The Washington, D.C. area is all a buzz about drafting Robert Griffin III. I’m excited to see what he’ll bring to the team, and I am looking forward to the continued footwear fashions of this Heisman Trophy winner. Anyone who can rock the characters and colorful socks with pride is cool with me. Go ahead RG3 – Go Catch Your Dream!
Go Catch Your Dream
Recently there has been a wave of positive acknowledgement regarding my posture. The way I sit or stand hasn’t been something I consciously thought about for decades. As an adolescent I must have suffered from the “tallest person in the class” syndrome and probably slouched a bit so I wouldn’t stand out so much. I remember my mother telling me constantly to stand up straight and to have good posture, so I did as I was told. Then puberty hit and all that comes with it. Once I blossomed instead of hearing positive acknowledgements about my posture I got wind of the catty comments from some peers of “she’s just walking around sticking out her chest for attention.” Meow.
Paying attention to my posture came in hand this past week when I decided to kick off the month of April with an unlimited week of Bikram yoga. It’s been almost three years since I’ve taken a hot yoga class and I am so glad I treated and “tortured” myself to 7 straight days of the practice. 105 degree room. 90 minutes. 26 postures. Even though you perform the same postures each class, no two classes are the same because your body is different each day. 
The postures are challenging especially based on your body type and if you have any previous injuries. I don’t have the greatest knees and due to my torso I feel like I am breast feeding myself during some of the poses, but I do the best that I can with what I bring to the mat. The biggest hurdle for people is the heat. You are faced with the mind over matter experience and dealing with your fight or flight response. Remaining still in between the postures while sweating profusely and breathing deeply only through your nose is a test within itself. Overcoming the urge to flee and staying to fight through the next pose is what the practice of Bikram teaches you. This is a lesson that is carried outside the yoga studio. Even though my hair was “wrecked” for the week, the benefits outweigh having fly looking hair. Last week I was calmer, more focused and centered. I slept better and I stopped craving sweets. I’d say those are great reasons to stand up tall. Namaste.
The parents of the Kentucky Wildcats are beaming with pride this morning – the parents of the players that is. I would gather the parents of the students that decided to riot, destroy private property and get arrested for public drunkenness are hanging their heads. There is a man in the hospital with serious injuries due to being shot. The only shots that should have been taken last night were the ones made with a basketball into a hoop. According to this article the mayhem in the streets was even more intense Saturday night after Kentucky beat Louisville to make it into the championship game. How could the city and the police department let this happen again two nights later? Were they prepared? Did they just chalk it up to this behavior is the new norm?
This phenomenon of trashing a town or city after the hometown team has brought home the trophy or beaten a rival unfortunately isn’t new, but it’s just plain stupid. I don’t recall being a college student and feeling the need to set fires and destroying other people’s property as some sort of rite of passage that has no consequences. Happiness should beget more happiness, not bring harm and destruction. The One Shining Moment for Kentucky is now just one shining spotlight on how people’s euphoria can turn awry especially if induced with personality altering substances.
The heavy metal band Quiet Riot is famous for singing the words
Come on feel the noise, girls rock your boys, We’ll get wild wild wild wild wild wild.
Well, a few of the Kentucky Wildcats did just that by living up to their school’s nickname.
This is one of my favorite pictures of my baby cousin, Heather and me. 
Yes, my hair is a hot mess and I am rockin’ my beloved Grease t-shirt, which I eventually made into a pillow! We are proudly posing in front of the Wonder Woman mural my uncle painted on Heather’s bedroom wall. I love how the three of us are color coordinated and actually my hair sort of resembles that of the mural version of this rock star shero. Anyway, my uncle thought it was important for her to have a strong role model to look up to. And wouldn’t you know it – my cousin has grown up to be her own real life Wonder Woman. I am so proud of her!
To my surprise one day I met the real Wonder Woman. The summer after I graduated from college in 1992, I was working as a receptionist for the new sports radio station in the DC area called WTEM-AM, Sports Radio 570. I was stunned when the door swung open and there was Lynda Carter standing before me. Not only was I confused as to why she was at a sports radio station, but also her scent was so intoxicating I was taken aback. It was Diana Prince in the flesh, and she was just as nice and lovely as she appeared on-screen. We chatted for a while before she headed back to the studio for her interview about a tennis tournament she and her husband were hosting that coming weekend. It’s rare when I am in the presence of entertainers that I get star struck, but she caught me off guard. Secretly in my head I wanted to ask her to spin around, but how silly would have that been.
I knew at some point I wanted to blog about my encounter with Wonder Woman, and with the latest news events I was compelled to tie this memory in with the Trayvon Martin case. I know I have been posting non-stop about Trayvon, but more than likely I will continue to do so off and on until justice is served. With all the crazy tales coming from the George Zimmerman camp it’s becoming more and more insane to hear what’s being reported. We want justice and the truth. Who better to get it? Wonder Woman. We need her Lasso of Truth. That special golden lasso forces her captives to obey and tell the truth. If I could summon Diana Prince to spin into Wonder Woman, jump into her invisible plane and head to Florida with her Lasso of Truth I would do it in a heartbeat. And in a heartbeat I bet George Zimmerman would be behind bars faster than you can sing and jam to the show’s theme song:
As I am filling out my March Madness bracket I am having a couple of flashbacks, which all center around the Kentucky Wildcats. They are one of the four number one seeds in this year’s tournament, along with Syracuse, Michigan State and the University of North Carolina. My first flashback takes me back to the Spring of 1991 in my African-American poetry class with one of my favorite professors – Father Joseph Brown. Our assignments were to create our own prose based off current events then support our opinions with the words from Black poets. I wrote a paper called “Rupp Roast,” which was inspired by the Adolph Rupp Trophy that is given to the top male Division I NCAA player during the championship game at the Final Four. Here was my opening statement:
I’m Kentucky born, Kentucky bred, Gonna brag about Kentucky, Till I’m dead. “Kentucky Blues” –Sterling A. Brown
Recently I read an article in the April 1, 1991 edition of Sports Illustrated, titled “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” Curry Kirkpatrick’s story unleashed the tales behind the 1966 NCAA title game between an all-black line-up from Texas Western, who beat an all-white Kentucky team. The article clearly states that the individuals on these two teams did not make race a factor; they just wanted to play the game of basketball. The issue at hand though, does relate to race because the coach of Kentucky, Adolph Rupp was a racist, whose “politics leaned more toward the KKK.” The Washington Post stated on Saturday, March 30, 1991 that “Louisiana State center Shaquille O’Neal was awarded the Adolph Rupp Trophy by the Associated Press, honored as the best men’s college player in a nationwide vote of sports writers and broadcasters.” I realize there are probably pros and cons in accepting this award, but it is beyond me why a Black male would want to be a recipient of an award that was named after a man who supported the KKK. In this instance I see no reason to “brag” about Kentucky or the coach of the team.
I spent the rest of the paper breaking down the historical ramifications of this game; race relations in America at that time and how Adolph Rupp wasn’t the only southern coach who believed 
“niggers” shouldn’t play college basketball. I knew that if an award based on excellence was named after him, Adolph Rupp must have been a prestigious coach – which he was. Ironically if you look at his Wikipedia page you will see no mention of the historic game, or anything about accusations of him being a racist.
When I wrote this paper, I was a 20-year-old college student at Mr. Jefferson’s University – The University of Virginia. There was a lot of racial tension and several political movements happening, like the fight against apartheid. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the notion of a Black man accepting this award. So many have, and will continue to do so. To this day I still have a hard time seeing the confederate flag. There are images and actions from that era that will never fully sit well with me, even though I have been educated to place things in their proper context.
Fast forward to the Fall of 1994 for flashback number two. I was a promotion producer for the CBS affiliate in Washington, DC. One day I was coming off the elevator and within seconds of stepping out I was in the presence of the one and only Coach Pat Riley. We had cordial pleasantries and I learned he just arrived to do an interview to promote his newest book called The Winner Within: A Life Plan for Team Players. The next thing I know I am asking him what it was like to play for Adolph Rupp, the 1966 National Championship game and what his stance on Coach Rupp’s racial beliefs were. I will never forget the look on his face after asking him this. It wasn’t the look of how dare you disparage my beloved coach. It was more of a shocked look of how does this young lady know the history of the game and within two minutes in my presence she had the balls to ask me those questions. He was very gracious with me and answered the way I thought he would. He said it was just the nature of that time and how Coach Rupp was raised. He also complimented me on asking the tough questions and wondered if I was a part of the team interviewing him. I wasn’t. I thanked him for chatting with me, went along my merry way and smiled to myself for making one of the greatest NBA coaches in history speechless.
Now I need to go along my merry way and get this bracket done.
The anticipation is building. There is a chill in the air. I can sense it. I can smell it. March Madness is upon us. Selection Sunday is days away. Powerhouses will get paired with the little-colleges-that-could. It’s time to celebrate the underdogs as they get their glory and then have your heart ripped out when the seasoned squads go down in flames. From the heart touching backstories of the players to the heart pounding buzzer beaters, in my book it’s the most wonderful time of the year (cue the music).
On a trip to visit my paternal family in Indianapolis a few years ago, my aunt took me downtown to the Eiteljorg Museum of American Indians & Western Art where she was a docent. The museum is near the NCAA Hall of Champions, and she was gracious to add that to her planned tour for me. Once inside I was instantly transported to a place of nirvana when I saw that it has an area dedicated to all of the “One Shining Moment“ videos. 
This musical montage that plays at the conclusion of the tournament after the champs cut down the nets has been a favorite moment of mine since it began in 1987. It was the inspiration for me eventually becoming a promotion producer for a CBS affiliate and loving every sports assignment I got so I could get one step closer to producing my own One Shining Moment-like video pieces. I love the soulful renditions that Teddy Pendergrass and Luther Vandross did, but the original version sung by David Barrett, who also wrote the song will always hold a special place in my heart. For some reason in 2010 they had Jennifer Hudson cover the song. I love J-Hud but she cannot turn everything she touches into gold.
Through the years the talent of the players has improved, so has the production of the March Madness swan song. I can’t wait to see if a Cinderella emerges this tournament – who will rise and shine and who will have bragging rights for the year to come. Let the Madness begin!
As a child growing up in the 1970s, spending time at the roller skating rink was hip and what was happening. Practicing your turns, skating backwards and watching who would get asked to go on the floor for “couple’s skate” was a Saturday treat. I thought Tootie on The Facts of Life was so cool because she got to roller skate inside The Eastland School. It was definitely a sign of the times, but nothing my mother wanted me to emulate in our own house.
At the end of the decade I went to my first Ice Capades show and was captivated by the figure skaters. Having four wheels on the bottom of a boot seemed like the perfect equation for balance. Gliding on ice with just a blade seemed like magic to me; a balancing act I wanted to try. I asked if I could take ice skating lessons at a local rink in the county and my parents obliged. I learned the basics, earned a few badges along the way but I knew I wasn’t in it for the long haul. There would be no Ice Castles movie starring little ol’ me. My fascination with the sport didn’t waiver though. 
Pairs skaters Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner made a huge impression on me. They were the heavily decorated U.S. and World Champion gold medalists at the time; so poised, talented and such a striking “couple.” I was glued to the TV during the 1980 Winter Olympics, and was crushed when Tai and Randy couldn’t compete because Randy got injured.
From watching Katarina Witt and Kristi Yamaguchi to Oksana Baiul and the Nancy Kerrigan-Tanya Harding scandal I was a faithful fan every four years when the Winter Olympics entertained the world. But for me, the biggest stand out of all was a young woman who competed in the 1988 Games while she was a full-time student at Stanford University – Miss Debi Thomas. She was three years older than me, and I was in awe of her.
On this date, she earned the bronze medal and a place in the history books as the first black woman to win a Winter Olympic medal. She went on to replace that medal around her neck with a stethoscope, and became an orthopedic surgeon. Not too shabby; not so rinky-dink. Go ahead Dr. Debi!
Over a decade ago when Vince Carter was with the Toronto Raptors he earned the nickname ‘Vinsanity’ after winning the 1999 NBA Rookie of the Year Award and the Slam Dunk Contest at the 2000 NBA All-Star Game. Now insanity has been attached to the name of a scrappy baller from Harvard University’s Class of 2010, via Palo Alto, California. Mr. Jeremy Lin – the first American player of Taiwanese descent has become the new King of New York quicker than the A Train can get you from mid-town Manhattan to Harlem.
Upon high school graduation he didn’t receive an athletic scholarship. He wasn’t drafted out of college. Within a year he was cut from the Golden State Warriors, the Houston Rockets and in and out of D-leagues before he joined the New York Knicks this season as a third-string point guard. At the end of this January the Knicks were about to release him, but due to injuries to other guards Lin came off the bench in the fourth quarter of a game against the Boston Celtics on February 3rd, and the rest is history. In just 2 weeks he has revitalized the league. He is the pride of his community. He is an inspiration to all underdogs. He is simply Lincredible.
Growing up in the DC area with the last name Rodman came with two inevitable questions: Are you related to Dennis? Or, does your family own the drugstore Rodman*s? To my knowledge the answer to both questions is ‘no.’ To this day when I am asked my name by a customer service representative on the phone, my go-to response is “My last name is Rodman, like Dennis, R-O-D-M-A-N.” It’s just easier for me to say it and ward off the question.
As a youngster I loved playing sports. I went to a very small private school and had the opportunity to play on multiple teams: basketball, volleyball, field hockey, softball, track. Basketball was my favorite sport, and with my last name I found it only fitting to crash the boards and rebound. At one moment in my high school basketball “career” I was one of the top 10 rebounders in my county. I learned to box out and probably swung my elbows a bit more than my opponents would have liked, but as a Rodman it made sense. 
Dennis made his reputation as a hard-nosed rebounder and lead the league in rebounding for several years. If there was any part of Dennis Rodman’s reputation I’d want to claim, it would be his defensive skills.
With hoops on my mind, I wanted to pay homage to Robert L. “Bob” Douglas, known as “The Father of Black Professional Basketball.” He owned and coached the very first all-Black professional basketball team. On this day in 1923, the New York Renaissance aka “The Rens” basketball team was established. At the time, the team used the Renaissance Casino and Ballroom in Harlem as its home court, sharing the floor with entertainers like Count Basie.
Harlem Renaissance Casino and Ballroom from the 1920s
The Harlem Rens
I tip-off my jersey sleeve to Mr. Douglas for being a visionary and his pioneering spirit. Taking the risk of going on the road and facing discrimination during that era was gutsy, or shall I say ballsy.
Competition motivates us to achieve our goals and create successes. Sprinkle in endless comparisons between the opponents and a friendly competition can turn into an ugly rivalry. If you have siblings at some point in your lifetime it is inevitable that comparisons will occur and competition may ensue. Whether it stays friendly or turns ugly, is up to the players involved. But competition is just a way of the world and we all get caught up in the comparison game.
The week leading up to Super Bowl Sunday Eli Manning was bombarded with questions about his brother Peyton’s health and career. After winning Super Bowl XLVI, earning the MVP and his second ring NBC sportscaster Dan Patrick immediately asked him what it was like playing in “the house that his brother built” in Indianapolis. I can understand the questions if Eli and Peyton had played against each other in the game, but they didn’t and reporters still couldn’t keep Peyton’s name rolling off their lips. Can’t people just let the victor have his own moment of glory?
Today let’s shine the spotlight on Eli Manning and praise him for all that he accomplished because it is Super.
Get your shine on Eli!
