Linsanity’s Yellow Peril

This headline on ESPN's mobile website was removed.

During the hours before the “chink” references at ESPN, I was convinced that many Asian Americans were willing to overlook Floyd Mayweather, Jason Whitlock, the New York Post’s “Amasian,” and myriad other public indignities in order to experience something so joyous and so spectacularly surprising as Jeremy Lin that even we, the people who are like him, have been conditioned to never have expected it.

Less than a week ago, in trying to explain what Lin means to Asian Americans, I wrote on ESPN.com that his feel-good run in the NBA would be a test of ”an Asian American’s ability to take the bad with the overwhelming good.”

We couldn’t be allowed to have even a fleeting, rapturous moment without the bad-good equation being utterly turned on its head by such a torrent of racially motivated indignation and political-correctness backlash that feels, in some ways, like open season has been declared on Asian Americans. I feel stupid and ashamed, true to my cultural conditioning, I suppose, that I ignored the reality of living in HaterNation, a place where the meek are allowed to rise because the mighty so enjoys shooting them full of holes during the inevitable fall. The past few days have taken us beyond that.

That “Chink in the Armor” happened is so unbelievable to me, it still feels like a bad dream. But it wasn’t the end of Linsanity; it hasn’t even been the worst part. Americans who are not of Asian descent are hijacking the discussion of how Asian Americans would like to be talked about, and that is the real kick in the groin.
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Carl Ervin and a Point Guard’s Vision

Carl Ervin once wrote in my Cleveland High School yearbook, “Thanks for making me famous.”

The late Carl Ervin, with his daughter Karlee and wife Penny, at his Seattle U. Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

Over the years, I tried to argue with Erv that it was quite the other way around. But he loved to debate, and I figured that one day we’d be rocking on a porch having the same discussion over and over again.

But that’s not happening. Erv, one of the greatest high-school basketball players I’ve ever seen, lost a battle on Saturday with pancreatic cancer that I didn’t even know he was waging. Which is funny to say because we talked on the phone. And even at the beginning of the year he was lobbying me to attend the banner-hanging and jersey retirement ceremony at our alma mater.

I couldn’t attend because of personal matters and work obligations that now seem so trivial. Erv was relentless, but not once did he say, “Dude, I’m sick, you need to come.” Instead, Erv, the master facilitator and leader, said, “Man, you were as big a part of this as anyone.”
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‘When You’re a Freak, Freaky Things Happen to You’

The headline to this post is one of the greatest lines ever uttered to me during an interview. You probably don’t even have to guess from whom it came.

Shaq-Fu

Shaq: "When you're a freak, freaky things happen."

I could go on a Shaqilicious rampage here, but I had my time and so did Shaquille O’Neal. Since he announced his retirement from pro ball, appropriately enough on Twitter, there already has been much written about his place in NBA history and his abundant nicknames. I just wanted to drop a few personal memories and acknowledge that it required Shaq’s retirement to prod me out of my mini-retirement from the blogosphere.

Way back when I was still a newspaper writer, I wrote a large piece about Shaq as an emerging crossover star (see Welcome to ShaqWorld). He hadn’t even won his first NBA title, though he’d dropped his first recorded verse and filmed an ill-fated movie. This was during a time when a writer could earn big-time access to superstars, and I hung around him for a few days in El-Lay.
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Newspaper Essentials for the iPad

Though I will be perfectly happy to run current and enhanced applications on a new Apple tablet device with a higher-resolution, 10-inch color screen that will read multiple finger swipes and be tethered to the Internet, like many of my ilk, I will be most interested in its impact on journalism – more specifically, the newspaper industry. Coupled with the iTunes retailing environment, the iPad, should enable newspapers to easily and more reliable charge for content. But it will be up to the print-publishing industry (lets include magazines) to generate the kind of compelling content for which digital-generation consumers will pay.

One imagined version of the Apple tablet

I’ve tried out many of the newspaper and magazine readers for the iPhone and have to say The New York Times comes closest to getting it right. It is fast, and intuitive to navigate (via headlines and categories), updates as news breaks and includes images. Stupidly, almost no other newspaper does the latter. I travel considerably and consume newspapers religiously. I cannot tell you how many “photo projects” I’ve seen in recent months that lost their impact because the photos were published out of register (color plates are not lined up, producing a “ghosting” effect). The Internet is where photos go and can be viewed at their heavenly best.

I hope it goes almost without saying that newspapers on an iPad must constantly be updated. Gone are the days when one, two or three editions of a paper and published and the day is done. Because of the Web, news cycles now are 24/7. This would be a starting point for me to even consider installing a newspaper app – for free – on my new device. Otherwise, I’m happy with the NYT (I’m a print subscriber which probably means I will be grandfathered into any new, digital offerings) and excellent news apps from the Associated Press, CNN and National Public Radio (NPR).
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Gone, but Hardly Muted

It’s just occurred to me that I listened to Bob Blackburn during the 25 most formative years of my life. I first listened to him for 15 years on the radio, delivering an almost nightly Sonic serenade, mostly in the dark, on my scratchy transistor radio. I then was a captured audience during my first 10 years as a sportwriter, during which Bob was a travel and dinner companion, and tennis partner on the long and long-winded NBA road.

Bob Blackburn, 1924-2010

Man, the guy could talk. It’s difficult to fathom The Voice silenced. Not even death, which came to Bob Blackburn today, Jan. 7, 2010, could muzzle him. I mean, as I contemplate and grieve his passing, Bob’s voice, clear as a bell, comes flooding back, describing Bob “The Golden” Rule’s 47 rookie points so vividly I almost think I actually was there. Or like I was in Washington, D.C., when Gus Williams threw the ball way up in the air and Les Habegger did the “Habegger Hop” after the Sonics won the 1979 NBA championship. Bob was the reason I ran out to my porch that day to listen to what seemed like the entire city of Seattle honking its horns in celebration.
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