I’ve been on the road with Bob Stutman for over ten years now, and the most amazing thing about our Heads versus Feds debate (recently cited as “the hottest college act in America”) is the chemistry that has developed between us.
I’m hoping to grow our webcast into a cable TV show and would appreciate any feedback our fans (or critics) have to offer. The show just took a new direction today, as we moved from hard news concerning the drug war, to reviewing two shows recently produced by HBO.
They call us “The Ultimate Odd Couple” and the point of Heads versus Feds is to show that even people from opposite ends of the cultural spectrum can actually hold discourse in a respectful manner.
Last night we visited Virginia Tech, and had a rare tense moment when I talked about the relationship between SSRI’s and school shootings. Afterwards, Bob told me he thought it was callous to bring up that tragedy, especially since no SSRI’s were involved. As far as I know, the medical facts in the case were never released.
Only one in ten studies on SSRI’s was ever published and they show SSRI’s are no better than placebo pills. The other nine studies, however, were shredded. Shredded, no doubt, because they discovered a link between SSRI’s and psychotic behavior—like yesteday’s Jet-Blue-pilot-meltdown. We’ll likely never know the truth about a possible SSRI-Psychosis cover-up until some form of class-action law suit appears. For all our sakes, I hope it comes soon as the legal drug companies are currently pushing the concept SSRI’s “are for everyone.”
There were coaching changes with both my favorite teams this year, the Fighting Illini and the New York Knicks. For the Illini, it was supposed to a rebuilding year around four great freshman, but when sophomore Meyers Leonard and junior Brandon Paul helped beat two ranked teams early in the season, expectations suddenly got a lot higher—expectations that well-respected coach Bruce Weber could not fulfill as the team collapsed during the second half of the season.
It was not much different from the previous year, when Illini point guard Demetri McCamey was being touted as one of the best players in the country and possible second or third pick in the draft, to—the team collapsing in the second half of the season and McCamey going undrafted. In both cases out-of-control ego probably played a significant role in the demise of both teams. Basketball is all about chemistry and once a player starts promoting the concept “it’s all about me,” the chemistry is often corrupted beyond repair. For whatever reason, the emerging stars on the Illini seem to have had problems staying grounded. The best route to good chemistry is having mature players who contain their ego and maintain sympathetic connections with their teammates and coaches.
As far as I’m concerned, a major problem was the unfortunate banning of our historical magical icon, Chief Illini, who I always thought was an honest tribute to our state’s Native heritage, but somehow became a source of tremendous misplaced anxiety. If the new AD would consider bringing back the Chief, it would do wonders for team spirit in my opinion. Only this time around, make sure the Chief is a Native himself and give him and a dozen other Natives free scholarships to show our support for Native culture will you? The Chief’s dance was always one of the most powerful ceremonies in sports, and you don’t want to mess around with those energies or you lose them forever.
Which brings me to Carmelo Anthony and Mike D’Antoni. It’s no surprise D’Antoni did not want to gut his team to bring Melo to Madison Square Garden. That was an owner decision. I thought it was a terrible idea. I envisioned Melo clashing with Amare Stoudemire and just taking over and stagnating the offense, which is pretty much what happened, except it was D’Antoni he clashed with and not Stat. It was painful going to the garden and watching Melo isolation-mode. Melo was running Melo’s offense and not D’Antoni’s at the time. What’s obvious now is Melo never really accepted D’Antoni and why should he? If you knew your coach didn’t vote to bring you on board the team, how committed would you be to playing for him? Behind the scenes it was always a “him-or-me-what’s-it-gonna-be?” situation, something Dolan wanted to sort out after the shortened season was over no doubt. This plan came off the rails, however, when Melo got injured and D’Antoni proved he could win without him, thanks to the emergence of Linsanity. I felt sure at that moment the team would become Lin and D’Antoni’s, but the $65 million man had a big card to play in this game, for he undoubtedly went to Dolan and asked to be traded if D’Antoni’s expiring contract was renewed. Kudos to Mike D’Antoni, a very classy guy, for calling it quits right after this went down. And without this internal soap opera dragging them down, the team responded by playing its best basketball of the season and winning five in a row (so far).
Sports is a spiritual endeavor and spirituality is all about telepathic energy. The key to any great team is their ability to harmonize and share telepathic energy. Melo has a chance to play himself back into super-stardom, and I believe he’s doing his best, but I don’t think anyone expects him to become that franchise player Dolan thought he was buying. And many wonder where the Knicks might be if they’d not made that fateful trade. The thing that most stands-out about Jeremy Lin, however, is his maturity and ability to handle fame. Right now he’s way more famous than Melo, and somewhere down deep, this unexpected development has to concern Melo, even if he doesn’t realize it yet himself. It will certainly be interesting to see how the team chemistry develops from here.
I just hope the Illini can pull it together for next year and find some team leadership under a new coach, and that the Knicks don’t lose another game this season and win their first championship since 1973.
I was seated in the auditorium at Urbana High, waiting for the senior class speeches to begin, when Larry Green suddenly appeared out-of-nowhere wearing an elegant double-breasted pinstriped suit, while sporting my blue hat.
“Can I borrow your hat?” he’d asked me the night before on the phone. “Sure,” I replied. And in a few minutes, Larry arrived to pick it up so he could wear it during his election speech the next day. My hat was famous around school for having “LSD” embossed on it, just as I was somewhat famous for being one of the first people in town to actually take LSD.
Smitty detested that hat so much that the first time I wore it into the boy’s locker room for gym class, I was told Smitty wanted to see me in his office. I’d never been summoned by Smitty before and was plenty nervous going in, and assumed it had something to do with my new underground newspaper, but it didn’t. Smitty just ordered me leave my offensive hat in my hall locker, or he promised to confiscate and destroy it.
I was the publisher/editor of The Tin Whistle at the time, and Larry was our official candidate, and I was running the campaign promoting Larry’s election. Our school was in great emotional turmoil at the time, starting when Smitty encouraged members of the U-Club to beat-up longhairs and Frank Sowers hit the kid with the longest hair in school (Doug Blair) over the head with a baseball bat, and the next day Carp retaliated by sucker punching Frank on his front lawn. Then the radical blacks sided against the U-Club and jumped on one of the head jocks in the halls. At first, that seemed like maybe a good thing. Obviously, it was not.
I remember standing on the second floor of Urbana High about a day later when I saw a typical violent altercation about to go down. There were around six sophomore blacks ganged-up against one prominent senior starter on the football team. But before any blows were thrown, a half dozen white members of the football team appeared out of nowhere, running to the rescue from all directions. Obviously some sort of alarm system was now in place amongst the team to thwart these random beat-downs that were taking place. At that moment, all sympathy shifted away from the blacks, who had suffered under Smitty’s racist regime, and back to the head jocks, who were now just viewed as total innocents trying to defend themselves against superior numbers. I started thinking how could The Tin Whistle help end all this senseless violence?
Meanwhile, Charlie Gerron, a columnist in The Tin Whistle was stoking the flames, challenging any jock in school to a one-on-one match, and I’m sure Charlie would have gladly taken anyone on, had anyone ever accepted.
Jim Cole, former lead singer of the Finchley Boys, came back to school for a few days the previous semester, while he was renting a room at Eric Swenson’s house. One morning Cole was asked to read the day’s announcements over the public address system and he read them all perfectly, except for the fact he changed the final one, a fundraising effort for the Association for Foreign Students: “the AFS will be sponsoring a race riot in the cafeteria at noon. Bring your own weapons.”
You see, the previous day, a racial altercation had cleared the lunchroom momentarily, and everyone was still on edge from that incident. But Cole sure let the air out of the balloon with that fake announcement. We all laughed heartily together, blacks, whites, jocks. Cole, meanwhile, bounded straight out of the school and never came back. I guess the Grandmaster of Mayhem had been searching for a proper exit line and that was it. So this was the background to the student elections taking place at Urbana High in the fall of 1968.
My hat must have provided the final magic touch, because Larry certainly wowed the crowd that afternoon. It may have been his first “great performance,” although certainly not nearly his last. Sauntering across the stage in a sort of Fred-Astaire-meets-Lenny-Bruce persona, Larry launched into a beatnik poem by Shel Silverstein lifted out of Playboy magazine. (I wonder if any students thought he was jivin’ off the top of his head?) When this performance was over, Larry asked everyone to vote for Jim Wilson. And then Jim took the stage and gave a very serious speech about the need to address the racial communication issues at the school, a speech that soon swept Jim into office, with all of us in full support.
Except for that slight last-second, ego-meltdown by Larry, who, after his grand performance was over, was swarmed by sycophants urging him to stay in the race. I remember Larry coming up to me soon after he heard I was urging people to vote for Jim Wilson. He was super mad and saying “I am running!” I was crestfallen at that moment because I knew Larry was letting the magic slip away. It was a sort of Frodo-won’t-let-go-of-the-ring moment.
You might wonder, why the hat? Larry was still under haircut rules at the time, and I had just recently escaped them. I think I wore that hat so much because it helped disguise the fact my hair was really shorter than it should have been. And I think that’s the same reason Larry employed it, as his character that day was an ultra hipster. And Larry was running against another white dude with almost shoulder-length blonde hair. So the hat may have been the perfect touch to his act. You’ll also notice that in my column for that month, I’d created these white and black devils as a comic illustration, representing, no doubt the twin paths that had emerged at the beginning of the counterculture, one of which involved violence and one of which did not.
Jim Wilson was now the first black senior class president in Urbana High history, thanks in no small part to Larry Green throwing him his support (and then taking it back too late for anyone to notice), and the fact no member of the U-Club ran against him, and as a result of the football coach unfairly blackballing him off the team. And the first thing Jim did was ask every student to fill-out a one-page query on racial attitudes.
We didn’t know it at the time, but Jim edited these responses and was going to have them read aloud in public assembly, just to show us how crazy deep our collective racism really ran. See, most of us were living in our own little worlds. Some of the more socially progressive among us certainly had no idea of the primitive beliefs being held by some of our fundamentalist fellow students, just as none of us knew the history of racism in the town, and how all blacks had been herded around the hemp factory near the railroad tracks on the north-side to live in shacks with no electricity or running water. These conditions existed up through the 1960s in some parts of the slum, although slowly a few black families had leaked into better parts of town.
The reading of selected passages of these forms caused great stress, as evident in a photo of some tearful reactions published in the yearbook as it was happening (left).
Charlie Gerron, in fact, rushed the backstage and began pounding on the door, eventually reduced almost to tears. Charlie wanted to beat-up the students reading those ugly responses behind a screen. Charlie didn’t realize those weren’t the same students who thought black people smelled bad and were spawns of the devil, that was just Albie Fisher and some friends of Jim’s reading those outlandish statements of ignorance.
Jim’s student forum on racism worked to perfection, however, as no one in the school from that day forward ever asserted there was no such thing as racism at Urbana High. The only question now was, what was Jim going to do about it?