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Andscape at the Olympics is an ongoing series exploring the Black athletes and culture around the 2024 Paris Games.

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There are ways that sports can feel like a contrivance – predictable phrasing about the “face” of a league or headlines which double as clickbait. It is refreshing when athletes cut through that noise, undeterred by controversy or contempt.

U.S. sprinter Sha’Carri Richardson is one of those athletes. It warmed my heart the other day to see her in a skincare commercial for Olay, because even in a deliberate attempt to sell a product, her authenticity and defiance shined through. “Sha’Carri Richardson Melts The Competition,” the ad campaign was titled. Her southern twang and smooth, brown skin were rightfully associated with beauty and brilliance.

With the track and field events beginning, I think of the opportunities before her and the words of another Olympic-sized icon, Muhammad Ali: “I don’t have a mark on my face. …I must be the greatest.”

Saying that Richardson is “for the culture” is an understatement. As she prepares to star on the international stage, her presence is a reminder of what it means to be Black, to be American and to inspire callbacks to track and field legends.

The Olympics are a reminder that four years can feel like forever. We might not have the physique or discipline of the world’s best athletes, but we carry the successes and failures of the last 48 months. COVID-19. Black Lives Matter. Presidential campaigns.

Three years ago, in the face of controversy, we embraced Richardson, her triumph and trauma. We all lost somebody and needed to vent. The IOC had its rules, but they felt rigid. The term “Olympic trials” hits differently now, not just for the athletes, but for all of us. The world feels like a different place since the last Games – a perpetual test of the body, the mind and much more. Richardson’s cosplay as Denard Robinson during her first 100-meter heat at the U.S. Olympic track trials led to an initial stumble, and then, a 10.88 jaunt to the end zone.

“I’m not back, I’m better,” she kept telling us.

Our sister made things right long before she ran the fastest time of 2024 in the Olympic trials final. It’s hard to imagine now that she was an afterthought last year, in the last lane at Budapest at the World Championships, before running down the Jamaicans in the 100 meters. She would anchor the 4×100 relay at those same World Championships, another win for the Americans, but one picture broke through the rivalry and tension. Richardson and the gold standard for the 200-meter dash, Jamaica’s Shericka Jackson, embraced after they advanced to the final. It was a reminder of the power of the African diaspora, and a sign that Richardson had healed beyond the heartbreak of 2021.

It is said that you can’t outrun your past, and such an idea is ironic within the framework of track and field. Florence Griffith-Joyner’s 100-meter time of 10.49 is in striking distance at these Olympics, and talking about the contenders of today invariably will lead to an appreciation of the sport’s greatest sprinters.

More than a month ago, a YouTube channel with a track-named theme caught up to the legendary Gail Devers, a feat in and of itself. The interviewer, with his rich Jamaican accent, led off the dialogue with a tongue-in-cheek lament of how Devers bested Jamaica’s best, including her stunning photo finish over Merlene Ottey in 1996.

Devers offered a pearly-grinned and playful apology, and then, the interviewer inquired about her nails. “They were a little longer back then. I cut them a couple of months ago,” she said. “[But] they grow fast.”

There’s lineage in those nails, racing DNA. Devers and Flo-Jo are linked through Bob Kersee, the legendary coach (and husband of the incomparable Jackie Joyner-Kersee) whose tutelage is still relevant, as evidenced by the success of world-record holding hurdler Sydney McLaughlin-Levrone. Like Sha’Carri, Kersee also pushed back against controversy and tragedy after Flo-Jo’s passing in 1988:

It has never been proven by anyone that Florence had ever used anything illegal to improve her performance. It has not been proven by anybody that any athlete that I have coached has used any illegal drugs. …Unfortunately, it’s come to a time where athletes and/or organizations play the game of tarnishing someone because if they can’t beat them and it [affects their] endorsements and praise, they say, ‘If I can’t beat you one way, I’ll beat you the other way.

Laymen might think those nails have no function beyond fashion. But they are a sign of strength, and a reminder that over time, what’s broken can grow back better.

Family adds to the mythos of our people. The Olympic Games were built on the rhetoric of gods and goddesses. So many of our legends are built and maintained at the altars of praying grandmothers.

“Everything I am, it’s because of that strong, Black woman,” Richardson said of her grandmother, Betty Harp, to Rolling Stone after the Olympic trials.

“I made her tough,” Harp said of her gifted granddaughter.

There’s a lot at stake in Paris. Devers’ photo finish represents the last time an American woman won the 100 meters. Once again, the Americans and Jamaicans will rival one another. And at the center of it will be a beautiful and brash Black woman.

Folks are saying that the Paris 2024 logo looks like Mary J. Blige. Perhaps when it’s all said and done, they’ll change the bob into an afro.

When three-time WNBA MVP Sheryl Swoopes wrapped her arms around Chicago Sky rookie forward Angel Reese seconds after Reese’s powerful performance against the Indiana Fever Sunday afternoon, I felt their energy travel through the TV and stir my spirit. Their embrace was about more than star power: It was soulful, and motherly for Swoopes, and sisterly for them both in their shared struggles.

“She been there for me. She been there through my highs and lows,” Reese said of Swoopes to ESPN reporter Holly Rowe after the Chicago Sky’s 88-87 win over the Indiana Fever. “She said she’s proud of me. … Just being able to talk to her and have someone like that in my life. I’m just happy I came over there.”

I’ve written about hugs and hoops before after NBA Hall of Famer Allen Iverson’s embrace of three-time NBA champion Dwyane Wade and how it affirmed the humanity of Black men. Certainly, the touching gesture between Reese and Swoopes flew in the face of the nasty narratives Black women have faced over the past few months. Sistas have been largely accused of cattiness and pettiness, rhetoric that has largely been used to juxtapose them with Fever rookie guard Caitlin Clark. In some ways, that hug was a reminder that the league is bigger than one person. The WNBA has always been a league of giants, with surnames such as Swoopes, South Carolina coach Dawn Staley and two-time world champion and Olympic gold medalist Lisa Leslie.

In some ways, the ugly side of Clark’s success can be traced back to commentary Swoopes made in January on an episode of former NBA guard Gilbert Arenas’ daily sports podcast Gil’s Arena. Swoopes erroneously said Clark was in her fifth year of eligibility as she was poised to set a Division I scoring record. Swoopes acknowledged that she “made a mistake,” and that Clark was actually in her fourth year of eligibility, but Iowa fans came up with the most nonsensical hashtag and campaign: #DontBeASheryl.

It was as asinine a statement as it was unoriginal – it was an attempt to copy the slang term “Karen,” which mocks middle-class white American women who are perceived as entitled. “Sheryl as in Sheryl Swoopes? Oh y’all trippin,” A’ja Wilson tweeted in response.

Before Reese made her name as “Bayou Barbie,” Swoopes was already basketball royalty. In 1995, she became the first female athlete with her own signature shoe. She was often compared to NBA legend Michael Jordan, and the pair’s competitive streak was on full display after a brief one-on-one battle at Jordan’s basketball camp in 1994. In the midst of Jordan’s second three-peat from 1996 to 1998, Swoopes and the Houston Comets began a streak from 1997 to 2000 in which they won the first four championships in WNBA history.

If I might paraphrase the start of “Thuggish Ruggish Bone,” by Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, we’re not against Clark, we’re not against her impact on the game. But we are against fans who make it seem like she’s all that women’s basketball has ever offered. It’s a clear and deliberate erasure of Black and progressive women who have made this game special.

Reese, for her part, knew how important Swoopes’ presence was in Chicago on Sunday. “She told me she was coming to the game,” Reese said, “So I said, ‘I’m [gonna] put on a show for you.”

Down 15 points in the third quarter, Reese took her game to another level, with her skill and indomitable will on full display. After two free throws by guard Diamond DeShields, Reese ran off five points to trim the deficit nearly in half. That set up for a tremendous fourth quarter by Reese, or as a friend of mine put it, the rise of “BBQ Chicken Barbie.” The most notable play, perhaps, came with the Sky down three, and Reese just had her layup blocked by longtime tormentor, Fever forward Aliyah Boston, who successfully guarded Reese dating back to their matchups in college. Reese got an offensive rebound, and after a missed shot, a second offensive rebound and putback while being fouled. I think all of us yelled “and one” in unison with Reese.

After the dust settled, and after a lengthy few seconds left in the game, sure enough Reese had put on a show. Twenty-five points and 16 rebounds for the double-double machine, whose efforts placed her in a league with superstar Wilson. She and Wilson are now the only two players in the WNBA this season with multiple games with at least 15 points and 15 rebounds, and Reese was the first rookie since Wilson with 25-plus points and 15-plus rebounds in a single game.

Reese, who posted a double-double in eight consecutive games, extending her WNBA rookie record, also embraced Sky guard Chennedy Carter, who scored 23 points. Almost as a preview of Swoopes’ hug, Reese wrapped both arms around Carter, who had also endured the wrath of Clark fans after a flagrant foul during an earlier matchup.

All in all, it was a day that put the women’s game and its superstar names on full display for their competitiveness and their companionship. Swoopes met with the Sky and their coach, Teresa Weatherspoon, who playfully noted that Swoopes had “won three freaking championships against me.”

“I still don’t like her for that, but I love this woman,” Weatherspoon said. 

“Just stay the course,” Swoopes told the team. “I’m proud of you. I love you to pieces. And I’m so happy that I got to come here and see a win.”

It was a win for the Sky. It was a win for Black women. Where Iverson’s hugs celebrated humanity, the love between Reese and Swoopes celebrated Black women in all their diversity and complexity.

I hope that’s something we can all embrace.

When the University of Florida eliminated its DEI office, largely due to a law signed in 2023 by Gov. Ron DeSantis that banned state universities from spending money on diversity, equity and inclusion programs, Smith responded with harsh criticism.

“I’m utterly disgusted by UF’s decision and the precedent that it sets,” Smith posted Sunday afternoon in a statement on X, formerly known as Twitter. “We cannot continue to believe and trust that a team of leaders all made up of the same background will make the right decision when it comes to equality and diversity. History has already proven that is not the case.”

Someone might see Smith’s Hall of Fame football career and his penchant for being a pitchman and think that he wouldn’t have anything to say about pressing civil rights issues. Such a narrative couldn’t be further from the truth. In the face of stern challenges against DEI programs at his alma mater and with a profound sense of history stabilizing him, Smith offered a compelling rebuke of the policies inspired by politicians such as DeSantis.

Smith’s stand might seem unfathomable in this day and age where athletes, current and former, care so much about public perception – and marketing dollars. And yet, such commentaries aren’t just the words of a past era that included baseball pioneer Jackie Robinson and Curt Flood, whose lawsuit against the MLB led to free agency. Similar statements were prevalent just over three years ago, when the murder of George Floyd by Minneapolis police galvanized the civil rights demands of a generation.

But why Smith? Why the NFL’s all-time leading rusher? Smith’s reasons are baked into his being.

Smith was born in 1969 in Pensacola, Florida – the same year that the town’s all-white high school, Escambia, was desegregated at the order of the federal government. Escambia High School had a Confederate soldier as a mascot, flew the Rebel flag and had “Dixie” as the school song. Protests by Black students at a football game and concerned citizens led to a federal ruling in 1973 that barred the use of the Confederate symbols and changed the mascot to the Raiders, The school board appealed the ruling in 1974 and in 1975, a federal appeals court overturned the injunction and put the school board in charge of the matter.

After students voted to keep the Raiders name for the mascot, a violent riot at the school on Feb. 5, 1976, resulted, which The New York Times described in March 1976:

“Years of racial animosity in this Florida panhandle city have erupted into violence in recent weeks on the issue of whether athletic teams at a local high school will be called the Rebels or the Raiders. The controversy over the name, simmering for several years in and out of court, caused a riot at Escambia County High School Feb. 5. This afternoon, 120 Ku Klux Klansmen in full regalia, but with faces uncovered in accordance with law, paraded through the streets of Milton, a small town about 20 miles east of here. They had come into town in an 80‐vehicle caravan from outside Pensacola and called the march an “organizational effort.” Three Klan leaders from Alabama, Georgia and Florida attended the rally, which drew 450 persons. Four students were hit by gunfire in the school riot, 26 others were injured and $5,000 damage was done to the school during four hours of fighting, rock‐throwing and smashing of windows, trophy cases and other school property.”

Smith graduated from Escambia just over a decade later, in 1987.

American history, however joyous or calamitous, is never too far away from the present. That’s why Smith’s criticism of his alma mater, the University of Florida, carries so much weight. It also helps, of course, that he’s the NFL’s all-time leading rusher.

“Instead of showing courage and leadership, we continue to fail based on systemic issues and with this decision, UF has conformed to the political pressures of today’s time,” Smith noted in his statement. 

Birmingham, Alabama, mayor Randall Woodfin, in his criticism of a proposed anti-DEI bill in the state, recalled the sordid segregationist history of the University of Alabama. Further, he said if such legislation passed, he would encourage Black athletes and parents “to attend other institutions outside of the state where diversity and inclusion are prioritized.”

“Although I’m the biggest Bama fan, I have no problem organizing Black parents and athletes to attend other institutions outside of the state where diversity and inclusion are prioritized,” Woodfin posted last month on X. “If supporting inclusion becomes illegal in this state, hell, you might as well stand in front of the school door like Governor Wallace. Mannnn it’s Black History Month. Y’all could have at least waited until March 1.”

Let some folks tell it, the most important goal line stand in Alabama history was then-Gov. George Wallace’s segregationist stance in the schoolhouse door, where he symbolically stood to block two Black students. And yet, like much of Wallace’s career, it was political posturing, and the students passed through.

All of this uncertainty and unrest doesn’t make life easier for college athletes, who are in the midst of a rapidly changing landscape because of the NCAA and name, image and likeness. On the one hand, it is interesting to see that NIL is on the cusp of rapid expansion after an injunction effectively handcuffed the NCAA’s power to punish athletes (and universities). At the same time, it is troublesome to think that athletes are left to the devices of institutions that do not prioritize DEI.

It’s also worth mentioning that we should be clear about terms like DEI and NIL, particularly since folks want to make them cut-and-dried. Folks hear “NIL” and think that all college athletes are making money. If this were the case, student-athletes would not take the first $600 that comes their way. Thanks, EA Sports. Folks hear “DEI” and dismiss the intent of diversity and equity initiatives, even as there is evidence that DEI is not as pro-Black as one might think.

The solution for college athletes might be similar to GameStop’s motto – “power to the players.” Just this week on March 5, basketball players at Dartmouth voted to join a local union, which marked the first time athletes took public action as employees.

We should be working to support college athletes on all fronts, whether financially or socially. What’s clear is that they are often pawns at the expense of billion-dollar interests on campus, whether on or off the playing field. We should not only unlock their labor potential, but their understanding of history and how it relates to the present.

Or, as Smith put it to close his compelling commentary: “And to those who think it’s not your problem and stay on the sidelines and say nothing, you are complicit in supporting systemic issues.”

Long before his tenure as a member of the Georgia House of Representatives, Earnest Smith was a hopeful freshman at South Carolina State. He arrived on campus during the turbulent 1970s, with the violent massacre in 1968 only a few years past.

When Smith heard about a recent proposal from South Carolina State’s Board of Trustees to remove six majors, including history and social studies, it was as if he had been pulled back to his college days – and the memories were not pleasant.

Smith attended the trial of Cleveland Sellers, who was the only person convicted in the aftermath of the protest. He also saw the effects of South Carolina State’s loss of majors firsthand in 1971 when the university’s agricultural and engineering programs were terminated.

“Some of my classmates, they literally cried my sophomore year, because going into their junior year, they had to leave South Carolina State to either go to Clemson [University] or [University of South] Carolina because there were engineering students,” Smith said. “There’s still a push to basically neutralize South Carolina State and the impact it has.”

The conflict over the Board of Trustees’ proposal, which the board has postponed for now, creates a juxtaposition between capitalism and community, between the bottom line and the higher calling of historically Black colleges and universities.

Christopher Rounds, an assistant professor of history in South Carolina State’s department of social sciences, believes this latest saga at South Carolina State is setting a dangerous precedent.

“Universities are increasingly governed the way that corporations are run, where everything is about data. There’s gotta be some place in our society that is based on loftier principles,” Rounds said. “Right now, there is a cultural war going on against African American history. … The elimination of humanity majors that focus on things like this and ensure that the younger generation is aware of what is going on and why their history cannot be erased or censored.

“I mean, HBCUs above all are supposed to provide a platform for organizing and giving shape to resistance.”

In late January, nearly 60 years after the Orangeburg Massacre, South Carolina State students marched again – this time in silent rebuke of the Board of Trustees’ proposal. Among the organizations represented was the South Carolina Education Association, a state affiliate of the National Education Association.

“When I heard that these programs were on the verge of getting eliminated, I knew in my spirit that I had to do something,” association student president Adriana Perez told WIS News. “Even if they weren’t gonna affect my students or my future, I was technically a middle-level education major in November with a concentration in English and social studies, and I changed my major as soon as I found out because social studies was on the verge of getting cut as well.”

Perez and students sought transparency from the board, a sentiment also shared by South Carolina State professors. 

“Frankly, my colleagues and I were blindsided to a degree,” Rounds said. “We knew, of course, that the history program had low enrollment. They had requested that we put together a proposal for initiatives and how we would increase enrollment in the program.”

According to Rounds, the proposal he and his colleagues created early in the fall semester was approved but not given enough time to generate results.

“We had a department meeting in November, and we were informed that the board was going to meet in two days’ time to vote on whether these programs should be eliminated,” he said. “We were kind of aghast that not only was this happening with such suddenness but that we hadn’t even been given the opportunity to put some of these initiatives in place.”

Andscape reached out to Sam Watson, South Carolina State’s director of university relations, who served as a liaison to President Alexander Conyers and Frederick Evans, the school’s provost and vice president for academic affairs. In a statement, the administration said, “The SC State University’s Board of Trustees’ (BOT) rationale for action is based upon an official institutional assessment of the academic program inventory that identified academic programs that failed to maintain or meet the enrollment and degrees awarded criterion as established by the SC Commission on Higher Education.”

Further, Watson said, the recommendation to delete academic programs is based on a decade’s worth of data and not “concerns, popularity or hidden agendas.”

“Concerns were expressed to the administration through our established protocols that included college-wide meetings, dean(s) council meetings, executive summary reports sent to all university employees, disaggregated data shared with all university employees, an official presentation to the academic leadership team, and an official report to the BOT,” the statement said. “In short, concerns will not change trend data, respectfully.”

Alison McLetchie, an assistant professor in the department of social sciences, said the removal of academic programs would be “devastating.” 

“South Carolina State University, along with Claflin [University] in Orangeburg, has nurtured, supported and produced some extremely important citizens. Three of those citizens we commemorated – they sacrificed their lives,” McLetchie said of the students killed in the Orangeburg Massacre. “If we as a university give up our history program and our social studies education program, we are handing over to some other institution the right to our heritage.”

That legacy is important to alumni such as Smith, whose daughter also attended South Carolina State. In times of adversity, Smith said, what must endure is leadership.

“There’s an old African proverb about blooming where you are planted,” he said. “Being a leader means you step up and stand in the gap. I may not be the one who receives the benefits that I’m fighting for, but the ones after me will.”

Their championship battles are the stuff of legend. Curry and the Warriors won in 2015, overcoming a remarkable individual effort by James and the Cleveland Cavaliers. The King had his revenge a year later, with a chasedown block against guard Andre Iguodala and staring down Curry after a block as the defining images of a 3-1 Finals comeback in 2016. Curry partnered with Warriors forward Kevin Durant and took the next two Finals series, allowing James only a single game. The two have each won a title since then, with James getting the better of Curry in a Play-In Tournament matchup in 2021 and last year’s six-game playoff series in 2023.

Any time the two players match up, it’s must-see TV. The two best players of their generation capped off a double-overtime thriller on Jan. 27, with James dropping 36 points, 20 rebounds, and 12 assists, leading the Lakers to a 145-144 win. Before James hit two game-winning free throws, Curry hit a go-ahead 3, the final of his 46 points.

“Steph Curry keeps me young,” James said with a chuckle, then added some postgame commentary from Curry. “How do we keep getting better?” was what Curry told James.

For their individual brilliance, James and Curry have endured bouts of frustration and have struggled to get their teams to .500. The Finals berths that once seemed inevitable are few and far between. As the trade deadline approaches, there’s a clear solution that would benefit the two legends and the league.

It’s time for James and Curry to become teammates.

James’ name has come up in trade rumors in the past few days – so many that his agent, Rich Paul, told ESPN on Friday that the King “won’t be traded, and we won’t ask to be.”

With respect to Paul, a Curry and James partnership would be clutch. NBA narratives have become tiresome, whether it’s folks complaining about the lack of defense or ranting about load management. Putting Curry and James on the same team doesn’t just give the NBA a profoundly positive headline. It represents a cultural reset.

Of course they were destined to play together: They were born in the same hospital. In a lot of ways, they are the modern-day Earvin “Magic” Johnson of the Los Angeles Lakers and Larry Bird of the Boston Celtics, saviors of the league who transitioned into global ambassadors of basketball. Magic and Bird’s swan song was their presence on the 1992 Dream Team.

A James and Curry collaboration would be a dream. In his 21st season, James is averaging 25-7-7 on 58.6% from the field and 39.7% from 3-point range. Curry, in his 15th campaign, is averaging 25-4-5 on 45-40-95 splits. Imagine Curry and James finally using their talents collaboratively – two playmakers who understand spacing and situation, with Curry’s unlimited range combined with James’ timeless versatility.

What matters more than their stats is their cultural impact. They are impeccable both on and off the floor, exceptional family men with remarkable branding. A Curry-James pairing would dominate the media and demand the spotlight for weeks. The NBA trade deadline is Thursday, three days before the Super Bowl. Imagine the news of Curry going to the Lakers or James to the Warriors hitting practically hours before the big game. It would be a response to the NFL’s encroachment into the NBA’s Christmas Day games.

I can understand where folks might be sticklers on the specifics of a trade. The Warriors are in salary cap hell and currently don’t have any first-round picks in the 2024 draft. Their moves over the past few years are reflective of a franchise willing to mortgage the future to hang onto the memories of the past. Where Curry has been relatively patient with management, largely because they’ve kept their championship core, James has been historically impatient around the trade deadline, and offered a cryptic hourglass emoji on social media this week.

That didn’t stop me from completing a proposal in the NBA trade machine that sends James to the Golden State Warriors. The Lakers would get Klay Thompson, Jonathan Kuminga, Moses Moody, Brandin Podziemski, Trayce Jackson-Davis and Usman Garuba. In return, the Warriors would get James and D’Angelo Russell. Save for Thompson and his expiring contract, the pieces matter less than the principle. The Lakers would be looking to rebuild and the Warriors would be looking to pry open their window to contend.

For the Lakers, they get a starter, or perhaps even a star, in Kuminga. Moody, Podziemski and Jackson-Davis are solid pros. Golden State, which has struggled with the balance between retaining its championship core and integrating young talent, would finally solidify its commitment to the vets. Management essentially chose Draymond Green over Jordan Poole, even after the infamous punch at practice in October 2022. Except for Thompson going to Los Angeles — because you can’t spell Klay without L-A — Golden State would have four future (and aging) Hall of Famers on the roster with Curry, James, Green and Chris Paul.

Chief among the Warriors’ concerns is playing out Curry’s extended prime. Imagine adding James’ seemingly ageless talents to the mix. As much as it would hurt to break up Curry and Thompson, the Splash Brothers, combining the Hall of Fame talents for a compelling run or two at a ring would be worth it.

Golden State isn’t the only group committed to being old. Judging by the narratives that we share regarding the NBA, so are we.

Some of us don’t like the idea of NBA greats teaming up, even though the NBA was built on dynasties like the Lakers and the Celtics. For folks who complained about the modern-day team-ups with James and the Big Three on the Miami Heat and the former Curry-Durant collaboration, understand that for all their dominance, those experiments burned out relatively quickly. Ultimately, they were good for the game, even if they didn’t fit antiquated and inaccurate notions of bitter NBA rivalries. I mean, Magic and Detroit Pistons guard Isiah Thomas used to kiss each other on the cheek before they tried to tear each other’s hearts out on the court.

While NBA fans have complained about team-ups, All-Star games and lack of defense, they have missed the truth of the situation: The NBA’s next generation is here. After James and the Lakers eliminated Curry’s Warriors in a nip-and-tuck six-game playoff series in 2023, Nikola Jokić and the Denver Nuggets dispatched the Lakers in a 4-0 sweep. The Warriors won the title the year before, but only after Curry’s brilliance combined with a collapse from the younger Celtics. The NBA standings are being dominated by teams led with younger superstars, such as Jokić, Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, Anthony Edwards and Jayson Tatum, among many others.

The future is now. Or is it? That’s the question a James and Curry team-up would effectively answer. In my estimation, the choice is clear. We can either restore James and Curry to the high-level excitement that led to Mike Breen’s classic “Bang!” or the two can languish on bad teams as their careers tick down with a whimper.

“Yeah, really I don’t see color. My wife is Caucasian. My kids are mixed. I deal with Black, white,” Moore said. “I know it’s out there. I know it’s a stereotype. Coach [Jim] Harbaugh is a great example. His last offensive coordinators have all been African American, and that’s not something that’s big in this sport. For me, it’s not about color, it’s not about that, and we’re just trying to find the best players that play and know that that’s out there but not really worried about that.”

Of course Moore sees color – the second part of his answer is evidence of that. Sandwiched in his “colorblind” commentary is a bit about Harbaugh’s progressive hiring practices and how such diversity is lacking in college football. Even as Harbaugh left for the Los Angeles Chargers and Moore was promoted as Michigan’s head football coach, the individual success Moore experienced paled in comparison to the realities of college football.

Nearly two weeks before Moore’s promotion on Jan. 26, five iconic Michigan men’s basketball players met on campus for the first time in nearly 30 years on Jan. 15. The Fab Five rallied around their ailing brother, Michigan’s head basketball coach Juwan Howard. A hoodie worn by perhaps their most vocal and media-savvy member, Jalen Rose, had a message that captured the essence and defiance of the group: Black as Hail.

The University of Michigan looks like a bastion of progress. Its two highest revenue-generating athletic programs are led by Black men, and the athletic department itself is led by a Black man, Warde Manuel. This is consistent with Michigan’s liberal-minded history, as Samuel Codes Watson was the first student admitted to the university in 1853, more than a century before a number of colleges in the South integrated their campuses. It’s also worth mentioning that Watson, a native South Carolinian, passed for white. And yet, for close to 20 years, state legislation has disallowed the university from considering race- and gender-based policies in admissions and hiring.

In the unpredictability and celebrity of high-stakes college sports, we forget that athletics falls under the umbrella of higher education. The reasoning and culture behind the lack of Black college coaches is similar to the reasoning and culture behind disappearing diversity offices and initiatives across the country. What adds insult to injury is that those institutions continue to mine Black labor and talent as players while giving the lion’s share of taxpayer dollars to predominantly white coaches, who are often their state’s highest-paid employees. The message is clear: We value your bodies, but not your minds.

The resignation of Harvard University president Claudine Gay is perhaps the most recognizable dispute in diversity, equity and inclusion in recent memory, but that reminds me of the first Black student to earn a doctorate from Harvard, W.E.B. Du Bois, who introduced the term “double consciousness.” In his words, from The Souls of Black Folk:

“It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever feels his two-ness, – an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.”

Of course this is the plight of the Black college football coach – the Black professional. Back in August 2023, The Associated Press ran a piece about the lack of Black offensive coordinators in the sport, let alone head football coaches. Many Black coordinators are never promoted to head coach, which affects their finances and families. Some who aspire to become head coach at a major Division I program must take a step back to coordinator so they can advance.

In the last few weeks alone, coach Maurice Linguist left the University of Buffalo to become co-defensive coordinator and defensive back coach at Alabama and Willie Simmons left FCS school Florida A&M to become running backs coach at Duke. Both men have paid their dues. Simmons led the Rattlers from the embarrassment of an academic ineligibility saga to a Black college football national championship. Coincidentally, Linguist was on Harbaugh’s coaching roster in 2021, one of many stops during a career that has gone between the college ranks and the NFL.

Moore, the Michigan man. James Franklin of Penn State. Stan Drayton of Temple. Fran Brown of Syracuse. Lance Taylor of Western Michigan. Tony Elliott of Virginia. Deion Sanders of Colorado. Mike Locksley of Maryland. Derek Mason of Middle Tennessee. Marcus Freeman of Notre Dame. Kenni Burns of Kent State. Thomas Hammock of Northern Illinois. Jay Norvell of Colorado State. Charles Huff of Marshall. Ryan Walters of Purdue. Out of 133 FBS coaching jobs, Black men hold 15 of them. That’s it. That’s the list.

Harbaugh, no stranger to controversy in his own right, should be commended for his courage to speak up on race and his willingness to continue Black coaching hires. The NCAA and FBS athletic directors should have to answer for the lack of coaching diversity in their ranks. Too often, those questions are left to men such as Moore and Tampa Bay Buccaneers coach Todd Bowles, and while I don’t agree with their answers, I understand they are led by a double consciousness.

“I think the minute you guys stop making a big deal about [race], everybody else will as well,” Bowles said in October 2022 ahead of a coaching matchup with Pittsburgh Steelers coach Mike Tomlin.

He also mentioned then-Carolina Panthers coach Steve Wilks, one of just four Black NFL head coaches at the time. “Wilks got an opportunity to do a good job, hopefully he does it. We coach ball. We don’t look at color,” Bowles said. Wilks, who was fired after one year as the Panthers coach, is the defensive coordinator for the Super Bowl-bound San Francisco 49ers.

Race-neutral commentary is good for self-preservation and not much else. It isn’t helping Black coaches break through the glass ceiling, nor is it protecting quarterbacks like Milroe from racist perspectives on what a signal-caller should look like.

Without struggle, there is no progress, whether it’s the matter of getting a first down or being the first Black person to accomplish something. We just can’t afford to trivialize the ugly side of “first Black” achievements in 2024 – namely, the pervasive whiteness choking out diversity. 

Florida A&M’s National Alumni Association executive board passed “a vote of no confidence” on Wednesday evening in Fort Valley State University coach Shawn Gibbs, the potential successor to former Rattlers coach Willie Simmons. The board then passed a second vote of no confidence in Tiffani-Dawn Sykes, the university’s vice president and director of intercollegiate athletics. These actions pale in comparison with the embarrassment of the academic ineligibility saga that plagued the team in the fall of 2022.

For me, the low point of that episode in 2022 wasn’t a missed opportunity for standout edge rusher Isaiah Land to play against Power 5 competition in the University of North Carolina, or Florida A&M’s 59-3 loss to Jackson State University in the Orange Blossom Classic a week later. The low point was an exposé by The New York Times, with a headline that foreshadowed the “scandal” and “mismanagement” surrounding the team: For Florida A&M, Getting on the Field Is Just One of Many Problems.

In October 2022, a month after that article was published, Florida A&M announced the hiring of Sykes to her current position, her hyphenated name a harbinger for the dawn of a new era. The next calendar year, she and Simmons became the architects of a remarkable turnaround that yielded the school’s first Celebration Bowl title.

The goodwill created by game, along with Florida A&M’s deft use of the transfer portal at the expense of nearby Florida State University, has waned thanks to the ugliness that has surrounded the Rattlers’ coaching search. It is understandable players and alumni want familiarity in a future coach. What is particularly unfortunate is how the high stakes of college athletics have yielded a decided lack of grace.

The National Alumni Association executive board’s 19-1 vote of “no confidence” in Gibbs, along with the subsequent 18-3 vote of “no confidence” in Sykes, is jarring and not because of anything having to do with football. “No confidence” votes at Florida A&M will forever shake me because of the 29-month tenure of former university president Elmira Mangum, who took the reins in 2013 in the aftermath of the hazing death of Marching 100 band major Robert Champion in 2011, among other profound challenges. Her term ended in 2016, also because of petty politics.

When looking at the treatment of Sykes and the scrutiny of her decision-making, which some are correctly calling misogynistic and sexist, Mangum’s words seem prescient.

“Monday morning quarterbacking is always an option. It doesn’t affect the game,” Mangum told a reporter in 2015. “The decisions that were made in the time that they were made, I believed to be the best decisions.”

While I love sports and have worked as a journalist in this capacity for 20 years, I love historically Black colleges and universities even more. Our rabid desire to be “competitive” has infringed on our schools’ reputations for being spaces of concern and care. I certainly understand the irony of how important football revenues are to maintaining our institutions, but at what cost? Before he left to become running backs coach at Duke University, Simmons touted Florida A&M’s single-year Academic Progress Rate on social media, which was certainly admirable, as the APR numbers for HBCUs and Black athletes in general remain a point of concern.

There is a direct way to rectify a number of challenges that face our beloved institutions, at least those of the land-grant variety. We should take the ire from social media and boardrooms and direct it outward, toward the state governments that continue to underfund – no, steal – from our HBCU land-grant schools. 

I wrote in September our schools should be made whole and raised the question during the South Carolina legislative preview of the media on Monday. The response from state Sen. Greg Hembree, the South Carolina Senate education committee chairman, was less than encouraging. Not only did he contend the school under his purview, South Carolina State University, had not been underfunded but that because students had the option to attend the University of South Carolina and Clemson University, the mission of HBCUs “had been completed.”

There are the high stakes of sports, and then there are the highest stakes of keeping our schools in a position to thrive, not just survive. I believe Sykes understands this, which is why she doesn’t allow folks to play on Florida A&M’s name, evidenced by a quick-witted retort in response to comments made by rival Bethune-Cookman University’s administration during the Florida Classic luncheon. She also explained her reasoning for pulling out of the Orange Blossom Classic, which she did looking to ensure season ticket holders got the most bang for their buck.

It’s not difficult to see similarities in Sykes’ and Mangum’s tenures, with the obvious question of whether Sykes continues in her current capacity as director of intercollegiate athletics and vice president.

The collective decision to be family and not fanatics rests with those of us who profess to love our HBCU spaces. My hope is that we choose care and not capitalism.

This might sound like a concession in a world where athletes and analysts, journalists and jocks, are often at odds with one another, but I’m saying Wilson is better than me in Black vernacular. Wilson has been a reservoir of patience in spite of his prima donna coach, Sean Payton, who has seemingly had it out for the signal caller since his “stop f—ing kissing babies” bit in the offseason. After a season of outbursts and cheap shots, Payton handed Wilson a final indignity when he benched him ahead of the Broncos’ final two games, even with the team in (precarious) playoff position.

Certainly, the Denver quarterback’s on-the-field play from 2022 deserved scrutiny, but his public image? Pristine and certainly above reproach from a coach with ties to Bountygate. “Diva” might be an odd qualifier for a Super Bowl winning-coach such as Payton, but then I remember the foot-in-mouth moment regarding former Broncos coach Nathaniel Hackett and how it inspired the New York Jets to win a game for their beleaguered offensive coordinator. Meanwhile, folks seem to have no difficulty attacking the character of a Super Bowl winning-quarterback such as Wilson, whether it’s about his personality or an imaginary rivalry with rapper Future.

The slander has far exceeded Wilson’s accomplishments, and the casual disrespect of him and Black quarterbacks in general has gone on far too long. A graphic on an episode of “Get Up” recently reiterated why that ridicule is so senseless, as two of the three quarterbacks who were responsible for the highest percentage of their team’s touchdowns were Black – Wilson (84%) and Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Jalen Hurts (80%). Buffalo Bills quarterback Josh Allen was sandwiched in between them at 82%.

It was ironic to see a former Black quarterback who endured that aforementioned burden of responsibility interject himself into the conversation about a slew of modern-day QBs. Former Carolina Panthers quarterback Cam Newton filed the feats of Dallas’ Dak Prescott, Detroit’s Jared Goff, Miami’s Tua Tagovailoa and San Francisco’s Brock Purdy under the work of “game managers.” What resulted, quite naturally, was casual disrespect – about Newton’s clothes, his body of work as a Panther, and so on.

As a Carolina native, I watched almost every second of Newton’s career in black and blue, from his 4,000-yard passing season as a rookie to the heartbreaking campaign in 2018 essentially ended when Pittsburgh Steelers’ linebacker T.J. Watt wrecked his shoulder. Respectfully, we don’t count what happened in 2021.

There have been two times, to my knowledge, where Newton seemed profoundly unsure – the misbegotten fumble that he hesitated to recover in the Super Bowl, and the subsequent GQ interview in the offseason where he was unfortunately neutral on race, a far cry from the brotha who said he was an “African-American quarterback that scares people because they haven’t seen nothing that they can compare me to.”

Of course, Newton’s response to casual disrespect would be cogent – he’s used to the slander. They called him “Scam Newton” in college.

“Address the point that I made, not me,” Newton said in a video that went viral on social media. “And oftentimes that happens in regards to athletes trying to make their point.”

Newton’s perspective comes from lived experience, of being the face of a franchise which botched the contract situations of a number of fan favorites, including Steve Smith. I have been that fan who wondered loudly about the failure of football franchises to build around their Black stars under center and suggested it was sabotage. I could only go off of my lived experiences of systemic racism and how Black men have been treated in the workplace.

I see a lot of Br’er Rabbit in Cam Newton and the Black quarterback. While brothas like Newton and Hurts are physically talented and profoundly strong, the idea of the Black quarterback still exists in the realm of underdog. Br’er, or Brother Rabbit, is a figure from African folklore which made its way to the states the same way many Black folks did – through the transatlantic slave trade. One encyclopedia describes the story this way:

The character’s adventures embody an idea considered to be a universal creation among oppressed peoples — that a small, weak, but ingenious force can overcome a larger, stronger, but dull-witted power.

Under Armour did a spot with Newton back in 2016 that tapped into the rabbit mythology, with a harrowing introduction from a female narrator: “All the world will be your enemy, prince with a thousand enemies.” It was an excerpt from Watership Down, a 1972 adventure novel about survival written by English author Richard Adams. The entirety of the dialogue is a conversation between gods and men, about power and control.

“Jalen Hurts is admired and beloved here, but Brock Purdy would be a god in Philadelphia. A god,” Philadelphia Inquirer columnist Mike Sielski wrote earlier this month, and the backlash was inevitable. He insisted that he was only noting Purdy’s underdog past, but there’s a bigger rags-to-riches story here, Hurts’ own path notwithstanding – the journey of the Black quarterback from myth to reality.

Even with the success of Patrick Mahomes, and the rise of brothas at the signal-caller position, the rest of the story is still rife with uncertainty. Think of Justin Fields in Chicago, and the possibility that he might be moved so that the Bears can take another brotha in that spot. Caleb Williams? Jayden Daniels? Prescott’s backup in Dallas is a young brotha named Trey Lance, who was taken third in the NFL draft only two years ago. Dak is garnering MVP votes now, but drama with the Cowboys is never too far from being the theater of the absurd.

There is a standard-bearer in Baltimore now, an indomitable force on offense in a town known for its defensive greats. Lamar Jackson is the closest to Br’er Rabbit, his savvy, speech and swagger. They tried to divert him away from quarterback at Louisville, but his mom wasn’t having it, and it was clear that he got his game off the field from his momma. When he won the Heisman, Bill Polian infamously said Jackson should switch to wide receiver.

Oh.

After Jackson and Baltimore dispatched of the San Francisco 49ers on Christmas Day, Ravens head coach John Harbaugh declared his choice for MVP – his superstar quarterback. Social media, meanwhile, took aim at teams such as the Panthers and Atlanta Falcons – the once and forever home of Michael Vick – for “colluding” with other NFL franchises that didn’t pursue Jackson during tenuous contract negotiations with the Ravens earlier this year.

“Make your apology as loud as the disrespect” is another beautiful phrase in the Black vernacular. But the most compelling thing about the likes of Jackson, Newton and the other game changers is simple – they never sliced through casual disrespect with their words. They stared the impossible standard in the eye, and in the tradition of Warren Moon and Randall Cunningham, Super Bowl be damned, carved themselves into an indisputable mythology devoid of stereotypes.

We don’t know for sure whether James’ decision to wear a hoodie during his news conference Wednesday before the semifinals of the inaugural NBA in-season tournament was intentional or incidental.

His words, however? Quite deliberate.

“It just goes back to what I said before about guns in America. I think it’s such a longer conversation, but we keep dealing with the same story, this same conversation every single time it happens, and it just continues to happen,” James said. “The ability to get a gun, the ability to do these things over and over and over, and there’s been no change is literally ridiculous. It makes no sense that we continue to lose innocent lives, on campuses, schools, at shopping markets and movie theaters and all types of stuff. It’s ridiculous.”

I don’t have to imagine where James’ mind went as he expressed his angst with our government’s inaction on gun laws just three miles from a mass shooting at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas on Wednesday that left three people dead and one injured. In July 2022, my wife and I went to Vegas for my 39th birthday. We caught the first show of singer Usher’s residency, among other amazing sights on the Las Vegas Strip. I’ll never forget our return to the hotel on the penultimate night of our trip. I hopped out of our Lyft and opened the double doors to the hotel and discovered a mob running in our direction.

“Shooter!” one of them yelled. My wife and I, among many others, ran for our lives. Just the day before, we had passed a host of familiar hotels as tourists – the Park MGM, the Bellagio, Caesars Palace. That night, we hurried past them in terror, hoping to find a safe haven. As it turned out, it was a false alarm, but the fears of hotel guests were certainly justified after the mass shooting in 2017 in which 58 people were killed and more than 850 wounded in Vegas, the deadliest by a single gunman in modern U.S. history. I thought about a lot during that nightmarish run through the night, when I protected my wife and wondered whether I would see my kids again.

With a lifetime of experiences on the basketball court and in business, James recently reminded us of his priorities – “family over everything” was how he put it. He didn’t say it explicitly, but seeing another shooting on a college campus, with his oldest son at USC, had to be unnerving.

The temptation to be cynical when it comes to James – or any celebrity for that matter – is always present. James’ clarifications of his tweets about China and his delayed response in the aftermath of the 2012 slaying of 12-year-old Tamir Rice in Cleveland by a police officer were understandably criticized. And yet, even though we as a society prioritize celebrity to a fault, the words of James are far from trite, particularly about gun safety and policy.

It is a long-standing issue, as evidenced by a campaign that the NBA participated in almost 10 years ago. Golden State Warriors guards Stephen Curry and Chris Paul, along with NBA superstar Carmelo Anthony lent their voices in 2015 to ads for Everytown For Gun Safety, a campaign that put them at odds with the National Rifle Association. NBA officials said at the time that the ads were not intended to be political, but informational.

“The public service announcement airing during our Christmas Day games highlights victims’ and a few of our players’ experiences with gun violence and is solely intended to raise awareness about the issue of personal safety in our communities,” Mike Bass, the NBA’s chief spokesman, told The New York Times.

It’s certainly cynical to call commentaries on gun violence low-hanging fruit when there are reports that America has broken its own sordid record on mass shootings in a year, which didn’t include the Las Vegas slayings on Wednesday. Detractors will try to muddy the waters with conservative trolling or the mention of Memphis Grizzlies star Ja Morant’s behavior. The conscientiousness and star power of a humanitarian who founded a public school cuts through the noise.

I’ve watched cynicism manifest itself into political paralysis over the past few years. People have made dangerous concessions regarding gun violence, police brutality and civil rights. There are certainly limits to even the luminous power of James, but I see no such limitations on the power of the people.

We must meet mass shootings with mass movements, and the King’s words are a necessary reminder of the urgency of the moment.

“I’m going to protect my players — always. They are like a family,” Mulkey said. “Those kids are like my children and I’m not going to tell you what you don’t need to know, and that’s just the way I address things.”

Some called Mulkey’s commentary “cryptic,” but, like her flashy fashion choices, her words were deliberate. Sure, the reasons Reese has been absent from the floor the last four games are unclear, but one thing is for certain. Mulkey craves — and crudely commands — the spotlight.

With fans and media alike trying to make sense of the infighting among the defending national champion Lady Tigers while the coach remains mum, one question continues to bubble up to the surface. Why would anyone want to play for Kim Mulkey?

After LSU won the national championship earlier this year, queendom was in question. Reese asserted herself as the “Bayou Barbie,” and prosperity through selling name, image and likeness rights soon followed. Who were the biggest stars in the Louisiana sky? Reese and her teammate Flau’jae Johnson flourished, and for a brief time, were more prominent than their accomplished coach. Reese’s $1.7 million NIL valuation has been used recently with the intent to discredit her, but no such rhetoric has followed Mulkey and her contract, which exceeds $30 million.

Neither LSU’s team — nor little else in college athletics — represents the ideal of family. That rosy conception cultivates an environment in which everyone can succeed. Some might look at LSU’s disarray behind the scenes and attribute it to the trappings of success. I attribute it to the nature of business, where cutthroat dealings are seen as necessary.

Two years ago, the Harvard Business Review published a commentary about The Toxic Effects Of Branding Your Workplace A ‘Family.’ The entirety of the read was compelling, but one particular phrase reminded me of college sports: “A power dynamic is created where employees get taken advantage of.”

At the head of women’s basketball in Tigers Country is a leader with a history of callousness. Before Reese was sent to the bench, there was the discarding of Brittney Griner — as a college player over her sexual orientation and then her freedom after her detainment in Russia as a pro player.

“It was a recruiting thing,” Griner said of the reason players were told not to speak out publicly about their sexuality during her time at Baylor. “The coaches thought that if it seemed like they condoned it, people wouldn’t let their kids come play for Baylor.”

Silence as consent was Mulkey’s code then, and it was also her mode of operation during Griner’s imprisonment in Russia. The coach’s refusal to speak up was heavily criticized including being called “cruel and evil” by women’s soccer icon Megan Rapinoe.

After LSU’s win over Southeastern Louisiana on Nov. 17, a noticeably sick Mulkey put her beliefs about COVID testing on full display:

“I ain’t a sissy. I don’t have allergies,” Mulkey said. “I’ve got some kind of cold. It might be COVID, but I ain’t testing. It’s sinuses. I don’t know what you call it — allergies, flu, I don’t know. So, if y’all get the flu, blame me during Thanksgiving.”

There hasn’t been such a deliberate disregard of COVID protocols since Rudy Gobert was a member of the Utah Jazz. It’s a disconcerting level of privilege to think that COVID testing is beneath her, but this is a part of the Mulkey ethos. From the players to the professional journalists – how did rapper Nicki Minaj put one of the refrains of “Did It On ’Em”?

That’s right. “All these b—-es is my sons.” Wait, let me clean that up. “Those kids are like my children.”

We want to say that coaches with a history of cruelty, like Mulkey and the late Bob Knight, have a complicated history. “Complicated” is the word folks choose when they choose winning over decency and decorum.

Her conservatism, like her sequined outfits, are tailor-made for college athletics. Depending on one’s political preference, the tagline of “MAGA Mulkey” is seen as either a badge of honor or an indictment. However you feel about masking or medical testing, though, Mulkey’s disregard for the rules offers a perspective into a world that subjugates labor and exalts those in authority.

By definition, it’s sociopathy — a disregard for people’s well-being. This happens a lot in sports, but we disregard it because the currency that matters in competition is winning. Why would anyone want to play for Mulkey? Because she wins basketball games. This is the beginning of her third campaign in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and she doesn’t have double-digit losses.

Because the path to the pros in women’s basketball is so narrow, coaches such as Mulkey are seen as a ticket to the promised land. Just last season, she had the top-ranked recruiting class in the sport, though some of the credit for LSU’s loaded roster should go to Reese.

What’s lost in the victories, however, is the damage done to young people. Aside from how she treated Griner, Mulkey also recklessly defended Baylor, her former school, in the midst of allegations of rampant sexual assault.

“If somebody’s around you and they ever say, ‘I will never send my daughter to Baylor,’ you knock them right in the face,” she said in 2017. Her comments later were even more insensitive: “I work here every day. I’m in the know. And I’m tired of hearing it. The problems that we have at Baylor are no different than the problems at any other school in America. Period. Move on. Find another story to write.”

That smirk on her face as she ended her news conference Nov. 20 hid an ugly truth — the system is designed to protect her, and she carries herself in that knowledge.

“This is college. This is college. This is college athletics,” Mulkey said. “No matter what the NIL, no matter what they do in [the] pros, this is college.”

She’s saying the quiet part out loud. The state pays her well to herd top-tier college athletes like cattle and control them as she sees fit.

Her behavior, often controversial, has been allowed for decades. Why in the world would she stop now?