will always live in our hearts

The first time I met Bryan Burwell, we were both kids in the newspaper business, working for competing newspapers in Baltimore. This was the late 1970s, and I was blown away by him. When Burwell walked into the room, he owned it. The man had presence. He was handsome, charismatic, engaging and had a way to put everyone at ease. His laughter could part the clouds and summon the sunshine to the spot where he stood. And he loved to talk. Goodness, did he love to talk. And I already miss that voice, and that epic laughter.

Back in the early days, I remember thinking: I want to be Burwell.

I wanted to be Burwell because he was such an immense, superior talent. He viewed writing as a craft, polishing every sentence in an attempt to turn his words into diamonds. I wanted to be Burwell because he was the coolest dude in the press box. Sportswriters circled around him. If Bryan didn’t initiate a conversation, it always found him, and soon enough he’d be at the center of it. The hub.

It always happened that way, because when you take someone that has so much love for sports, and so much love for other people, and so much love for his chosen profession – then the result is pure, irresistible magnetism. So you’d find Burwell in the middle of the crowd, where the energy swirled, dispensing his old-school wisdom and lathering that epic laughter on top of the conversation.

Day in and day out, Bryan Burwell was the happiest person you could find in any press box, or in a media work room. In a profession of notorious grumps, he was good for morale. You’d show up, and grouse about something, and Burwell would turn and smile, offer support, and then get to work on repairing your mood.

And you didn’t have to be a media star, or a colleague, or a longterm friend to get Burwell’s attention or empathy. He always treated nervous young journalists with respect and caring, giving them so much of his time you’d think these kids were Pulitzer Prize winners. Burwell didn’t care about your status, or where you ranked on the ladder of journalism. If you shared a press box with Burwell, you were his equal. And if you needed his advice, he would patiently and generously offer it. There was no time limit on his kindness.

Until the end of his life, Bryan maintained the kind of enthusiasm that often wanes when sportswriters and broadcasters have been in the industry for a decade or two. Well, it was impossible to diminish his joy or take away his laughter. Not until Thursday, when this great man and cherished friend and colleague died too soon at age 59, succumbing to the evil cancer that he couldn’t conquer.

We’re all in a daze now. Bryan’s special wife Dawn and their beautiful daughter Victoria are devastated by his death, and we ask that you please keep them in your prayers.

The last few months have been agonizing. Bryan had been diagnosed in October, suddenly and without much warning. It was cruel. And it was hopeless. But oh man, how he tried to fight it.

When I received the stunning news of the cancer, the Cardinals were playing the Giants in the National League championship series. I was at AT&T Park in San Francisco. I headed out to the McCovey Cove area above right field. The park wasn’t open to the public; the first pitch was several hours away. And I cried like a blubbering-baby fool as I wrote a heartfelt email to him.

Burwell’s response: “Stay positive. I’m going to kick this thing’s butt,” he told told me in a text message.

You see, this is how it worked with Bryan. He went out of his way to provide comfort and good cheer to others, even as he coped with the horrific, unavoidable reality of a terminal illness.

Sports columnists can be rivals, and the relationships can turn sour, but this was never the case with Burwell. No chance; he wouldn’t let it happen. We worked alongside each other at the Post-Dispatch since 2002, and we had two disagreements – and needless to say, I was at fault both times. But Bryan always forgave me … with a hug.

In his final weeks, members of the Post-Dispatch sports department became Team Burwell and made visits to his home, usually carrying food to help Dawn through such an excruciating time. On some days, Bryan felt well enough to greet visitors, and it was special to hang out with him for a few hours. At other times, he was too weak to welcome company.

As a staff, as friends, we did what we could. We peppered him with text messages during games. We asked him for advice on what to write. We told him how much we missed his voice on our sports page. We prayed that he’d soon return, to grace his profession and our lives.

The last time I saw Burwell, I brought him some Maryland-style crab cakes that I’d prepared (a mutual love of ours) and Bryan was full of energy and spirit. It renewed our hope, if only briefly. We knew this sad day was coming. But we weren’t ready.

How can you be ready for something like this?

Burwell saw the best in everyone, but he had the courage to take a stand and express a strong and unpopular opinion. And as you probably can understand, it wasn’t always easy being an outspoken African American sports columnist who didn’t hesitate to take a stand. I cringe at the memory of some of the emails he received; you can only imagine. He would show a few to me every now and then and it made me crazy with anger. But you know what? The nastiness couldn’t take Burwell down. The viciousness probably stung him more than he’d let on, but he’d brush it off and continue being Burwell. A first-class man, all the way.

Astounded by his relentless civility, I once asked him: Why do you respond to people who are so vile and hateful? I’ll never forget Bryan’s answer. “Because they took the time to write,” Burwell said. “That’s the first thing. The other thing is, I can’t change the world we live in. But by having a conversation, I can try to change one heart at a time.”

And he meant it. Burwell put that into practice, every single day.

Burwell never lost sight of something important: He was doing exactly what he wanted to do, and he savored every moment, and he never stopped appreciating the experience — all of it, the good and the bad.

Bryan gave an interview to a young journalist a few years ago, and summed it up perfectly.

“The funny thing is I’ve had all my dream jobs,” he said. “I’ve been really fortunate. I’ve done a lot of stuff in my thirty some-odd years in the business. I’ve covered countless Olympic games. I’ve been to the NBA Finals. I’ve been to every Super Bowl since Super Bowl XVIII. I’ve been a columnist. I’ve worked for Real Sports. I’ve worked for Inside the NFL, CNN and TNT. I’ve been very, very, very lucky. I’ve truly been blessed. I’m enjoying everything. When I look back, I’ll be able to say no regrets, man. I did OK.”

I’ll have to disagree with my dear friend one last time.

You did OK?

Please.

No, Bryan Burwell.

You did a lot more than “OK.”

As a journalist in newspapers, TV and radio, you were a giant in your chosen field, and you were the kindest person that we ever encountered in this ornery, complex, ego-overloaded business.

And that is why so many people are aching inside today. Your reach expanded from coast to coast, and touched more people than we could possibly quantify. You made our corner of the sports world a much better place.

Thursday morning, after the sad news of Bryan’s death made its way onto Twitter, the immediate outpouring of love from media colleagues, sports executives and athletes from New York to Los Angeles — and all places in between — was amazing. But not surprising. This was one helluva human being.

Now that Bryan is gone, the press box will never be as warm again. It will be a much quieter place. I’m headed to Atlanta for the SEC Championship, and I’d give anything to sit next to him one more time. During Saturday’s game I’ll probably close my eyes, and hope to hear that famous, wondrous Burwell laughter. This is impossible, and this is cruel, and this is crushing. But I do know this: The familiar echo of that sweet, soul-replenishing laughter will always live in our hearts. He’ll never really leave us.