#MNR: THE BLACK POOL OF GENIUS
 
“I’m Black – which means I like to sing, laugh, and tell jokes. Eat good food and be around Black folk.”
Styles P.
 
“It’s the things that you do, that makes me keep running to you. Keep on loving me the way you love me, ‘cause in love is where I ought to be.”
Gina Thompson
 
Say it loud, I’m Black and I’m proud.
 
I have never at any moment in life regretted or been ashamed of being Black. Five-fifths Black (IYKYK). Black on both sides. Unapologetically Black. That doesn’t mean that I’m a bigot; I am not. It does mean that I wear my Blackness on my sleeve and promote Blackness whenever possible. It also means that I speak, teach, and stress contextual American history, in all its ugliness. Every part, from 1619 until the moment your eyes read this blog. It does not entail anger; it entails hubris-free pride. At times I’m temporarily overwhelmed when I ponder how far we’ve made it, from those shackles, slave ships, auction blocks, and cotton fields to the top of the world: world championships, Pulitzers, Emmys/Grammys/Tonys/Academy Awards, Nobel Prizes, and even the White House. We ain’t invincible. But Lord knows we are beautiful and blessed. Check the affirmative...We’re fabulous, brilliantly blessed in every way. Y’all can’t touch we.
 
You’re my beginning, my end. You’re my sister, lover, and friend.
 
I wish you all knew exactly how beautiful you are. Every shade. You don’t need collagen, silicone, saline, or anything artificial to enhance your beauty. I love you just the way you are. God made you perfect in every way. I’m so proud of you. You balance the weight of the world on your shoulders every second of every day, yet make it seem effortless. You are the epitome of a queen. I literally think the world of you, for you are queen mother earth. I love every little thing about you. I cherish every breath you breathe. You mean that much to me. You birthed me. You cultivated me. You encourage me. You care for me. You educate me. You motivate me. You inspire me. You love me. Without you there is no me. I thank the Lord for you every single day.
 
Black man with the permanent tan...
 
My god-body brothers and sisters proclaim that we are gods, as we were made in the image of our God. We are given free will to make our own decisions and choose the path to righteousness. A man either builds or destroys. We are brothers. We are not enemies. There’s plenty of money out here for all of us. Your brother’s success should never be a reason for contention. It should be motivation if nothing else. You too can have it all. You have to work for it. Hating on your brother and/or plotting on his demise is just a temperature check. It innately means that you feel in your heart that you don’t possess what it takes to be great. But that’s just a trick of the enemy. He initially comes to sow the seed of doubt. Sadly, these days, this is usually enough to lead to calamity. But like I said, it is only a trick. You have everything it takes to be amazing and great. It is in your genetic code. You built the pyramids. You taught the Greeks the great knowledge that his-story books proclaim originated from them. You, through blood and sweat, built the American economy and ALL of lower Manhattan. You have everything it takes to be great. You are a king. Be great.
 
I’d give anything to be that innocent again.
 
Let me have your ear for a minute, baby boy. There are a few thoughts that I’d like to share with you. I will never do anything other than encourage you to be the best human you can be. Trust me when I tell you that I know exactly how you feel. It’s not easy trying to find your balance in this world. It’s ok to be you. You don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be. Remain comfortable in your own skin and in your own lane. You don’t have to be a follower. You were born a prince and will one day be a king. The only point you ever have to prove to anyone in this life is to yourself. Be you. Everything ain’t for everybody. It’s cool to take the road less traveled. It’s going to pay off in the long run. Trust.
 
Baby girl, you are so amazing. You’re beautiful, intelligent, motivated, and worthy of everything you’re willing to work for in this life. It’s ok to be a kid. You don’t have to participate in anything that will compromise your integrity. As you progress toward adulthood, be mindful that the women who spend tons of money having their faces and bodies sculpted spend all that paper trying to emulate you. You don’t need a tanning bed. Your melanin is more than enough. Your natural, curly, locks, and even nappy hair is beautiful because it’s yours. You don’t need to put anything in it to straighten it or put a wig over it to look like someone other than you. But if you do, I respect your right to do so. You are your own free-thinking work of art. You are a rose. Protect your petals.
 
Until the day that you are me and I am you...always.
 
All I ever wanted to do with #MNR was show you all the pieces of a man. This man. This Black man. Every layer. I’ve never had a problem with being candid about my fears. I’ve been forthright in taking accountabilities for all my shortcomings and disappointments. I share my personal stories and display vulnerability to show that we all endure struggle. You and I are one in the same. We are beautifully human. I want all my brothers to know that it’s ok to speak candidly and openly about your trepidations and feelings. That doesn’t make you less of a man, my brother. It makes you a king of discernment. I want my sisters to know that not every Black man sees you simply as a physical object made for his sexual gratification. Plenty of us see you as the amazing being that you are. You are my equal. You are my rock. I make Black pride and unity motifs in my writing because this era has taken a sharp turn away from all the efforts of the Movement. It seems like [finally] being granted our civil rights came at the heavy cost of slowly eroding our unity. I live with the spirit of Fred Hampton flowing through my veins. It’s ALWAYS we. I don’t care what happens; I will always feel this way. Too many of us died for us. We owe them. We owe ourselves. I don’t care what the UCR says about our violent crime rate against ourselves; I still have faith in us. I always will.
 
Black is beautiful.
 
Blood of a slave, heart of a king. I don’t believe in reincarnation (and would not want to experience it if it were reality), but if I were born a thousand times, I would want to be born Black 1 + 999 times. We are amazing. We came Up From Slavery, and The Souls of Black Folk have laid the foundation for all popular culture. We set almost every trend. Don’t ever let the enemy tell you differently. You are brilliant. You are amazing. You are beautiful. I love us infinitely.
 
Catch us in the streets. If not, y’all know where the fuck to @ us.

#MNR: PICTURE ME ROLLIN’

“Dear mama, can you save me? And fuck peace cuz the streets got our babies.”
Tupac Shakur

I remember when Bad Boy released Life After Death on 3.25.1997. The marketing slogan was “Think BIG.” I remember New York radio at the time, firmly entrenched in the Tupac Shakur hate/smear campaign, talking all types of shit. One DJ (who shall remain anonymous) even had the temerity to say that disc one of Life After Death was better than the entire All Eyez on Me. Fuck was that stupid nigga talmbout? That was pure bullshit. I’ve been laying on this one for a few years now, but now it’s time to talk MY shit. Get your Ls ready. Pour a glass of that good ‘gac. Mask off. Gloves off. Let’s get straight to it.

All Eyez on Me is a better [double] album than Life After Death. Sorry, not sorry. BIG got the deserved hype when LAD dropped. We’d been waiting for a while. All the remixes he jumped on and rocked, all the features he SLAUGHTERED, the Junior M.A.F.I.A. album (which he wrote), and the legendary “Death Row Freestyles” (most of y’all don’t even know about those) only made the anticipation of LAD mythical. I remember the Rap City interview BIG had with Joe Claire out in LA like a week or two before he was assassinated. The BIG fella was happy. He was looking forward to his second release. He had perfected the recipe, and it was time for the world to taste the flavor. And then came 3.9.1997. That man died two weeks and two days before he had the opportunity to unleash LAD to the masses. That was the focus of BIG’s interview. He knew that he’d lost favor with some of his west coast fans. He knew that all his fervent fans were literally fiending for his new material because they knew it would cement his legacy in rap history. He knew every artist, producer, executive, and journalist/critic was on it. The Source had already labeled Francis M.H. White (better known as Frank White, one of BIG’s monikers) the KING OF NEW YORK. It was “put up or shut up” time. But the BIG fella was far from scared. He was prepared. He knew he had amazing shit on deck. It was simply a matter of time.

Christopher Wallace didn’t disappoint. LAD was classic and then some, even with the leaked tracks. My favorite track is still “Fuck You Tonight” with the late Robert Kelly. He ain’t dead, but he’s kind of dead to the world. But his music lives on. I still play his shit. IDC, IDC. I’m from that era. If that offends you...fuck off. I pretty much liked every song, commercial tracks included. That was BIG’s superpower. He could jump on any track and turn that MF all the way TF out. It didn’t matter. It could be grimy, boom-bap, party, reggae, pop, whatever. He never failed. I’d be wasting all our time listing every hot track, so I will not. BIG set out on a mission and he accomplished said mission. Unless I’m mistaken, LAD was the first album since the seminal classic Illmatic to have an “all-star” production team. In addition to Puff’s Hitmen, the album featured production from legendary producers like Havoc, Buckwild, DJ Premier, RZA, Kay Gee, Easy Mo Be, Clark Kent, and Chucky Thompson. I rate it a 10/10. It’s a perfect album. But AEOM gets the slight edge.

I kinda lied. AEOM, the earlier release, too had an “all-star” production team. Pac had DJ Quik, Johnny J, Dre, Daz, DJ Pooh, DJ Bobcat, and DeVante, among others. If we want to get technical, no one on BIG’s production team can fuck with Dre. And don’t sleep on Quik’s influence on west coast production. But I digress.

Whereas BIG meticulously plotted every aspect of the project from production to song structure, we know for a fact that AEOM was a whirlwind. Pure fury. The album took only two months to complete. The first bar on his first single states it perfectly. “Out on bail, fresh outta jail, California dreaming.” Pac came home and hit the block running, literally. He sat still for eight months. That’s a long time to ruminate. It’s also a long time to reflect. He knew that everything from then on was inevitably a race against time. Most people conveniently overlook the “out on bail” part. His case was still open. Pac was facing a few years of incarceration if he lost his sexual assault appeal. Every second was of the essence, and Mr. Shakur didn’t waste any. There is so much to take from AEOM. First, Pac didn’t take a single direct shot at BIG, even though he felt the way he felt since he left Quad Studios on a stretcher, riddled with bullet wounds a year prior. He kept it all the way player. That was a strategy within itself. As we know from the incendiary and scathing “Hit Em Up” released in June 1996 and the release of Makaveli only three months later, revenge had been on his mind and would definitely be discussed in his music. But AEOM wasn’t the place, and out on bail fresh out of jail wasn’t the time. He slow walked that one, and he’s a genius for it. BIG and the Bad Boy camp knew war was coming, but he made them wait for a minute. You don’t believe me? Listen to “No More Pain.” That nigga sent a serious shot at BIG at the end, but it went over a few heads and was more of a hint than a pointed finger. Keep it going, Monday. I got y’all. AEOM is the FIRST double album of original material in rap history. For the record, Stevie Wonder’s “Songs in the Key of Life” (1976) is the first double album of original material in MUSIC history. But back to the raps. Y’all don’t think AEOM directly influenced LAD? It did. Pac influenced BIG from day one. We need one more, Monday. What you got for us? I do. “I Ain’t Mad At Cha.” There isn’t a single song on LAD that has the enduring influence that “I Ain’t...” has. Pastors referenced it in sermons. It made a generation of young, burgeoning music aficionados do their research on Debarge. It made mothers and thugs alike cry. And with this last point is my closing argument.

Life After Death will always be amazing. Having said as much, All Eyez on Me gets my slight edge every time. Its replay value is heavier IMO. But the fruit is in the contrast of style in both projects. Like I said, BIG wanted to showcase his craft. His songs were glorious temples of vanity. He brought Bone on the “Notorious Thugs” record to spit their style over their type of beat and tempo and show how superior of a lyricist he was. He accomplished the point. But after his verse we don’t even care to listen to the rest of the song. But back to my point. Everything was set up just right, and he was brilliant for his keen insight and strategy. But music is best conveyed to me through free-spirited expression. I think that’s why I love jazz so much. I read Ahmir Thompson’s liner notes for D’Angelo’s legendary Voodoo album. He said every song began as a jam session. When they got their juices flowing and the vibe was right, D’Angelo went into his zone and he and the Soulquarians began to create from there. There was no blueprint, just free expression. That was the spirit of Pac’s sessions after being released from prison. He got some Hennessy, some weed, some ladies, and called the homies to hit the studio. He listened to the vibe the producer provided and went in. [On seemingly] every other track, the Outlawz, Thug Life, his Death Row comrades, and homies from the Bay jumped on and put in work. And I can’t forget Red and Meth’s contributions. It was probably 75% spontaneity, and it showed in the finished product. It’s as vibrant and raw as it was almost 30 years ago. The energy from AEOM is unparalleled, beginning with track one, disc one. “I won’t deny it, I’m a straight rider. You don’t want to fuck with me.” And then the piano loop and beat drop. It’s over from there. Coincidentally, that’s the first song from the first act from the first step show I ever attended. Fall ’96. The Beta Epsilon (Shareon and Kia) chapter of Delta Sigma Theta was the step team. Believe it or not, that was the first tone-setter of my student life experience. I knew it was a different world. I’ll leave y’all with this. Give “Only God Can Judge Me” a spin for the first time in who knows how long. Listen to every word Tupac says. Every word on that song is pure, genuine, and from the heart of a brilliant yet troubled genius. His second verse gives me a chill every time. He was truly candid about his near-death experience and his subsequent fears. I’m from the “keep it real” era. It gets no realer than what he said in that verse and on that song.
Flatline...
I hear the doctor standing over me screamin' I can make it.
Got a body full of bullet holes layin' here naked.
Still I, can't breathe, something's evil in my IV.
'Cause every time I breathe, I think they killin' me.
I'm having nightmares, homicidal fantasies.
I wake up stranglin', danglin' my bed sheets.
I call the nurse 'cause it hurts, to reminisce.
How did it come to this? I wish they didn't miss.
Somebody help me, tell me where to go from here.
'Cause even thugs cry, but do the Lord care?
Try to remember, but it hurts.
I'm walkin' through the cemetery talkin' to the dirt.
I'd rather die like a man, than live like a coward.
There's a ghetto up in Heaven and it's ours, Black Power.
Is what we scream as we dream in a paranoid state.
And our fate is a lifetime I hate.
Dear mama, can you save me?
And fuck peace
'Cause the streets got our babies.
We gotta eat.
No more hesitation, each and every black male's trapped.
And they wonder why we suicidal runnin' 'round strapped.
Mista, Police, please try to see that it's
A million motherfuckers stressin' just like me.
Only God can judge me.

BIG was the better lyricist. His wordplay was legendary. But Pac’s music touched my soul. Give me All Eyez on Me all day.

Y’all be cool how y’all be cool. I know I’m going to get some heat for this one, but I said what I said. It’s all preference. Relax.

Y’all know where the fuck to @ us.

#MNR: TAX TIME FXCKERY
 
“Even if it’s for a while (tonight). Enjoy this good lovin’ with a smile. We’ll go out tonight.”
Aaron Hall (Guy)
 
 
Raise your hand if you waited until today, the last day before penalty, to file your taxes. Oh. I guess I’m the only one. Slacker. Shit. At least I’m filing this year. I said fuck it last year. I never got my return from 2021, so naturally, 2022 was a dub. Fuck you, pay me. You heard? Truth be told, I had originally planned to go Saturday. But then I got to thinking...fuck I look like wasting an hour or two of my hard-earned Saturday sweating in an office to see whether I owe Biden or Murphy or both? Oops, my bad. I may get some paper back – enough to pay down on a credit card or cop a pair of kix on retail. Yay. Then came Sunday. I was all set to go. I had all my documents from 2022 and 2023...all except for one. Damn. I have to get in contact with HR Monday morning. No problem. It just means pressing my way Monday after work. In turn, that means writing the majority (if not all) of #MNR on Sunday afternoon/evening. Chilly cool-cool. Anyway, I got to go handle my handle tomorrow. Wish me luck. And a couple of returns. Please and thank you. Fuckers.
 
UPDATE: I went to H&R Block, y’all. Shit went left. I got into it with the agent nigga. I didn’t like his approach from the jump. I kept my dignity. I asked for clarity on certain things because I’m no Leroy Norman Lark Jr. This curry eating asshole treated me like I came to the back of the house to request his services. All the while, I’m hearing the brother in the adjacent cubicle speaking to a client who was freaking out because she was in the red for over six bands. Ouch. He was talking to her in a manner and tone that would have made Chris Sabian (IYKYK) proud. I’ll be got damned if I let a seasonal Amazon customer service rep talk to me like I get paid in buckets full of oily, greasy pennies. I didn’t wild him all the way up, but I talked my shit in a very controlled manner. I did get Haji’s business card and his manager’s contact info. Yadda, yadda, yadda...I’m fucked. Hello, Turbo Tax. I’m Tyrone...
 
 
Good evening. Welcome to Monday Night R*w, home to numbers hole frequenters, tax evaders, functioning alcoholics, C-list hood celebrities, and others of questionable repute. I’m your host, the honorable Tyrone Monday. The show’s producer is my brother CEO. We come to you live from the #eastside of Ebony Junction, comfortably posted in the colored section. Tonight’s sponsor is Big Brenda’s House of Ribs, home of the famous Big Brenda’s Rib Sammich. This week’s specials are a 2-for-1 rib platter from Monday – Thursday and two complementary "Saturday Spiked Kool-Aid" drinks with orders of $25 or more (Saturday after 6, 21 and over). Salute to Brenda and the good folk down there at Big Brenda’s. I’ll be through shortly, you heard?
 
KENNY & THE TWO LIGHT-SKINS
 
Before I get into it, I’d like to clearly state who I’m with on this one. I’m riding with the one who gave me “Sing About Me.” I’m riding with the one from the trenches. I’m riding with the one with the Pulitzer. Let me make one thing clear; I am a fan of all three. I have most of their material. All three have extensive accolades. But a few things need to be said about this situation. I’m the one to tell it like it is. And I plan to.
 
Drake has dominated Billboard. I didn’t take the time to look at the numbers because I don’t give a fuck about the numbers. They don’t overwhelmingly impact my view of an artist. There have been plenty of multiplatinum trash artists. But still...I do pay attention to sales. Word salad aside, throw sales out the damn window in this situation, solely because all three men are platinum plus plenty of times over. I want to talk about talent. I want to talk about material. I want to talk about impact. And I plan to.
 
Preference plays a huge role in this debate overall, material included. Which do you value more highly: hits (HITS!) or impactful bodies of work? If it’s hits, Drake is the man. Easily. Like I said, I’m not using data today. I don’t need to. There isn’t an artist on the planet in the past decade-plus who can match Drake with hit for hit. And when I say hits, I mean...ok. you get the point. But I’m going to say (write) it again anyway – HITS! Drizzy wins. Ain’t no bout a doubt it.
 
 
 
I respect hits. I’d be some type of idiot if I didn’t. But hits can also be a fickle topic. I’m not talking about Billboard. Those numbers don’t lie. I’m talmbout fickle in the minds of fans, long term perspective. Plenty of songs are the shit in the moment, but when they’re spoken about and/or played years later, they border upon corny or cringe. I’ll spare artists the shame of a call-out. I won’t give any examples. My only justification for the fickle part is that I (personally) feel that way about hit(s). I love damn near [if not] all Drizzy’s hits. But I value overall material more than hits. Where I have Drake running away with the hits part of this discourse, he’s at the back of the line when it comes to impactful bodies of work. I don’t feel that any of his albums are classics. NWTS came closest IMO. Damn near all his efforts have been solid, but most of the recent albums have been obvious in their catering to whatever the new “sound” is. Drake has long had a reputation for swag surfin (I think I used that term correctly). Also, Drake’s albums are more like a collection of singles with breakout hits, lacking the cohesiveness of the traditional definition of an album. There’s not a lot of discernable cohesion in Drake’s recent works. GKMC is an album. 2014 Forest Hills Drive is an album. DAMN. is an album. Born Sinner is an album. To Pimp a Butterfly is an album. Get the point? BTW – all the albums I mentioned are classic albums. Drake fans get livid when the “classic” term is introduced to the discussion. Sorry, y’all. Drizzy’s lone classic is So Far Gone, which is technically a mixtape and not a studio release. I’d love to tap in with my bro Armon Sadler and ask his opinion. He’s a preeminent voice in the culture.
 
Ok. We’ve gotten the hits and bodies of work arguments out of the way. The last category is impact. I would love to try and sell you some horse shit about why either of these three are more impactful than the others. I’d be wasting mine and your time. Let me continue by mentioning that they’re referred to as The Big 3. I cannot and won’t try to quantify who wins gold, silver, or bronze. Instead, I’ll take a different approach. Drake is the king of the charts. He’s an international sex symbol. He’s a titan. Kendrick is the west coast parallel to that tree that grew in Brooklyn. He’s that lone star that shone from the darkness of urban inner-city decay. He’s the Piru who changed my outlook on life with one song. He’s the ultimate example of an entire village raising a child, from his parents to aunties/uncles/grandparents to the ball coaches to the junkies to the dope dealers to the gang bangers. Oh, you didn’t know? No one said the village had to be full of scholars and overachievers. I know this personally. Some of my best advice came from dope fiends and bank robbers. Jermaine is the golden child in the lineage of the Native Tongues and their best artist(s) A Tribe Called Quest (my favorite group and the ones who made me fall in love with hip hop). He was a regular kid with a crooked smile, good grades, and a decent jump shot. He didn’t move work. He didn’t carry Teks. He rhymed. He never promoted anything other than the fact that he was a regular kid from a single-parent household (and his strong desire to cheat on his queen) . That’s why we love him the way we do. He was authentic from day one and remains authentic to this day, just like Kenny.
 
HERE'S MONDAY’S BLUNT TAKE:
 
As much as I fux with Drake, I cannot excuse the fact that he was introduced to us as a wide alien-nosed, funny-looking, square mulatto from that Canadian show about horrible adolescents in a way too liberal public high school. He spoke like a geek and dressed like a nigga straight out of TJ Maxx. He threw in the southern drawl, and we allowed it, because we found out that his uncle is Larry Graham. If you don’t know who Larry Graham is, you don’t know music. But one thing that alien-looking MF could always do is spit. I don’t care if you’re square, as long as you don’t play the studio gangster type. Aubrey didn’t. He played a cool kid who spit heavy on EVERYTHING he touched and set the rap world on fire. But, as he continued to mature in the rap game and culture, he moved toward the tough guy persona in between being a lover and University of Kentucky meat glazer. We laughed it off. Not my nigga Aubrey. Not Wheelchair Jimmy. Oh, Aubrey. But now I’m hearing talk about switches in his bars. For those of you who live in Candyland, he’s not referring to hydraulics in a low-low or that carefully chosen branch(es) (Mary Warren would braid hers from time to time) that your nana used to whoop your monkey ass. Switches are small pieces that can be attached to semi automatic pistols to make them fully automatic. A Glock + a switch + a 50-round drum can turn your block into a horrible Call of Duty match. Why is Aubrey, son to a white Jewish woman who is still alive and well, speaking about switches in his raps? It’s that fame, mane. Y’all let that corny shit slide so long that his square ass is comfortable writing rhymes about firing illegally modified automatic weapons in a serious manner. But hey...art imitates life, right? And there are millions of square niggas who never had a fist fight (and damn sure never fired weapons at opps) yet feel empowered because the square became the coolest MF at the cool table...let y’all tell it.
 
I heard all the disses, and I’m going all the way back to Kendricks’ “Control” a decade ago to “First Person Shooter” by Drizzy and Jermaine to Kendrick’s verse on “Like That” to Jermaine’s “7 Minute Drill” to Drake’s “Drop and Give Me 50.” Each and every last one of those tracks are FIRE!!! I love the spirit of the moment. Ain’t none of these niggas finna do anything. The only one with a past that suggests that he would hop out the minivan with a mini-.223 with the homie 2-2 and two more YGs (IYKYK) has been on a journey to being a better human being since good kid, m.A.A.d city. Should he happen to slide, I know that he's the only one who can rest on a flag without having to pay outsiders for help. For the record, I don’t have a problem with Jermaine apologizing for his verse on “7MD.” His reasoning made perfect sense to me. Protect your peace, Jermaine. But damn, you talked very greasy on that track. I guess you’re a shooter too – if they push you. You’re not on trial, my nigga. I’m not judging you. In fact, I relate to you more than the other two, all the way down to the apology. Like I said, protect your peace, my nigga. I’m still riding with you.
 
Matter of fact, I’m still riding with all three. Why would I forsake either of these brilliant MCs? Keep making amazing music, men. As long as you do, I’m going to keep listening.
 
Y’all know where the fuck to @ us.

#MNR: SPECIAL DELIVERY
 
“You want a jewel? Don’t be cruel. It’s authentic. Don’t be fooled by these phony accusations, backlash, and slander. Front, in their publicity stunts and propaganda.”
G. Dep
 
The Deputy is home y’all.
 
After thirteen years in state corrections for a cold case murder he committed in 1993 and confessed to 2010, former Bad Boy recording artist and Eastside Harlem native G. Dep is a free man. For a few years now, I’ve been fervent in my support of the state of New York releasing Dep. He did his time. Rest in peace to the man (John Henkel) whose life he took long ago, but I didn’t know that nigga. I know Dep. Welcome home.
 
Caitlin Clark had a historic 2023-2024 basketball season and NCAA career. She led the nation in scoring AND assists (31.7 & 9). She obliterated the NCAA all-time scoring record (3,921). She is certain to be the top pick at 4.15 at the 2024 WNBA Draft. She brought her Iowa Lady Hawkeyes to the brink of immortality. But she fell just short.
 
The South Carolina Lady Gamecocks defeated Iowa 87-75 for their third title in seven years. SC withstood an early 10-0 Iowa run and 18 first quarter points from Super Caitlin. A coaching adjustment on Caitlin and heavy board work were the difference for Carolina. Senior center Kamila Cardoso led the way with 15 points, 17 rebounds, and three blocks. Raven Johnson, the “coaching adjustment,” sacrificed her offensive game to hold Super Caitlin to just 12 points after the first quarter. Freshman sensation Tessa Johnson led the Lady Gamecocks in scoring with 19 points. Nine ladies played 14 or more minutes in a team effort that was indicative of their surprising undefeated season. After all, this was supposed to be a rebuilding season. Coach Staley lost five starters to the WNBA. 38 up, 38 down. Congratulations, ladies.
Big ups to 215 legend Dawn Staley on her third national title, putting her in rarified air. Dawn joins Geno, Mrs. Pat (RIP my love), Bigot Kim Mulkey, and Tara VanDerveer as the only coaches with three or more championships. She just pulled even with Tara. She’s one behind Bigot Kim. She’s got a way to go before reaching Mrs. Pat and Geno. My lady won eight of those things. Geno has 11 [and counting]. But hey...this thing Dawn has created is far from over. This was the Gamecocks’ fourth consecutive Final Four appearance. Dawn has won the Naismith Coach of the Year award three years in a row. She has seven ladies returning and a top-rated recruiting class on the way. Freshman phenomenon Juju Watkins and her Lady Trojans of Southern California have the number one recruiting class of 2024. 2024-2025 is going to be as exciting as its predecessor. I can’t wait. Girls rule.
 
I love you, Dawn. #BlackExcellence #BlackGirlMagic
 
The men’s championship will be decided tonight as the defending champion UConn Huskies take on Naismith Player of the Year Zach Edey and the Purdue Boilermakers. This blog will be live in these streets by the time the national championship is decided. I have two predictions. The first was made in October, when I proclaimed that Coach Dan Hurley would repeat and win his second NCAA title. The other prediction is that UConn big man Donovan Clingan is going to have his way with Edey.
 
This past weekend, WrestleMania XL was a nightmare – an American nightmare. But we’ll get to that.
 
WrestleMania XL (40) was a two-night extravaganza, held on 4.6-4.7 at Philadelphia’s Lincoln Financial Field, the home of my beloved Eagles. More than 150K fans attended this year’s event, with crowds of over 72K both nights. Wrestlers braved the elements to provide ardent fans with non-stop action both nights. Night one highlights included Rhea Ripley retaining her world title, defeating Becky Lynch. Sami Zayn finally had his night of serendipity, defeating the seemingly invincible Gunther for his Intercontinental Title, a strap he held for 666 days (a WWE record). In an exciting Six-man Undisputed WWE Tag Team Ladder Match for the Undisputed Tag Team championship (2 sets of belts), A-Town Down Under won the SmackDown titles and Awesome Truth snatched the Raw titles. Big ups to R-Truth. He finally had his signature WM moment.  My future wife Jade Cargill made her WM debut in a Six-Woman Tag Match beside Bianca Belair and Naomi. They defeated Damage CTRL. In the Saturday night main event (pun intended, IYKYK) The Bloodline tag duo of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and tribal leader Roman Reigns teamed up against Cody Rhodes and Seth “Freakin” Rollins. Yadda, yadda, yadda...The Rock pinned Cody Rhodes, meaning Sunday night’s match with him versus Reigns for the Universal Title would be fought under Bloodline rules, basically meaning Reigns and company could do whatever the fuck they wanted to do. Oh, what a night.
 
For me, night two came after having already watched the Yankees beat the Blue Jays and South Carolina defeat Iowa earlier that afternoon. That came a day after watching night one of WM as well as the Yankees beat Toronto in primetime and both men’s national semifinals. I’d seen plenty of sport by the opening match Sunday evening. I was ready for the main event around 2:30 (hours before the first match of the night). But just for the record, Seth Rollins, fatigued from his tag match the night before, dropped his World Heavyweight Championship belt to Drew McIntyre, who then dropped the belt to Damian Priest. Priest cashed in his Money in the Bank briefcase with the golden ticket to a title match at any time, immechiately. Ha Ha (Nelson from The Simpsons voice). Social media whore Logan Paul retained his U.S. Championship, defeating RKO and Kevin Owens in a Triple Threat match. My vanilla boo Bayley won the WWE Women’s Championship, defeating IYO SKY in a good and well-paced match. Night two was crazy. I loved every minute. But there was one match left to be fought.
 
Cody Rhodes finally defeated WWE Universal Heavyweight champion Roman Reigns to claim the belt for the first time in his career. This has been his mission since his return to the WWE a couple of years ago. He is the winner of the last two Royal Rumbles and fell just short of beating Reigns to claim the strap in WM39. Reigns held the belt for over three years. Whoa, oh! The match was well paced and entertaining from front to back. Errbody and they mama made an appearance (Bloodline rules, remember), from both Uso brothers to one of the Bloodline cousins (I don’t know that nigga’s name) to John Cena to Seth Rollins (in his Shield garb) to The End Boss (The Rock) to the Dead Man (yes, the Undertaker). Taker’s chokeslam on Dwayne Johnson helped to clear the way for three consecutive Cross Rhodes, followed by 1-2-3. It was time for a change. A change has come. Congratulations, Cody. You finished the story.
 
 
I’m back to business next week. Trust. This one was for the little girl and little boy in us all. Long live sport.
 
Y’all know where the fuck to @ us. 


P.S. I see you Coach Cal. Arkansas? I'm with it. The swoosh remains.

#MNR: POWER
 
“Bitch I dig it. I eat ice cream with my chicken.”
Young Thug
 
First you get that money then you get that power...
 
What, exactly, is power? Well, dictionary.com defines it as “ability to do or act; capability of doing or accomplishing something.” I always try to speak on the positive aspect(s) of ambiguity first, as I consider myself an eternal optimist. Yes, I’m a glass half-full type of guy. I thank the Lord for deliverance from perpetual negativity. I do enjoy negativity from time-to-time (shouts to my ace). Get to the point, Monday. My bad, pardon self. Power, when used in positive and even altruistic methods is amazing. Examples, please. Cool. Got you. I’m rolling with John Calipari.
 
Yes, Coach Cal. Cal has the reputation and juice to recruit 5-star ball players in his sleep. And he does. In his 14-year residency at the University of Kentucky, Coach Cal has one championship (2012). He has had 47 players drafted to the NBA. Of those 47, 35 were first round selections. Calipari is the innovator of the “one and done” athlete, meaning his best players usually only attend for their freshman season before departing for the draft. Anthony Davis, Devon Booker, and De’Aaron Fox are three players on his long list of one-and-done ballers. All three are all-stars. But what makes Cal a beacon of positive power? Well, the trend in college has reversed course. The best teams now actively recruit talent like they did before the late ‘90s, meaning they direct much of their efforts towards recruits who plan to stay a while. They don’t pursue guys who are only attending university because of NBA Draft rules like they routinely did 25 years ago. Cal still vigorously recruits the one-and-done athlete. Why? Because he makes it crystal clear that his primary intention is getting these boys directly to the money.
 
Sure, Cal could go all-out and recruit players to strategically put teams together better suited to win more titles. He can recruit three and four-year lettermen who are these days vital to a championship run. But his biggest reward happens every June, when he’s seated with his boys and their families as their names are announced by NBA Commissioner Adam Silver on draft night. He recruits, cultivates, and develops his guys specifically for that purpose. His mentality is forthright -- if I win it all again cool, but my focus is getting these young men prepared to attain and secure generational wealth. So, in essence, John Calipari has willingly forsaken personal glory for the benefit of others. Good power.
 
But why Calipari, specifically, Ty? Why was he your example? Well, I chose Cal specifically because Kentucky just lost in the first round of the tournament. Again. He lost with an array of blue-chip freshmen on the roster, many in key roles. He hasn’t had a deep tournament run in a good while. The critics were on deck to call for his head on a stick wherever the town square in Lexington is located. But UK already announced Coach Cal would return for season 15. Apparently, the athletic department and boosters are good with Cal. The cycle shall continue. Rob Dillingham and Ross Sheppard are projected first-round picks in the draft this June. Coach will undoubtedly be there with those young men and their families. His game just rewinds.
 
And now for the other side of the coin...
 
Sean Combs is an evil man in the eyes of many. Shit, that’s an understatement. We’re going to get to the latest talk. For now, let’s talk about what we knew prior to the latest developments, while remaining on course with the thesis of power. Diddy is a man who has wielded power for evil for a very long time. My first and ultimate bone to pick came on 3.9.1997, the night Christopher Wallace was assassinated in Los Angeles. Fuck that party, fuck that pussy ass award show, and fuck him being in LA at all. We just lost Pac a half year before. Tension was still EXTREMELY high on that side of things. Back then (I don’t watch award shows anymore so I don’t know about now), it was a regular occurrence to watch an award show and see an artist win an award but not be present to receive the award. There would usually be a bit of recorded film with them in a studio accepting the award while explaining that they were unable to attend because they were finishing up an album or watering their mother’s flowers in the projects– something. The point is that they accepted the award without being present.
 
INSTANT UPDATE: Wow. Biggie wasn’t even at the show to accept an award. He was there to present for the Best R&B Single. At the damn Soul Train Awards (respectfully). Not the Grammys. The MF Soul Train Awards (respectfully). I have learned in the years since that BIG didn’t want to be out there. Puff insisted. Former bodyguard turned tell-all artist Gene Deal said that he tried to do everything he could to keep BIG from attending that after-party. He could not. Puff would have it no other way. Power. I just saw a quote from Ms. Voletta Wallace that went something to the effect of “I think Sean loved my son after he died.” I don’t think you need me to Google Translate that for you, but I will. BIG didn’t become the ultimate asset to Puff until after he perished. The BIG fella was about to finish his deal with Bad Boy and go his own way. He didn’t need Sean. But Sean needed him. He needed all those BIG features on No Way Out and the “Missing You” single to boost record sales AND propel HIMSELF into rap superstardom. Every damn record that we love on that album featured Biggie. Mr. Wallace was the King of New York. He was the heart and soul of Bad Boy Records. Oh yeah, speaking of BBR...
 
RIP Black Rob and Craig Mack. Puff did both of those men slimy. Let’s keep it going. 112. Total. Faith. We can stop there. That’s more than enough artists to comprise a lengthy list of disgruntled employees. Unfortunately, Rob and Mack aren’t alive to voice their angst anymore. But every story is symmetrical. Puff did them dirty. I left G. Dep (MY nigga) off the list because he’s [self] admittedly the cause of his demise. FREE MY NIGGA DEP. IT’S BEEN LONG ENOUGH. I saved the good brother Murda Mase for last. Mase has kept the same energy for a long time now. His issues with his former boss have been well chronicled. Mase kept his story consistent – Sean Combs is a crook and ain’t ‘bout shit. In the words of Brother Malcolm, the chickens have come home to roost. Puff had the hottest label in the game. He had artists shipping platinum on rumor alone. He could have done right by them AND still been as rich as ever. Say what you say about Russell Simmons, but I’ve NEVER heard any story about a Def Jam artist getting jerked in 30 years. You robbed MF for their publishing. You deprived them of the right to eat in perpetuity. You’re a mean one, Mr. Combs. Terrible (Charles Wade Barkley voice). You had all the power. You had the power to do right by your people. You failed them. The cause? Insane levels of avarice (go look that one up). Now for the salacious parts...
 
Damn, Puff. You’re duking Meek Mill in his booty hole? I mean, I don’t want to believe it. But damn, Meek. You let a grown man take you shopping. And y’all dressed alike out in public on several occasions. I’m not saying you’re definitely gay, but you’re definitely gay friendly. Puff, you had Stevie J. fuck a male prostitute in the asshole on camera. You used the footage to convince another impressionable young producer that it was ok to get fucked in his ass. You played with Usher and Biebs when they were little boys.
 
ALLEGEDLY.
 
I learned long ago that rape is not about the actual sexual act. It’s all about wielding power and fear. Fucking an otherwise heterosexual male to buck break him is levels beyond wicked. This MF waved the figurative carrot of more fame over their heads like they were work mules. I too blame those grown men for submitting to that sick fuck for promise of more. Power. This shit is crazy. But then again, is it? This isn’t the first time we’ve heard allegations of this sort of thing. It’s just crazy that we’re talking about Sean Combs. We’ve long known that he’s one of the many devils in the multiverse. It’s also crazy that we’re talking about Meek Mill. Not hungry lil Meek with the dusty ass braids. Not the dream chaser. Not the creator of arguably the greatest album intro ever “Dreams & Nightmares.” Not the first rap nigga to date the Barbz. I can’t believe that you walked through those doors. Not you. I don’t have a problem with you being a Chuck. That’s your business. I do have a problem with you being a liar and a fanboy. You let power turn you into a tool.
 
Hold up, wait a minute. Y’all thought I was finished?
 
I’ve also heard rumblings about my baby Mary J. being an integral part of the sex trafficking allegations. Say it ain’t so, Mary? Not you? But damn. Jaguar Wright’s crazy ass has got me thinking on a few things. Look at all those pics of Puff, Cassie, and Mary J. Puff is holding both of their hands like they’re some type of freaky Jack, Chrissy, and Janet. When Cassie broke from the cult and her oppressor, she was switched out for Yung Miami. Again, there are numerous pics of Puff, Mary, and Miami on the same type of time. The rumblings are that Mary is in some type of madame role. Jaguar made another good point. Faith was the one with the vocal talent. We love Mary, but no one ever mistook her for being a voice. When Whitney (the voice) recruited two young thoroughbreds for “Heartbreak Hotel,” she went and got Faith and Kelly Price. She didn’t get Mary. Mary is my 1A to Faith. But respectfully, I haven’t cared about a complete Mary album since Mary. That was 1999. The album after with “Family Affair” was cool, but not on par with her first four albums. So how did Mary keep her profile so high for so long? Because Puff made her. He gave her the image. He gave her the sound. He gave her her entire career. She’s stayed in the spotlight the last decade or so because she’s regularly by his side. That’s why crazy ass Jaguar said that Mary hated Faith so much. Faith had the vocal talent she lacked. She envied and hated Faith for it. She had to do whatever Puff told her to do to remain afloat. All Faith had to do was go into the booth, put the headphones on, and get busy. Jaguar said that Mary used her bit of power within Bad Boy to oppress Faith. It’s crazy because Mary was never signed to Bad Boy. Puff developed her and created her image, but Mary was Andre Harrell’s signee at Uptown/MCA. Puff was just the help back then. Faith has said that they don’t rock with one another. This shit is deep. What’s the motif? Power.
 
ALLEGEDLY. ALL THIS SHIT IS ALLEGEDLY.
 
I don’t give a fuck about Puff. But do remember this: he hasn’t been arrested – yet. If he doesn’t end up dead, I’m 99.9% sure he’s going to dish all types of dirt on all types of entertainers, athletes, and even preachers (forgive me Lord). Gene Deal already said Puff was a long-time confidential informant. He’s been on point with the dirt thus far. I’m not betting against him. It’s going to get dark. Power corrupts.
 
Take that, take that.
 
FREE THE SLIME YOUNG THUG
 
Y’all know where the fuck to @ us.