#MNR: PYRAMIDS “My whole persona’s – kind of laid back like a recliner. And since a minor, I been fucking with marijuana.” AZ “Top floor motel suite, twisting my cigars. Floor model TV, with the VCR.” Frank Ocean Good evening, friends. Welcome to tonight’s episode of Monday Night R*w, where we serve nothing but uncut truth with a side of marijuana. I’m the proprietor of this establishment, Tyrone Monday. The gentleman seated directly in the cut is my brother, CEO. Take your coat off and have a seat. Feel free to light as much satin as you wish and pass it pon de left-hand side accordingly. We promise to do the same. There’s nothing better than smoking a J to some timeless, obscure 80s R&B. I’m talmbout “Guilty” by Yarbrough & Peoples. Y’all let your nostalgia run wild and keep it going from there. There’s this thing I do on IG. I recall obscure and/or forgotten R&B tracks from 20+ years ago and use all 60 seconds of “Story” to play an audio clip of the song. It’s all about which minute clip of the song you choose. It’s quite strategic. I use the text to tell a story about what the song means to me mixed in with the contextual history of the song. It’s one thing to know a song and to enjoy/love the song. It’s another thing to have been active when the song first hit the airwaves and had its push. That includes hearing it at cookouts, parties, clubs, in car stereos, every damn where. Back then. Back when. I try to provide context on the vibe at the time and how it relates to the enduring legacy of the song. Check me out on IG. I follow back. I had to block my first cousin on the Gram. I love that nigga like a brother. I’m not mad at the man. He’s very successful financially. He takes care of his sons. He loves his mother. But he’s lost himself. He’s on some other shit. That’s cool. Do you, my nigga. Your opinions are your opinions. But I’m not trying to argue back and forth with you on social media, my nigga. You’ve got it. You also have my math. But as for IG...super blocked. I know you, my nigga. Ease up, selector. I can’t lie, y’all. Popeye’s got the chicken wing game in the cobra clutch with that 6-piece garlic parmesan. Make sure they put on extra garlic parmesan sauce (pause if necessary). That sauce and spicy wing mix is the best one, two since Jason Williams and Mike Bibby. I’d steal out your auntie tip jar for the ends on a 6-piece. Crackhead junkie status. I’m low-down and dirty, but I’m not ashamed. What a fool believes, he sees. The wise man has the power to reason away. What seems -- to be, is always better than nothing, than nothing at all. If love can come, and love can go, then why can’t love return once more? Who’s got the power? So said two wise white men. I’m on the lookout for my baby Conya Doss. “Stay” is one of my favorite songs of the 2000s. If y’all find her, please let me know. I have some things to tell her. INSTANT UPDATE: I found her, y’all. She dropped a single last September, y’all. And she’s still fine, y’all. Yee! I was never the one to need motivation from anyone other than myself. Self-motivation is what has fueled me throughout my life’s journey. It all boils down to desire. I want it more. I want it more and I’m going to work harder for it. I’m relentless. It belongs to me. You cannot have it. If you don’t feel that way about it/her, then why are you even making the attempt? Just get out the way. Just get out of my way. Motivation? Look, nigga. If you don’t feel that way, don’t even worry about it. It’s not meant for you. She’s not meant for you. My favorite high school basketball player in the class of 2024 is my guy Tahaad Pettiford, senior point guard for Hudson Catholic (Jersey City, NJ). Tahaad is a 2024 McDonald’s All-American and the ESPN 27th ranked player in the class of 2024. He’s the number 2 ranked player in the state of New Jersey and an Auburn signee. I saw him play at Kennedy in Paterson in a high school showcase. He’s the truth. Make sure you good folk tune into the Hope Somebody’s Recording This podcast. Check it out on YouTube. Those brothers speak on relatable topics and keep it a hunnit. It’ll help you flow through your workday. You’re on the clock, Cheesy. I’ve stayed away from politics on purpose, but ‘round ‘bout 3.25, I’m on your helmet. Until then, it’s love, peace and hair grease. I’m out through the back door. Catch me on the come-up. tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG
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#MNR: SGT MONDAY’S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND
“Said I left my mojo...left my mojo in my favorite suit.” D’Angelo “I get by with a little help from my friends. I get high with a little help from my friends. I’m gonna try with a little help from my friends.” The Beatles We’re Sgt Monday’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. We hope you will enjoy the show. Off the jump ball, big ups to my second cousin Ursherr (Usher) Raymond and his brilliant Super Show Halftime Show performance. Big ups for bringing two of my best tenders along for the performance, my first baby mama Alicia 88 Keys and my newest tender, H.E.R. My boy sang live and bust all his famous dance moves. He definitely freaked it in skates. Salute to the punk ass NFL for putting a real one from my era on the halftime show. I knew won’t no way in hell my favorite Ursherr song was going to be performed during the show, so I’m going to shout out “Seduction” just ‘cause. That’s my shit. Big ups to Fat Andy for his third Super Bowl ring. It’s been a good minute since an NFL team went back-to-back. Reid is my favorite Eagles coach ever; I’ll always big up my guy. Patrick Mahomes is officially the baby GOAT. Three ‘ships at 28 is crazy. Magic/Jeter/Brady type shit. Congratulations to the Chiefs. Fly Eagles Fly! Kobe/Yogi/Russell type shit. Bossy/Jackson/Messi type shit. RIP to Bill Russell, Lawrence Peter Berra and Mike Bossy. My hockey enthusiasts know who Mike Bossy was. The Jackson is Reginald Martinez. There is only one Reggie. And there was certainly only one Yogi. Tell me an album is iconic without telling me it’s iconic. Bet. You don’t listen to the album until you’re into your 40s, but when you do, you realize that throughout your life you’ve heard lyrics and melodies from several songs off the album in advertising and sampled in music from other genres. I feel that Season 3 of Raising Kanan is the best of the series thus far. For full context, I don’t watch anything else in the Power universe. I only watch Que’s boy (IYKYK). I had an immediate affinity for Raising Kanan because 1992 was my freshman year of high school. It’s the clothes, the music, the culture. It was the time when I began to figure out who I am. I like the writing. The characters are well-developed and show layers. Everything revolves around Kanan. We see where his cold nature comes from; Raquel is a southside Jamaica, Queens monster. These three seasons have shown Kanan’s descent into the southside underworld. Jukebox is easily my favorite character. She’s the perfect blend of Thomas family virtues, some good, some bad. Marvin and Lou are the heart and soul of the cast. I love Marvin’s character arc. Unique is...unique. I shalt not droppeth any spoiler alerts. There are still some who aren’t current in their viewing. If you aren’t caught up, catch up. If you’re still sleeping, wake TF up and tune into the series immechiately. Peace to the entire Southside, from Baisley to Guy Brewer. It is imperative that I take the time to properly acknowledge Black History Month. As a scholar of contextual United States history as well as one who is well acquainted with the U.S. Constitution, I feel that BHM is more than the amazing figures who have uplifted and edified our race and culture. It is also about contextual history, in all its ugliness. It is about our plight, struggle and triumphs. It is about never forgetting from whence we came, from Mother Africa to the shores of the Atlantic in shackles and chains in 1619 to present day. It’s about everything we’ve endured in between. It’s about all of us. All of it is Black History. You see it every day. You see it in yourselves. You live it. People love to talk about the Montgomery, Alabama bus boycott, and rightfully so. It was an amazing team effort that showed our moxie and resiliency. But many don’t realize that the boycott lasted exactly 12.5 months, from 12.5.1955-12.20.1956. Few today even know or take the time to consider what it was like to not use the only mode of transportation that would take you to work for over a year. The sacrifice. The struggle. All 381 days. Every single day of that boycott was Black History, not just the first and the last. The triumph is the pinnacle, but the struggle is the essence. Black. History. Reaching the mountain top is the prize, but the journey to it is the glory. Stephen A., please stop simping for these pilgrims. That Clark Kent shit is not it. It’s nasty work. This Megyn Kelly shit isn’t the first incident. Just stay out of the discussion if you aren’t properly informed. That bitch has a history of saying bigoted shit. That bitch is a racist. Fuck outta here. I don’t know what it is that makes you run to the defense of a bigoted, ignorant pilgrim, but get that shit the fuck outta here. Expeditiously. And for all you bigoted, racist ass fuck boys and punk bitches who talk that dumb shit every time “Lift Every Voice and Sing” is performed at a major sporting event, let me enlighten you on a couple of things real quick. The song was written in late 1899 by the brilliant James Weldon Johnson. At the time, Black America was already 20 years deep in Jim Crow segregation. We fought for 250 years for our freedom, only to have it stripped after the 1876 presidential election between Rutherford B. Hayes and Samuel Tilden. Hayes sold Blacks out to the Dixiecrats in exchange for their presidential backing. In return, Hayes guaranteed that the federal government would turn a complete blind eye to whatever the Dixiecrats wanted to do with Blacks. The result was the Great Compromise of 1877, which led to the dismantling of Reconstruction and inception of Jim Crow. We went through damn near a century of Jim Crow until the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. That song meant hope in a time when we were still being openly lynched. Still deprived of our civil rights. A time when our intellectual elite couldn’t attend “white” institutions of higher learning. The song wasn’t written in 2020. Its history is long and deep. Fuck off. You troglodytes make it easy to... Anyway...do some fucking research, you ignorant snow roaches. Peace to all the lovers out there. Wednesday is your day. I can’t hate. Show her how much you care. Send him your love – with some new Apple headphones/pods/whatever. Take her out. Take him out. Buy her chocolate. Buy him kush. It’s that special time of year, baby. Happy Valentine’s Day. Meanwhile, I’ll have some Bobby Womack playing while a Raw cone of kush takes away all the troubles of the day. I’m gone. tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG #MNR: AURA
“All I need...You know just what I want, so do I.” Tkay Maidza “Niggas chased my uncle down. Through God’s grace, the gun jammed. I found comfort in his pleasure, meaning I slept the best through gun sounds.” Ab-Soul “You gon die if they say you touched me. Got used to tucking this iron, but lions will never play with monkeys.” Benny the Butcher “I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. I’m wanted (wanted). Dead or alive.” Jon Bon Jovi My current favorite song on earth is “Show Me the Money” by Snakeships and Tkay Maidza. That is all. I’m from an era when you had to be precise from head to toe to step out of the house. For example, never have I or would I ever make a trip to the bodega in dirty or flimsy clothing. That’s non-cipher. Pure nasty work. I’m not attending the function without a fresh hairline. I refuse to. If the cologne isn’t foreign, I’ll accept it graciously and give it to one of my students when I remember to bring it to work. Strictly foreign. I move a certain way. I always have. I always will. As a portly gentleman and card-carrying member of Fat Niggas of America, it troubles me to see some of my hefty brothers outside in these streets looking extra nasty: stained shirt, dingy sweats, untied cooked sneakers with the tongue flopping, and ashy from lips to elbows. I won’t even mention the natural (hair). From what I see in the movies, niggas in the ‘70s did not get clipper/razor hairlines from their barbers. They just let the natural hairline flow. That doesn’t work for me in regard to every male who has existed since Roger and Dwayne from What’s Happening!! It troubles my spirit when I see my big brothers guilty of all the above at the same damn time. But it’s possible to change the course. They can reclaim their dignity. It is possible. I’m rooting for them. If you know any brothers in need of some good advice, refer them to this blog. Fresh is the minimum, the tags don’t matter. From thrift store shoppers to couture tag poppers, it makes no difference as long as you’re proper. As a fat nigga, I face certain challenges that regular body types don’t have to worry about. For twenty years, all the mall has meant to me is Wetzel Pretzel and cologne shopping. The couture boutiques don’t have my size. Neither do the department stores. Ditto for shoe stores. Online shopping made that issue semi-irrelevant. Sure, I can (and do) shop online, but I lack the ability to try things on before I make a purchase. That doesn’t matter when it comes to Polo or Nike because I know how their products fit my body. I’ve spent more than enough paper over a long enough period of time to know. But still...it ain’t easy. So, basically, all I’m saying is, shouts out to me for being the flyest fat nigga alive. I’m 51 pounds down, and comfortable in an NHL authentic over the tech hoodie. And yes. My Nikes still match my Lo hat. Q-Tip is quite proud of me. I know a kid who was 15 with about 15 pairs of Mike Amiri jeans. He was a fly little nigga. He still is. Ain’t no damn way I’m owning 10-20 of any type of clothing that on the low-end costs $800. But that’s his thing. I do what I do. As an early adolescent, I thought Grand Puba was the flyest nigga ever. He introduced me to Girbaud jeans a half-decade before Cash Money made its affinity for the brand known. He was one of the first to rock Lo and Hilfiger, a couple of years before they exploded onto the scene. For full context, the Lo Life crew (IYKYK) put Polo on the map for NYC Black culture, so I’m not trying to misappropriate credit. I didn’t know about the Lo Life movement back then. I knew who Puba was. He set the standard. Ever since, my goal has always been the three C’s: clean, comfortable and consistent. Clean is the first and most important aspect of being fresh, as they are literal synonyms. It doesn’t matter how fly your clothes are if they’re dirty. If you have to wear clothes to the point that they are a bit dingy, you are not fresh. Get your dirty ass the fuck up outta here and wash your shit. Make sure you wash your ass, too. Change your drawz. Comfortability is paramount. Wear what fits. It doesn’t matter if it’s snug, as long as it fits. I’m a fat nigga who refuses to wear loose, floppy ass clothing. At the same time, I’m not spilling out of my clothing. I’m nice and comfortable. Last is consistency. You must have an extensive wardrobe to be fresh. You can’t be caught out in these streets OR on Instagram regularly wearing the same four outfits. Perhaps the greatest tweet (amongst so many) I’ve ever read was from a Nubian queen who proclaimed that she’d never let a nigga with three outfits hurt her feelings. I cried for about a half-hour. But she was deadass serious AND on point. You ain’t got no clothes, a close relative of baby girl’s declaration, is one of the funniest live-action disses I’ve ever heard. Don’t ever open your broke ass mouth to talk shit to me if you wore the same pair of kix more than once this week. I don’t care if it’s work, going to the Wal Mart, taking your lady out to eat, or whatever. This vitriol is directed towards fake fly niggas, not humble, everyday people. Ain’t a damn thing wrong with wearing the same pair of shoes to work or wherever you go. We are thankful for shoes on our feet. My angst is directed toward fake fly niggas. Don’t embarrass yourself by talking that fly shit. We know your kick collection is way under 25. Way under. Way, way under. And take your dirty ass coat to the cleaners. And please buy another coat. You can buy the whole store, but they don’t sell swag. I believe it was Jewelz Santana who said something to that effect. He was absolutely correct. It doesn’t matter how much you spent if your swagger is on zero. The term hype beast is nasty work. I hate seeing a duck ass MF on the internet with thousands of dollars of shit on while simultaneously looking like a got damn joke. Go sit your lame ass down somewhere. You look extra stupid. Like I said, the price on the tag doesn’t mean a thing. Keep the three Cs in perspective and do your own thing. We all have our own style. There’s nothing wrong with seeing someone wearing something and liking what you see. Just make sure that you add your own flair to it if you want to emulate what you see. Looking like a carbon copy of someone else is a technical foul. Hop off. It’s nasty work. Big ups to all my ladies and my folk who get fresh at all times. It’s a beautiful thing to see. I couldn’t imagine my theme music being anything other than a jazz piece with a trumpet solo. It would be neither happy nor sad; it would just be. Just close your eyes and listen to the sound of the trumpet. As soon as you relax and exhale...there I am. And we are...world, world, world famous. CONGRATS TO MY SUN CHRIS MARTE. HE'S D-1 BOUND. I'M NOW A COPPIN STATE BASEBALL FAN. RIP SAROYA JOHNSON tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG #MNR: ANGRY SMURF “Slide down 2-fifth, nigga I’m to the #eastside.” J-Worthy People who know me casually or in a professional manner would probably tell you that I, Ty Thompson, am a benevolent and gregarious human being. They would be correct. I am both benevolent and gregarious. Those same people would probably go a step further and insist that I am a teddy bear. They would again be correct, but only partially. I am a teddy bear – half teddy. I love unconditionally. I always treat my ladies like the queens they are. I never call them out of their name or speak in a condescending manner. Never in this life would I lay a hand on them in a manner that isn’t loving. I treat my niggas like the brothers they are. I don’t disrespect, emasculate, or belittle them. I don’t make moves on their old ladies. I treat their girls as my sisters. What they don’t know is that the other half is all grizzly. 8’6”, 625 pounds. I can run up to 35 mph, I can decapitate you with a single swing from my mitt with razor-sharp claw attachments. I can climb a tree to come get your dumb ass, or I can just shake that bitch until your silly ass falls to the earth and I decimate you. Yeah. That’s me. Ty Grizzly. I have an attitude problem. It rarely makes an appearance, but when it does, it can get late early. It mostly rears its head in public interactions with transit operators, stupid ass humans, and other MF of the like. I don’t carry a firearm. I am not Michael Jai White or one of those MMA niggas. I am me. I’m with the shits and I haven’t been scared since Spring 1995. I don’t start shit, but I am a willing participant in any associated fuckery. I’m lying like a MF. Sometimes I’m the Firestarter. I have no regret or empathy if I feel I’ve been slighted or violated. It is what it is, and it’s up ‘til it’s stuck. Anytime it’s fuck me, it’s ALWAYS fuck you. That’s the way it has to be. There’s no love outside, just ugly. I’d rather be the aggressor than the pussy. I’m no Tough Tony. I am very aware that there are men walking these streets who have the fighting acumen to hurt my entire frame. I’ve never been a dumb nigga. I certainly would never walk into certain death. But disrespect is disrespect. And even if you are one of those MMA niggas, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Patience. I’ll see you eventually, but you won’t see me coming. I’m the type of nigga to be posted by your down-low weed spot. Surprise... Calm down, Monday. You’re scaring the casuals. Ok. Allow me to reapproach. I meant everything I’ve said thus far, but I’d like to speak on the time(s) I’m not satisfied with my grizzly attitude. I’m noticing that I tend to have a high level of hostility when I’m aboard transit. I know we are all in proximity, and I respect that aspect of transit. I hate it when others aren’t respectful of my bubble. Watch your fucking step. The last time I was in the X, an African man on the BX40 smooth stepped on my London grey Vapormax...and left a black smudge. I almost had a Fred Sanford (IYKYK). That MF is lucky that 1) he had his daughter with him 2) he was exiting the bus 3) I didn’t feel like paying another fare, as I am seemingly the only slow MF in NYC who pays to ride the fucking transit buses. I could be lying, but I swear I saw a Baptist pastor steal a fare on the BX35 the last time I rode that dirty MF. I wasn’t mad at him; so does everyone else. Everyone except me, apparently. GET BACK TO THE DAMN TOPIC, MONDAY. My bad, y’all. I was having too much fun. All jokes aside, I was going to see ‘bout that acorn-headed bastard. Through the blessings of God (and the repellant spray I use for all new kix) the smudge simply wiped off. NO MONDAY, THE OTHER POINT. THE ONE ABOUT NOT BEING SATISFIED WITH YOUR PISSY ATTITUDE. Oh yeah. Tonight, I wiled up an [CENSORED TO AVOID HATE CRIME SPECULATION] man on the 166T because I felt that he should have chosen another seat. Yeah, I was that type of shitty today. Today was one of those. That man just wanted to sit down like everyone else. I only paid for one fare. The nerve of you, Monday. You need to calm that dumb shit down, good brother. You’re better than that. I know, I know. I have my reasons for feeling the way I initially felt, but they are not a collective excuse to be an asshole. Like I said, the good vitriol is great, but pissy vitriol and shitty actions are bad. Really bad. Like Aeon Flux bad. And I’m not talking about the animated series. I’m talmbout the 2005 film with Charlize Theron. We cannot allow fuckery at any level. I have to level up when it comes to transit hostility or any time I’m on my bullshit for no rational reason. I’m as wrong as two right shoes for my actions, but I just don’t like most of yous. What? I’m not going to lie for the sake of making it seem like my contrition borders on amazing. Ignore the benevolence and gregarious nature. I don’t like most people. I am that I am. Don’t step on my feet without an earnest apology or violate my bubble and we’re chilly cool-cool. And oh yeah...if I board the bus and I have a 3-zone pass, bitch don’t ask me where TF I’m going. I’m going home, you idiot. Ask the [CENSORED] where they’re going. Before y’all execute me, asking where I’m going implies that I’m stealing a fare. I’m not a thief. I don’t like the karma. Even if you do execute me, I said what TF I said. If you don’t like it, send a CashApp and leave the reason why in the note. $TyMonday$. Please and thank you. Crew niggas to the exit, we out. tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG TIME TO CASH OUT
By Ty Thompson 12Nov23 Brian McGuire Cashman has been the general manager of the New York Yankees since the organization’s mythical season of 1998, when they went 114-48 and cruised to a World Series title. ’98 would be the first of three consecutive world championships, giving the team the distinction of being the last to three-peat in Major League Baseball. Going three for three to begin one’s career as a GM is more than noteworthy. It’s historic. It immediately made Cashman the premier GM in all of sports. Oh yeah. There’s just one caveat: it’s imperative to mention that that team was built by the great Gene “Stick” Michael and Bob Watson. Michael, during the time in the early ‘90s when former owner George Steinbrenner was exiled from the team and MLB for unscrupulous actions, built the Core Four of Derek Jeter, Jorge Posada, Mariano Rivera and Andy Pettitte. Cashman has one World Series all to himself, winning the Fall Classic in 2009. Even then, the Core Four were still vital parts of the well-oiled engine. Pettitte returned for a second run after spending time in Houston while The Captain, “Jorgie” and “Sandman” remained stalwarts for the club. Cashman’s footprint was certainly evident, as key players Alex Rodriguez, CC Sabathia, Hideki Matsui (World Series MVP), Mark Teixeira and fan favorite Johnny Damon became Yankees during Cashman’s tenure. The team’s starting second baseman Robinson Cano, before his performance-enhancing fall from grace, was poised to eventually join his namesake in Cooperstown. Cano was perhaps Cashman’s greatest prospect before Aaron Judge, signing with the organization as an amateur free agent in 2001. 2009 is far in the rearview of Yankees lore. The Yankees failed to win a World Series in the 2010s, marking the first decade in a century that the Yankees didn’t hoist the trophy at least once. The 2020s haven’t exactly been a beacon of hope thus far. Large payrolls and lofty expectations have not equaled ultimate success. The New York Yankees, the most valuable franchise in baseball according to Forbes at $7.1B, struggled to escape the cellar of the AL East of 2023. They finished 19 games behind division winner Baltimore, and it took a 17-10 September to (barely) finish above .500 at 82-80. The organization ended up missing the playoffs for the first time since 2016, posting its worst record since the nascent days of the Michael rebuild in 1992. Just a year prior, Judge and his record-breaking MVP effort led the team to a division title before eventually being swept by the World Series champion (and hated) Astros in the ALCS. Even the most positive of Yankees fans (if you can find one) have struggled with morale the past decade or so. The glory days of ’09 might as well be centuries ago in the Bronx. Sure, this was only the first time since ’16 that the Yankees missed the playoffs. That’s not bad at all for about 29 clubs. But not at 161st St and River Avenue, #BXNYC, in the house that The Boss built. In there, it’s all about #28. In the land of the YES Network, it’s easy to place blame at the foot of Hal Steinbrenner, Yankees owner and son of George. “The Boss is rolling over in his grave!” some say. True Yankees fans long in the tooth are quick to remind the forgetful that The Boss would have made any and every move possible to return the World Series trophy to its most acquainted home. That perhaps was the greatest aspect of Steinbrenner’s allure to the fans. He may have been (and certainly was) overzealous at times, but every fan knew the best interest of the team was always his only objective. There was no price too heavy to prevent The Boss from pulling his checkbook out. Fans just don’t see the same thing these days. Many are quick to point out that megastars like Justin Verlander, Bryce Harper, Manny Machado and currently Juan Soto have been available to be fitted for pinstripes over the past few seasons, but “budgetary strategy” has prevented such measures. Almost all that resentment is aimed at Hal. But further analysis may serve as defense for Hal and increased scrutiny for Cash. The 2023 Yankees were $55M over the luxury tax threshold, second in MLB to their interborough rival Mets, whose season didn’t quite go as intended either. The Dodgers and Red Sox, two franchises with hefty purses and world championships in the past calendar decade, spent less on team payroll than the Yankees. Their number two ranking obviously means that they outspent both 2023 World Series participants (and everyone else in the 2023 Postseason). So, if Hal isn’t quite the pinchpenny Yankees fans paint him out to be, then what is the problem? Better, who is the problem? It's Cashman, and it’s time for Cash to go. It’s time for the Yankees to cash out. The simple reality that the Yankees organization faces is that Cash has had far too many misses and not enough hits the past decade. Bringing Gerrit Cole into the fold and re-signing him long term (9 years/$324M) was a hit. Cole has been a steady #1 since he joined the staff rotation and may walk away with some hardware this season. Despite pushback from a few social media general managers across Yankees Nation, Cash did what had to be done in giving Judge a huge (9 years/$360M) re-up. Cool. The problem lies within the misses. There have been quite a few over the years. Let’s tailor the focus to the past year or so. The first miss came on August 1, 2022, when Cash made a trade with Oakland that brought RHP Frankie Montas to the X. The move looked to be more reactionary than strategic, as Bleacher Creatures were seething over Cash’s inability to land elite and available RHP Luis Castillo. The Reds were looking to move him, and everyone in the sport knew it. He and Cole could have possibly been the best 1,2 punch in the game. Cashman passed and Seattle pounced on the opportunity. Official hindsight from the Monday Morning Quarterbacks Club shows that Castillo was an all-star for the second consecutive season. Montas missed most of 2023 with injuries after an underwhelming performance with the Yanks in ’22. Bummer. After a solid whiff on the first swing, there’s only one thing to do as a perfect follow-up: whiff again. A day after the Montas deal, Cashman, apparently disenchanted with the idea of having two quality lefties pitch in front of the short porch in right field, made the decision to trade Jeff Montgomery to the Cardinals for Harrison Bader. Cash was eager to bring a solid CF to the team after finally atoning for the reality that the Aaron Hicks signing was yet another disastrous acquisition. Apparently, the potential of the young CF was more than enough to trade a solid southpaw amidst his prime. The Yankees CF of the future lasted exactly one year before being waived on August 29. Yes, waived. And as for Monty? How did things work out for him? Well, after a cup of tea with the Cardinals, he was traded to the Rangers. He started Game 2 of the 2023 World Series. He won a ring. Cashman essentially gave him away for nothing. Good morning, good afternoon... The Yankees entered the 2022 Winter Meetings determined to reel in a big-time arm to bolster the rotation. Cole was Cole. Nester Cortes was the toast of the town, going 12-4 with a 2.44 ERA and earning an all-star selection. Things got a bit muddy from there, as the injury bug had bitten Luis Severino once again and Domingo Germán struggled as a starter. With that in mind, Cashman cast his line into the free agency pool and reeled in LHP Carlos Rodón for 6 years/$162M. Rodón was supposed to be the final piece of the puzzle. He was tough as nails against the Astros lineup, holding them to 2 or less runs every start of his career before becoming a Yankee. Unfortunately, injuries (a motif in Rodón’s career) limited him to just 14 games started. He went 3-8 with a 6.85 ERA in 54.1 IP. But hey, at least he did eke out a 5 inning win versus the Astros in early September when the Yankees were a light year out of first and battling with Boston to see who’d inhabit the basement of the AL East. Goodnight. That’s a whiff and a punchout. Brian Cashman has rested on the glories of days past for far too long now. The abject debacle of 2023 only exacerbated things. Children born the last couple months of 2009 will enter high school next fall without the Yankees having won a World Series in their lifetimes. Perhaps this kind of mediocrity would fly in a mid-market city with a championship or two to its credit, but not in New York. It doesn’t matter how defiant Cashman sounds in expletive-laced tirades at MLB GM Meetings. The proof is in the Yankees’ lack of success the past decade-and-a-half. The Yankees need new direction in the front office. It's time for the Yankees to Cash out. -30- Sources Cot’s Baseball Contracts ESPN.com Wikipedia.com THE KYRIE CONUNDRUM By Ty Thompson Originally posted on #MNR blog, January 30, 2021 crewunb.com/blog #MNR: The Kyrie Conundrum Picture it: Jersey, 2009 (Sophia Petrillo from Golden Girls voice). This fairly new phenomenon called YouTube was still in its nascent stages, for the most part, so even with the internet having been in full swing for some time, the high school baller mixtapes were yet to be superfluous. Still, legend of this brilliant young point guard from St. Patrick High School & Academy (Elizabeth, NJ) made its way up the turnpike and into my ears. They said he could handle the pill like Rod Strickland and shoot it like Chris Jackson (IYKYK). I had to see for myself, of course, so I began to do my research. He stood about six feet tall at the time. His pops was a baller as well, a #BXNYC native. The word was that his team was the best thing cooking in Jerz, from Bergen County to Camden. If you haven’t figured it out yet, the kid’s name was/is Kyrie Irving. Kyrie, a sixteen-year-old junior at the time, ran the show for the eventual state sectional, group, and Tournament of Champions (New Jersey’s outright state champion) winner. The team included future North Carolina guard Dexter Strickland and future Kentucky forward and NBA vet Michael Kidd-Gilchrist. They were coached by Kevin Boyle, who now coaches the NBA factory disguised as a prep school in Florida, Montverde Academy. They were the talk of North Jersey. Around the same time, I’d just begun to work for a local newspaper, the now defunct Examiner.com, based in Newark. My work consisted of writing freelance sports articles. Kyrie was my first piece of copy. I’d like to think that I introduced the phenom we now know to some…who gives a shit? But, for the record, he is everything I said he’d become. He’s one of the best basketball players on this planet. He was a McDonalds and Jordan Brand Classic All-American, five-star recruit to Duke, and the first pick of the 2011 NBA Draft. He’s a perennial all-star, NBA champion, and Olympic gold medalist. His chop game (handles) is a step above A-1 (and A.I.). He’s the best below the rim finisher in the sport…ever. He’s everything I thought he would be, and then some. But no one’s perfect. As I recall, word of Kyrie’s “diva” mentality began to surface the season after he won the whole damn thing alongside King James, Kevin Love, J.R. Spliff (respectfully), and a few other soldiers (2016 Champions). The scoop was Kyrie did not want to play second fiddle, bride’s maid, or Harold Melvin after Teddy P. moved from the drum set to lead vocals. He felt he was just as good as Lebron. I mean, he did hit the eventual game seven winner to seal the first championship in Cleveland Cavaliers history. He did have a lights-out series. He did cement himself as a top-notch assassin. But in his heart, he felt it was time to be THE man. Fuck that Robin/sidekick shit. So, he departed Cleveland via trade for Boston (I had to pause cuz I just vomited a bit thinking about the Celtics). He said he planned to sign the re-up and remain a Celtic when the time came. Not quite. Injury kept Kyrie from fully competing down the stretch in the 2019 Playoffs. To the surprise of many, the Celtics, led by rookies Jason Tatum and Jaylen Brown, made a spirited run to the Eastern Conference Final…WITHOUT KYRIE for most of the second round and the entire conference final. The whispers began to become audible. This was Kyrie’s third significant injury and Kyrie was injury prone, so it seemed. There were rumors that the locker room was a better environment without him. Cool. Kyrie took it in stride. He also took his ass to Brooklyn to play alongside former NBA MVP and fellow champion Kevin Durant, who also arrived in Kings County, NY via free agency. And here we are… The Nets headlines should have been thoroughly dominated by news of the James Harden trade and how Brooklyn now had the most lethal scoring trio since the Big 3 in Miami, Agent Zero, Antawn (Twon) Jamison, and Caron Butler in D.C., and Run-TMC in Oakland (Golden State). However, it was forced to share the headlines alongside coverage of Kyrie’s sabbatical from the team. Kyrie said it was to deal with personal and family issues. I will not ever question a man who states the need for a step away from work to tend to family business. Family business is always paramount. This step away came amidst reports that his head coach Steve Nash was informed a mere half hour before the game. Yikes. Furthermore, Kyrie was later seen on camera at his sister Asia’s birthday celebration – unmasked, breaking NBA COVID protocol. The cement truck seemed to have sealed the deal when Kyrie’s teleconference with NBA reporters from a couple days ago began to be scrutinized. Kyrie basically brushed off questions about his actions and mental state. He did mention that he’d spoken to his teammates collectively and individually, made his peace with them, and was ready to move on as a unit. But for many, the interview concluded with little resolve regarding how he planned to move for the duration of the season. Before I even clicked on the YouTube segment, the major thing that I noticed from the still frame of Kyrie’s interview was his disposition. He did the entire interview with his chin rested on folded arms, denoting boredom and defensiveness. It didn’t take much to see that. Kyrie was totally disinterested in the interview, as usual. This type of attitude coming from Kyrie is nothing new. People say that he feels that he’s always the smartest person in the room, whether physically or virtually. Shit, I can’t blame him. That’s usually how I feel. And both of us are usually correct. There’s my rationale for his apparent boredom. But during the Zoom, Kyrie did disclose that he’s got personal issues going on at the moment. That’s what I took from his expression in addition to his general apathy. I feel like there’s a lot more to this than we outsiders have been privy to. But who knows? My only beef with Kyrie (other than breaking COVID protocol) was him waiting until a half a damn hour before tip-off before notifying coach of his absence. That really doesn’t work for 99% of us. Now, that’s not the reason for my ire. Shit, if you can get away with that type of fuckery on the job I lowkey Stan you. I just don’t like the message it sends to the babies out there that want to be just like #11 one day. I don’t want them to think that this type of business is square business. That type of mentality will prevent you from making it to the A or anywhere in life. But that’s not the focus. I want to speak on Kyrie’s mental health. I’m not a healthcare professional. I have no formal training in psychology or psychiatry. I don’t even know which of the two is most apt in this discussion. But I do know enough to know that none of us should cast judgement on Kyrie’s mental state without being licensed professionals or without knowing everything that’s involved with the matter. Having said that, I’m going to speak for a moment on mental health and anxiety, as pertaining to the 1%. For some reason, a substantial number of Americans feel that financial wealth directly correlates to positive mental health. If no one’s told you, IT DOES NOT. Mental health could give two fucks about a bank account or net worth. If that were the case, then why did greats such as Robin Williams or Kurt Cobain take their own lives? Both were rich, yet there was still enough torment in their souls to lead them to their own demise. Exhibit A: Richard Cory BY EDWARD ARLINGTON ROBINSON Whenever Richard Cory went down town, We people on the pavement looked at him: He was a gentleman from sole to crown, Clean favored, and imperially slim. And he was always quietly arrayed, And he was always human when he talked; But still he fluttered pulses when he said, "Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked. And he was rich—yes, richer than a king-- And admirably schooled in every grace: In fine, we thought that he was everything To make us wish that we were in his place. So on we worked, and waited for the light, And went without the meat, and cursed the bread; And Richard Cory, one calm summer night, Went home and put a bullet through his head. Anxiety is no joke. Anxiety does not discriminate. Anxiety has no regard for social status or wealth. Please don’t look at Kyrie and dismiss whatever he’s going through because he’s worth tens of millions of dollars (and a bit quirky). That doesn’t matter. When his soul is troubled, he’s no different from you and I, other than his ability to retain top tier mental health professionals to properly diagnose and treat his condition. The world would immediately be a much better place if we had true compassion for others, physically and emotionally. Age, gender, race, religion, politics, and socioeconomic status mean nothing in the face of anxiety and/or depression. Sure, Kyrie can afford the best mental health care, but you and I are too covered through insurance (Medicaid as well). Pay that damn copay and talk about it with a professional. I always ask naysayers this: if your arm is broken, you'd have to have it treated and repaired, correct? Mental health is the same way. It may in fact be more serious. Why? Well, at least we can see that our arm is broken and the general extent of the damage. The heart and mind are much different. Prayers up for Kyrie. Salute to my favorite NBA ball player. I pray he’ll be ok. I’m still holding him accountable for his failure to properly notify his coach of his absence and potentially putting his team in peril for breaking COVID restrictions, but I refuse to dog him for his time missed. I joked on Twitter that Kyrie is a part-time ball player. The reality is that I shouldn’t have done that. I have no idea what he’s going through. No one does except Kyrie. Think about that the next time you dog him or anyone else prematurely. My final word is for my fellow Black men. Mental health deficiencies ARE NOT signs of weakness. Anxiety and/or depression DO NOT make you soft. The opposite is true, if you properly address your issues. Mental health is the other half of physical health, body AND mind. And health is wealth. Addressing your mental issues makes you stronger. It also breaks the vicious chain that could potentially harm your offspring and future generations. I can only use myself as an example. Take it from a guy who felt like offing himself about a decade ago. I never showed it. Few knew. Thankfully, CEO and my sis Rycki Waldeck had my back. From there it was on me. It’s been a journey, but I’m in a good place. I’d like to thank Dr. Sharon Bernstein as well. It may take a village to deal with your mental health issues. Don’t fight in silence. Confide in someone. Let them know how you feel. Seek help. In the words of a wise man, knowing that you’re weak is when you’re really being strong (Common is said wise man). God bless. God bless Kyrie. I’m still rooting for you, young fella. You’re still my favorite. #MNR: DELTA CRIMSON 5.0 “Aye do your MF dance, nigga. I hope this pistol don’t fall up out my pants, nigga.” Compton Av “Some beef is everlasting.” Nasir Jones Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu recently said that he would never support Palestinians being given their own state, even though he has spoken about its possibility multiple times in the past. Ardent readers of this blog know which side I’m with on this one. It is what it is. But tonight, I simply want to convey the horror of what it sounds like when mankind can’t be reasonable. It’s harrowing to hear, irrespective of a man’s title or socioeconomic status. It’s downright frightening to know that these words come from the leader of a nation. Humanity must be paramount in this situation. The facts are that, after 1,200 of your citizens were taken hostage (many having other heinous crimes committed upon them) by the terrorist group Hamas, you have proceeded to kill over 25K innocent civilians. This is tantamount to war crimes in my opinion. It is imperative that I state that although the official number of Palestinian deaths is around 25K, some have said that the total is as much as double that. That’s pure speculation, but it must be stated. Why? Simple. No one believes stats. I don’t believe the UCR (Uniform Crime Report) – ever, and that’s on this side of the Atlantic. I said that to say that I damn sure don’t believe the numbers I’m hearing out of Gaza. You have bombed the bit of land those folk had. There’s nothing of worth left for them to return to, only rubble and cement-filled water pipes. I searched and searched for the number of Palestinian refugees displaced by the current Israeli/Hamas conflict, but I quickly learned that the associated numbers are a cumulative number beginning with the 1948 war (around Israel’s creation) through the 1967 Mideast war until now. That cumulative number is upwards of 6M refugees. I’ve stated in blogs before that this conflict precedes biblical times. Now, please take a moment to revisit the second quote of tonight’s #MNR. God bless Palestine. FREE PALESTINE We all know that you’re unpopular amongst your own people, Netanyahu. I’m merely a sideline analyst. It is what it is. But the good book told me, “For with what judgement ye judge, ye shall be judged...” P.S. – Hamas told the press this morning that, in light of Netanyahu’s decision, the remaining 1,200 hostages will never be released. That means that ole boy is going to try his best to exterminate the majority of Palestinians. I smell genocide in the air. I try to stay out of politics on here as much as possible. I love politics. I love discourse. I can do this shit all day. But politics can be divisive. Politics can make enemies of friends and family. I don’t give a fuck who you vote for or who you affiliate yourself with. That’s your choice. My only goal is to bring truth and pragmatism to political discourse. Don’t talk about who you don’t like because of some shit you heard on The Shade Room. I don’t care what you saw on the Twitter. Give me discourse rooted in fact. There can only be common ground when fact is present. Otherwise, common ground is impossible. I’ve heard so many stories about Illmatic since it was released in 1994. SIDENOTE: THIS MICROSOFT WORD SPELL CHECK DOESN’T RECOGNIZE SHIT BUT IT RECOGNIZED ILLMATIC. RESPECT. Err umm, like I said. I’ve heard so many stories about Illmatic over the years, including plenty of myths. As the seminal work of art nears its 30th year of existence, I’ve learned that a lot of the myths weren’t mythical at all. Many were fact. But of all the stories I’ve heard about Illmatic, my favorite story is about why his father Olu Dara chose to play the legendary notes he played at the end of “Life’s a Bitch,” the source of the definitive bars of my lifetime. Olu asked his boy what he wanted him to do on the song. Nas simply replied to play something that reminded Olu of Nas and Jungle’s (his younger brother) childhood. The rest is history. Legendary history. I had a whole piece I wanted to write about my bond with my mom at a particular moment in time when I was a little one, but I don’t feel I can sufficiently convey its joy. All I can say is that it’s where my mind goes when I listen to Olu play the cornet at the end of the song. That’s my best and most indelible memory. I wasn’t ever afraid of Metropolis because I had Superwoman. RIP to Shareon and all the real ones in heaven. God bless all of us stuck down here trying our best to endure and navigate. I was always the type to dance with the girl I brought to the party. When it was over, I walked her home. Fuck all the others. It was all about her. I never had a problem picking a side; I always sided with the real. I never switched up. I stuck with the side I was always on. If one of us can’t get in, fuck you and your house or venue. We out. If you’re down for me, I will eternally ride for you. It’s not difficult. If you don’t fuck with us, step the fuck off. I’m not much for fair-weather friends or frenemies. A lot of you hoe ass niggas and trifling bitches switch up with the frequency I bathe and switch up my Polo drawz (twice a day, bitch). I don’t fuck with y’all. Eat a dick. A Delta crimson Mustang 5.0 was my mother’s favorite vehicle around that particular moment in time. I believe it was the 1985 edition. She always rented it when we traveled to South Boston to see family. I’m going to get one and paint it Delta crimson, and switch the interior out to cream leather. Just for her. Shoutout to my ace and all this Black culture and fuckery we enjoy. “And I switched my motto. Instead of fuck tomorrow, that buck that bottle coulda struck the lotto” are the definitive bars of my lifetime. Aye yo CEO, take us the fuck outta here. tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG #MNR: MONTGOMERY/’LANTA/CHICAGO
“He set my mind free, so my mind free at last.” The Game I’ve always been fascinated by individuals who took the road less traveled and risked their lives for others, even though they didn’t have to. My favorite biblical figure is Moses. Why? Because Moses was the right hand to the king of Egypt. They were raised together. Moses could have played his part and been the second most powerful man in Egypt. But Moses said fuck that. I know from whence I came, and I choose to lead my people through the wilderness. Hebrews 11:24-29 tells the story in brevity. Hebrews 11 is my favorite chapter in the Bible; I tatted it on my right forearm. It’s my favorite chapter because it details acts of faith throughout the Old Testament. Moses’ story always intrigued me because he seemingly gave up everything, but for righteousness’ sake. “He chose to be mistreated along with the people of God rather than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin” (Hebrews 11:25). That’s deep. I’m that type of believer. I ride and die for mine. Martin Luther King, Jr. could have Cadillac’d his way to a calm and peaceful life. He was the son of a preacher man who pastored a thriving urban Black church, Ebenezer Baptist. He was sent to university to study: Morehouse College (BA), Crozer Theological Seminary (BDiv) & Boston University (PhD). He didn’t attend either of the three on a United Negro College Fund scholarship. Jr. could have patiently sat beside Sr. in the pulpit and waited for his time to come. He would have made a good living and been out the way. But that wasn’t Dr. King’s road to travel. He settled in Montgomery and ran Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. He led the Montgomery bus boycott. He did make his way back to Atlanta and sat beside pop, but he returned to help found the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC). So began his ascension into the national spotlight and impending mortality. We all know the story’s highlights and its tragic end. Of the many actions of MLK, I’m most intrigued by something that I found out about only a couple of years ago as I began to read The Assassination of Fred Hampton. I learned that MLK, Ralph Abernathy and other civil rights leaders spent the summer of 1966 living in a tenement apartment building in the slums of Chicago on the West Side. They sought an educational experience and to demonstrate their support and empathy for the poor (all the men were from the Black middle class). The experience was far from a success. King was actually hit with a brick during a march, but he continued to lead marches in the face of personal danger. Although the Chicago experiment had its troubles, I admire the moxie of Dr. King for staying in the slums of one of America’s most dangerous cities. That wasn’t just a social experiment. That could have been calamitous in many ways. Again, he could have been somewhere earning an easy check and cooling out. He chose to take the road less traveled. He was a king. He was brave-hearted. SIDENOTE: From what I gathered from my Fred Hampton readings, Chicago’s gang culture was way too strong, superfluous and influential for the non-violent Civil Rights Movement to make any real strides. In “Letter to the King” by The Game featuring Nas, both men salute the slain Civil Rights icon. The song is great, and its candid tone leaves an indelible mark on the listener’s psyche. Both men spoke about how, when they were younger, they didn’t put much thought into Dr. King, his accomplishments or legacy. They candidly admitted that they took MLK for granted before maturing and realizing his greatness and legacy. The words of both men are so poignant. Nas did his thing, but The Game’s second verse is legendary. It may be his best 16 ever. “I feel the pain of -- Nelson Mandela, ‘cuz when it rains, it pours. I need Rihanna’s umbrella -- for Coretta Scott’s tear drops -- when she got the phone call that the future just took a fucking head shot...I wonder why Jesse Jackson ain’t catch him before his body dropped. Would he give me the answer? Probably not.” LONG LIVE MLK tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG #MNR: 2023 RETROSPECTIVE “Dearly departed, for years I reminisced, inhaling chocolate.” Nature “We don’t want no problems, B. Get your name in the obituary column sheet. Cuz life is too short, and it just gets shorter. I wish I had a quarter for all my people they slaughter.” Special Ed TYRONE THOMPSON, SR. · TAMICA EPPS · RODERICK BOO ROBINSON · JADON JOHNSON · TRUGOY THE DOVE · ANDRE BRAUGHER · MUTULU SHAKUR · TINA TURNER · JIM BROWN · HARRY BELAFONTE · WILLIS REED · AHMAD JAMAL · LANCE REDDICK · RICHARD ROUNDTREE · RUDOLPH ISLEY · MAGOO · GANGSTA BOO · IRISH GRINSTEAD · TASHA BUTTS · BILL LEE · ELISE FINCH · RUSCHELL BOONE · VIDA BLUE · OTIS TAYLOR · WAYNE SHORTER · RON CEPHAS JONES · ELLEN HOLLY · GEORGE BROWN · SUZANNE SOMERS · BOB BARKER · JIMMY BUFFETT · BROOKS ROBINSON · BOB KNIGHT · ROSALYNN CARTER · BURT YOUNG · NORMAN LEAR · MATTHEW PERRY · DIANNE FEINSTEIN · JEFF BECK · PAUL REUBENS · RYAN O’NEAL · JUSTICE SANDRA DAY O’CONNOR · BILL RICHARDSON · SINEAD O’CONNOR · JANE BIRKIN · TONY BENNETT · JERRY SPRINGER · RAQUEL WELCH · BURT BACHARACH · BOBBY HULL · LISA LORING · BILLY PACKER · DAVID CROSBY · LISA MARIE PRESLEY · GAIL O’NEIL · CLARENCE AVANT · CHRISTINE KING FARRIS · WALTER DAVIS · DJ CASPER · HUGHES VON ELLIS · CHICO DEL VEC · DJ MARK THE 45 KING · HOWELL WAYNANS · BIG POKEY · GEORGE MCGINNIS “Read the headlines – Noreaga blast with nines.” Tragedy Khadafi ISRAEL BOMBS GAZA, REPEATEDLY 4 INDICTMENTS, 91 CHARGES FOR #45 HAWAII WILDFIRES KILL 99, WIPE OUT TOWN MESSI COMES TO AMERICA TITAN SUBMERSIBLE GOES MISSING, IMPLODES HUNTER GETS INDICTED CANADIAN WILDFIRES FUCK UP AMERICAN LUNGS TRAIN DERAILS IN EAST PALESTINE (OH), CAUSES TOXIC FIRE MIGRANT BUSSING TO LIBERAL CITIES TESTS URBAN RESOLVE “And discover, my level is that of no other.” Black Thought KANSAS CITY CHIEFS · DENVER NUGGETS · LAS VEGAS ACES · LAS VEGAS GOLDEN KNIGHTS · TEXAS RANGERS · MANCHESTER CITY · GEORGIA BULLDOGS · CONNECTICUT HUSKIES · LSU TIGERS · OKLAHOMA SOONERS · LSU TIGERS · QUINNIPIAC · WISCONSIN “Last year, around the time this year, if I would’ve got locked, yo, I wouldn’t even care.” N.O.R.E. 2023 was a year of definitive endings and new beginnings. It was the first full year in seemingly too long that COVID-19 didn’t dominate the news in some form or fashion. It’s far from being eradicated and likely never will be, but it is far removed from the headlines and has ceased being a point of contention. Out of sight, out of mind (I guess). Apparently there’s a new variant strand that’s causing concern... (Ju voice) NEXT! We may have moved on from COVID, but its enduring effects still linger. The supermarket continued to be out of control in 2023. Shrinkflation is the realest shit since the invention of the air fryer. Frito-Lay should be ashamed of itself. Y’all fucked up the pack. Literally. PepsiCo is their parent company, and they’ve been just as shiesty with pricing. There are plenty of other companies involved in the fuckery; serving sizes decrease yet prices increase. In some cases, they increase drastically. Thankfully, pump prices eased up in the last quarter of 2023. Last I checked, a gallon of petrol is $2.95 in North Jersey. Housing continued to be in low stock, though mortgage rates and prices remained high in 2023. Good luck. Nike continued to bump up in pricing in 2023, but I can say that sneaker availability was better than the prior couple of years. The sneaker resell market fell dramatically, thankfully. Playlists continued to dominate the music scene as album sales continued to approach irrelevance due to streams. The only major release that I can remember came from Drake. I don’t remember the album title, but I do remember that his son drew the album cover art (that’s love). It received meh reviews and wasn’t mentioned in popular culture within a month. From what I did hear on the album, it was a quarter pound of mid. His Joe Budden-eviscerating IG post rang more bells than the album. His metrosexual (at best) photo shoot caused more of a stir than the album did, too. I had to add that. It’s the nigga in me. I do know that Brent Faiyaz is my favorite young R&B artist not named H.E.R. His Larger Than Life mixtape was my favorite project of 2023, and “Forever Yours” was my favorite track of 2023. Yes, all 1:36 of it. Nas and Hit-Boy concluded (allegedly) their epic six albums in 37-months run by dropping Magic 2 AND Magic 3 in 2023. To sum it all up in a single word, it was...magic. I became a K-Pop fan in 2023, as Tonantzin, one of my students, formally introduced me to the genre. She’s a big Blackpink fan, but “OMG” by NewJeans was my favorite K-Pop bop of 2023. 270 Park Avenue, aka the JPMorgan Chase Building, plateaued in 2023, and says hello to me every morning as I approach the Lincoln Tunnel helix. Its base and middle have glass exteriors in place while the uppermost part remains bare, surrounded by scaffolding. It is expected to be completed by 2025. I can hardly wait. Oh yeah, speaking of “can hardly wait,” Rockstar formally announced a 2025 GTA6 release date in late 2023. Word is the most expensive version will be anywhere from $150-$200. PlayStation Network, please charge my AmEx immechiately. School and mass shootings continued in 2023. Yeah, it’s as American as apple pie. I don’t like what Israel is doing to Palestine. They took one terrorist attack and went super OD. I understand that Hamas committed a true act of terror, but killing 50K civilians is past ridiculous. You’ve bombed Gaza to the point that those folk have nothing left to return to. That’s all the way fucked up. I’m also not a fan of the propaganda that is disseminated through YouTube ads. Ain’t shit you can tell me to justify what’s being done. Ye too shall be judged accordingly. I respect the migrant dreamers and their quests for decent lives, but there’s no room in our major cities for you. You ain’t got to go home, but you got to get the fuck up out of here. Respectfully. If you’re stupid enough to think that Donald J. tRump is being persecuted through prosecution, you are in the throes of a cult. It’s going to get very dark for your god in 2024. Please don’t blow up a federal building while I’m up in that bitch trying to get some paperwork straight. Just go into your doomsday bunker, take the pin out of a hand grenade, caress it and do the Griddy until you hear a pop. “Meditate daily, I do so I sort, things I consider in my mind as deep thought.” O.C. In 2023, life did a lot of lifing. I began the year under the assumption that I had secured my Great Value version of a dream job, only to be deceived in the end. It almost crushed me, but I kept the faith. I applied for a job at an autism center in the city just ‘cause. I had no expectations. I went on the interview because it was a day off from two jobs and an opportunity to potentially bum around in the city after another letdown. I actually got the job. I actually got to remember the feeling of working a single job (I’ll probably still get a PT). I actually got to matter again as an employee. Goodbye, EPSD. I love most of the kids from over the years. I love plenty of the faculty throughout the district, past and present. I don’t love EPSD. Au revoir. And then, just when it seemed like everything was Candy Lane, I lost two of my Virginia Union folk within weeks of one another. I learned that my guy Boo passed after battling an illness. Shit hurt. I road tripped with my bro Louie and Boo to The Lou. We shared some good times back when. Before I could begin to digest losing Boo, I got word that my baby girl Meek died in an auto accident. That damn near crushed me. I loved that girl. She was my kind of people. I don’t know if I’ll ever fully get over that one. You know what they say, y’all. Death comes in... I lost my father in May. He succumbed to the same thing that almost ended me exactly four years ago: a pulmonary embolism. He and I hadn’t spoken in a decade, but the last time we did speak, my last words to him were, “I love you, dad.” Tyrone and I are straight. If he made it up top, I hope he did right by Shareon. If he didn’t... I ended a long-term relationship with an extraordinary lady in 2023. It wasn’t easy for either one of us. I’m thankful that we’re in a good place. All these things happened before June. C’est la vie. The second half of the year wasn’t quite as eventful [thankfully]. I did make it to Homecoming. It’s always the greatest of blessings to spend time with my folk from college era. Our bonds are indelible. 2023 was alright, I suppose. I made it through. Here’s to 2024. We have so much to live for. Let’s get it. tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG #MNR: A CHRISTMAS STORY “Someday all our dreams will come to be. Someday in a world where men are free. Maybe not in time for you and me, but someday at Christmas time.” Stevie Wonder “In my mind...I want you to be free.” The Temptations Shareon was a holidays type of lady. She lived for this time of year. It began with her faithful viewing of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and concluded with December 25. As an adult, the holidays were usually the time I took my annual trip to VA to visit her because both our schedules were clear. For her, the holidays were always about spending time with loved ones. The gifts and food were great perks, but nothing compared to kinship. Shareon (and damn near everyone else) is gone, but her spirit lives on. My mother was heavy on spinning her holiday music. It has been the inspiration for past #MNR blogs on the greatest holiday songs in Black American culture. “Silent Night” by The Temptations will always finish number one, but several others are staples in my culture as well. “Let It Snow” by Boyz II Men and Brian McKnight is my personal favorite, as it is a song that was released while I was an eclectic music-consuming adolescent with a porn star’s libido. I’m almost certain that if you asked 100 random colored folk their favorite holiday song the consensus would be “This Christmas” by my great uncle Donny Hathaway. All these songs are GOAT status. I’ve got to keep it all the way real and include “All I Want For Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey. I say I’ve got to keep it real because I resented the song for years. I LOVE Mariah and liked the song when it was originally released (Shareon had the CD, of course) but I couldn’t embrace the song after its reemergence into Billboard. It pissed me off that because white folk discovered a 30-year-old song a decade ago, it gets to claim #1 every damn year. For the record, I feel that every song I mentioned in this paragraph and a handful of others are all better than “All I Want For Christmas is You.” But a new generation of whites found it to be cute, so it gets to outshine other Christmas songs from other Black legends. This isn’t a knock to my baby Mariah or the song. She deserves every penny and every accolade. This is a knock against dickriding as a movement, sport and culture. Merry Christmas, you filthy animals. I took my Auntie Sandra and a loved one to see The Color Purple Christmas morning. I was very impressed with the film, outside of a couple of aesthetic miscues. The men had their hats on inside the first church scene and the cross on the church wall had Christ hanging from it. As a lifelong churchgoer and believer, men NEVER wear hats inside the church. In addition, my Christ is living; he got off that cross a long time ago. Our crosses do not have Christ crucified and hanging on them. That’s Catholicism. Aside from those noticeable errors, the movie was amazing. It followed the original storyline but took a musical approach. I don’t watch a lot of musicals, but I’m pretty sure that was the vibe. I loved Tasha Jefferson’s portrayal of Sophia; she popped the most to me. She stole every scene. The dinner table (Thanksgiving) scene was arguably as good as the original. I’m a big Fantasia fan, and she did her thing this time around as adult Celie. My baby girl H.E.R. made an appearance as Squeak, whose character had a bigger role in the 2023 adaptation. Colman Domingo did his damn thing as Mister. He didn’t have the same evil aura as Danny Glover’s hardface did, but he was mean enough. Watching the original version as a kid was one thing. I knew it was a classic because all the adults around 9-year-old me raved about how much of a classic it was. But watching the storyline as a grown ass adult hit different. I understood the incest first time around; that’s not what I’m referring to. As a kid I didn’t fully realize that Celie really felt that she was alone and unloved in the world and how much her bond with Shug meant to her psychological development. I also didn’t realize that Celie and Shug munched each other’s carpet, either. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not mad at all (insert eyes emoji). I’m just saying... All jokes aside, I loved the movie. It was much more than I expected. I recommend taking a loved one to see it. Ty Monday #MNR Official Movie Rating: 9.1/10. (new classic) I hope that you all are smoking the finest of Christmas trees this holiday season. As I gather around the yuletide fire and light my holiday tree, my wish is that every human could be free. I wish that WE loved OURSELVES the way WE did before desegregation. I wish that every kid had presents under the Christmas tree. I wish Israel would stop massacring Palestinian civilians and desecrating their communities. I wish that Republican governors would reverse their insidious intentions and restore SNAP benefits to the downtrodden children who call the states they govern home. Feeding a hungry child has never been nor will it ever be political. I wish that every man could love his neighbor the same way he loves himself. And if he doesn’t love himself, I wish he knew that God loves him and always will. I wish that all missing children were returned home safely to their loved ones. I wish that quality education was attainable for all, irrespective of socioeconomic background. I wish United States and World History were taught from a 100% contextual standpoint in every classroom and lecture hall around the world, from elementary school to postgraduate school. I wish that Shareon were alive to receive this Pulitzer Prize I’m going to win from my next work of fiction. I wish I would have gone downstairs the night that Chubb called me and told me that he was on the block and wanted to see me. I wish Tamika were here to go through the ups and downs of this beautiful struggle called life with me. I wish that I could see the day that the last are the first. Happy Holidays from The Unbearables Crew to you and yours. tymonday.com: @tymonday on Twitter & IG crewunb.com: @crewunB on Twitter & @theunbearablescrew on IG |
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