Coach Dave has posted a new column! Rockin’! Let’s read it:
I grew up prejudiced. Iâ€™m not ashamed to admit it. My dad was a country boy, and my mom was raised much the same. I donâ€™t know if either of them ever personally knew a black person. My dad was always telling us â€œblackâ€? jokes, subtlety explaining that they were inferior, even though he had no first-hand information.
“It’s only right to call blacks inferior if you’ve carefully studied them, just like that Charles Murray fella with his book For Whom the Bell Curves.”
Iâ€™ll never forget the first time I ever saw Dad interact with a black man. I was about ten and we were fishing in a public lake. There were a few â€œNegroesâ€? (thatâ€™s what we called them outside our home–the nice version of what Dad called them in our home) fishing near us and they noticed that we were catching a lot more fish than they were.
“‘See?’ my daddy said. ‘Told ya they couldn’t do nothin’ right.’”
â€œHey,â€? One of the black men yelled to my dad. â€œWhat you usinâ€™ for bait?â€?
I stood stunned as Dad walked over to the â€œNegroâ€? and showed him the dough-ball we had made out of Dadâ€™s special recipe.
“One part flour, two parts water, fifteen parts whiskey…”
Dad gave the man a wad of it and showed him how to put it on the hook. To our delight, the old boy (thatâ€™s what Dad called him later) started hookinâ€™ some catfish.
“Dad always had a way of givin’ out cute nicknames to the ‘Negroes.’ There was this one ‘Negro’ who worked as a janitor at the local hardware place that Daddy called ‘Darky McBlack.’ He was such a hoot.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon cheering each other on.
As we walked away from the fishinâ€™ hole, Dad stopped and gave the man all of the fish we had caught. He told the man that he didnâ€™t want to clean â€˜em!
On the way home I asked him why he had given away our fish.
â€œWell Dave,â€? Dad said. â€œMost of those blacks are poor and they have lots of kids. He probably could use the extra fish for his family.â€?
“My dad sure thought ‘Negroes’ were stupid, but I’ll be damned if he didn’t have a good heart.”
Dad had seven mouths to feed, but felt sorry for this black man he had never seen before.
We cooked hot dogs on the grill that night. My dad was prejudiced, but he wasnâ€™t a bigot.
I used to tell â€œWest Virginian” jokes. Those were the only real â€œdumbâ€? people we sophisticated Ohio boys had ever heard about. (If you get a divorce in West Virginia, are you still brother and sister?) It was funny. It made us laugh. Although we said unkind things behind closed doors, our parents made sure we never treated anyone with disrespect in public.
“It’s OK to hate folks, just don’t go public with it.” Jesus would be proud.
When will we come to understand that your character is revealed by what you do, not by what you think?
Get a few beers in me, (I donâ€™t drink anymore) and all of a sudden the booze would start repeating things I had heard decades ago. It is hard to get away from learned stereotypes, especially when you are sauced-up. Who hasnâ€™t said something he regretted later? Loose lips, sink ships.
Hereâ€™s the way I see it. Mel Gibson got drunk and the booze started talking.
Whoa, how the hell did we get onto Mel Gibson? Coach Dave, I think you need to learn the art of transitioning a wee bit better.
To me the lack of character was revealed by how much he drank, not by what he said. â€œOut of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.â€? (Matt 12:34) There’s lotâ€™s of evil stuff lurking in our hearts and sometimes booze loosens the lips. Gibson said some offensive things, but he didnâ€™t harm anyone.
Letâ€™s face facts. There is a strong Jewish influence in Hollywierd. When was the last nice movie they made about Christianity?
Here’s a pictoral conception of Coach Dave’s column so far:
The loony left is always calling us names. I donâ€™t demand an apology from them. Thoughts donâ€™t scare me, but actions do!
I donâ€™t care what they think or say about me! As my dad always said, â€œItâ€™s a free country.â€? Then, Mom would encourage me with that familiar ditty, “Sticks and stones my break my bones, but words can never harm me!”
“Also, ‘A stitch in time saves nine!’ And ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child!’ How many more childhood clichÃ©s can I haul out?!”
No, what someone says about me rolls of my back. What scares me is the guy who says he likes me, but spends all of his time trying to bring me down.
Sort of like the NEA. They SAY they are for education, but really, they are for teachers.
For those of you keeping score at home, we’ve just gone from black people to Mel Gibson to teachers’ unions, all in the span of a few paragraphs.
If there’s a point to this column, Bradrocket ain’t seein’ it.
It wasnâ€™t until I became a coach that I really began to work with blacks.
Ooop, and now we’re back to black people. Coach Dave, I think you could have saved yourself a lot of time writing this column if you’d just typed “GAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! COCKROACHES AND BULGARIANS ARE SURROUNDING ME, MAX!!” and clicked “Publish.” It’d get your basic ideas across with a lot fewer words.
Some of my greatest players were black.
“And they could dance like nobody’s business too!”
They made me look really good. Funny thing is, because of the way I was raised, I always gave the black kids a little break. I remembered that my dad had told me that blacks had a harder life. I knew football was the only chance some of them had to make it out of the projects. My dadâ€™s prejudice taught me that. I turned his prejudice into compassion.
I… man… wow.
Above: The steps Coach Dave made his “Negro” players sprint up in practice.
Well, that’s about all the Coach Dave I can handle for today. You can read the rest of the piece yourself if you want to know what it’s like to be infested with brain parasites. As for me, I’m off to do something marginally more useful.