|November 6th, 2008||#1|
ESPN: Egregious Semites Pumping Niggers
Diversity study: Number of black coaches lowest in 15 years
November 6, 2008
ORLANDO, Fla. -- Days after the election of the country's first black president, a study shows the number of African-American coaches in major college football is the lowest in 15 years.
With the recent dismissals of Ty Willingham at Washington and Ron Prince at Kansas State, the number of black head coaches in the 119-school NCAA Football Bowl Subdivision was reduced to four. [ESPN jews complained endlessly that racist Notre Dame didn't give Ty the full five years. Now the dismissed jig has failed again, this time at Washington. Is Washington racist too?]
In 1997, there were eight black head coaches, the most in history. In 1993, there were only three.
Fifty-five percent of all student athletes are minorities. [Why is the percentage of whites so low? Why doesn't ESPN make an issue of it? Why does ESPN assume that racism explains the low percentage of black coaches but not white athletes?]
The report by The Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sport at the University of Central Florida polled every major college on the ethnicity of its coaches, athletic directors, presidents, faculty, student athletes and NCAA faculty representatives.
"While the percentages are slightly better, the general picture is still one of white men running college sport," said Richard Lapchick, the report's co-author. "Overall, the numbers simply do not reflect the diversity of our student-athletes. Moreover, they do not reflect the diversity of our nation where we have elected an African-American as President for the first time."
The report also looked at university leadership, including presidents and athletic directors. Ninety-one percent are white. Minority representation in all positions increased less than 1 percent last year.
Charlotte Westerhaus, NCAA vice president for diversity and inclusion, said she was disappointed in the figures, particularly considering the election.
"This moment on Tuesday reflected the best of our country," Westerhaus said. "Our country showed the will and the way. We have to do the same."
Lapchick has asked the NCAA to adopt a rule to mandate that minorities be interviewed for head coaching jobs. Calling it the "Eddie Robinson Rule," in reference to the record-setting Grambling coach, Lapchick said it would be a college version of the NFL's Rooney Rule. The NFL sanctions teams that do not interview a minority candidate.
Westerhaus said the Rooney Rule is in practice, if not rule.
"The vast majority of institutions interviewed coaches of color," she said. "It think it's 90 percent. We're doing some of the things the Rooney Rule calls for. What's disappointing is the hiring doesn't reflect that."
Last season, 30 percent of the candidates interviewed for 22 openings were minorities. Two were hired.
Since 1996, 12 black coaches have been hired for 199 jobs. The only black head coaches currently set to finish the season are Miami's Randy Shannon, Mississippi State's Sylvester Croom, Buffalo's Turner Gill and Houston's Kevin Sumlin. Florida International is coached by Mario Cristobal, a Hispanic, and Navy coach Ken Niumatalolo is Samoan.
Staffers for Michigan coach Rich Rodriguez told surveyors he is not Hispanic.
David Czesniuk of the Center for the Study of Sports in Society at Northeastern University, a program Lapchick founded, said he was struck by who controlled the money.
"What stood out to me, is that in the biggest component of dollars in college football is the BCS, and every single commissioner of a BCS conference is a white male," Czesniuk said.
Lapchick said the election of Barack Obama -- a big sports fan -- will have an influence.
"His presidency will get people's attention, whether or not he gets involved," he said. "People will wonder: How can we have an African-American president and the lowest number of coaches in 15 years?"
Copyright 2008 by The Associated Press
[There are no more than 120 head coaches in division one; but there are thousands of spots for athletes. There is no logical reason for ESPN/AP's assumptions, they can be explained only by political bias, namely, that wherever Whites are driven out, things are proceeding as they should; wherever whites dominate lies racism that must be exposed and expunged.]
|November 6th, 2008||#2|
Pussy BŁnd "Commander"
Join Date: Aug 2007
Location: land of the Friedman, home of the Braverman
Yet most of those kids are never deemed good enough to get a full ride at a division 1-A school!
Worse than a million megaHitlers all smushed together.
|November 7th, 2008||#3|
Join Date: Oct 2008
This is probably going to be the start of a new trend around the world. These people are a "minority" but want to be plastered everywhere as if they own everything. Once again, only dumb goyims would, when they outnumber (in their own countries) these nogs, hand over their power.
|November 7th, 2008||#4|
Join Date: Mar 2006
Location: JUDEAware, originally MassaJEWsetts
You look at all the commentators of ESPN. They all compose of Sheenies and Niggers. Now, I guess there is no racism there ...
|November 14th, 2008||#5|
Number of African-American coaches remains unconscionable
By Gene Wojciechowski
Updated: November 13, 2008, 5:37 PM ET
Let me guess: You never saw the story. Or if you saw it, you didn't care. Or if you did care, you don't know what can be done about one of the most depressing numbers in major college football.
That's it. Four African-American head football coaches out of 119 Football Bowl Subdivision programs, the lowest total since 1993 and 2005. It used to be six -- whoo-ee! -- but that was before Washington pink-slipped Tyrone Willingham and Kansas State pulled the rip cord on Ron Prince's purple parachute in recent weeks.
Do the math. Four out of 119 equals 3.36 percent (120 schools were studied, including one transitioning into FBS). That's less than you tip the worst waitress in the world. Now compare that to the other numbers published in a recent study by the Institute for Diversity and Ethics in Sports at the University of Central Florida:
• 54 percent of FBS players are minorities (50 percent of those African-American).
• 5.04 percent of FBS head coaches are minorities.
• 92.5 percent of FBS university presidents, 87.5 percent of FBS athletic directors and 100 percent of FBS conference commissioners are white.
Nothing changes. The numbers fluctuate slightly from year to year, but the simple, numbing fact remains that African-Americans still can't punch a hole through the turf ceiling. They're good enough to play the game, good enough to become offensive and defensive coordinators (31 of 255), good enough to become assistant coaches (312 of 1,018), but not good enough to become head coaches?
"Give us an opportunity and an open mind," says Turner Gill, the third-year head coach at the University of Buffalo. "That's all we ask."
Buffalo coach Turner Gill is one of four African-American coaches remaining.
Gill is one of the surviving four. There's him, Mississippi State's Sylvester Croom, Houston's Kevin Sumlin and Miami's Randy Shannon.
The proud. The too few.
"I agree with you on that," Gill said.
According to the recent study, co-authored by longtime diversity watchdog Richard Lapchick, there have been 199 available head coaching jobs since 1996. Only 12 of those jobs have gone to African-American candidates. This despite the ongoing efforts of the Black Coaches Association, the 1-A Athletic Directors' Association, Lapchick and, to some extent, NCAA president Myles Brand.
"I guess, sadly, the numbers have been prevalent for so long, the issue has been out there so much, that people are almost callous," said Buffalo athletic director Warde Manuel, who hired Gill before the 2006 season.
He's right. The numbers have meaning, but they don't. We see them, we shake our heads, and then we turn to the NFL box scores to see how Drew Brees did in our fantasy league. It's old news. Or more correctly, it's the same news.
Nearly 20 years ago, then-Georgetown basketball coach John Thompson walked off the court before a game in protest of NCAA legislation -- Prop 42 -- that would prohibit partial academic qualifiers from receiving athletic scholarships. But here's the thing: Thompson has caused the anti-Prop 42 movement to reach critical mass. The legislation was overturned a year after its passage.
"If you feel something is wrong, you act on it," said Thompson, now a radio and TV commentator.
Just four African-American head football coaches is wrong. It's wrong because, admit or not, the unspoken rules seem to be different for minority coaches.
Facts are facts. Willingham is the first and only Notre Dame football coach in the modern era to be fired before the completion of his five-year contract. His successor, Charlie Weis, had exactly one more victory than Willingham after three seasons. Willingham got canned. After seven games at South Bend, Weis got a contract extension that runs through 2015. Meanwhile, Prince "resigned" before the end of his third season at K-State.
The trickle-down effect is that skittish university presidents and athletic directors can use those failures as an excuse not to hire minority head coaches. It happens, too.
I struggle with the why, to be honest. Why this is going on as long as it has. Why people who are coordinators in successful programs haven't had a chance to be a head coach, while others with less accolades, less records, get these jobs.
--Buffalo athletic director Warde Manuel
"If a white person is not successful in a particular position, that doesn't mean another white person would not be successful," said Manuel, who happens to be African-American. He added: "I struggle with the why, to be honest. Why this is going on as long as it has. Why people who are coordinators in successful programs haven't had a chance to be a head coach, while others with less accolades, less records, get these jobs."
Why? Because it's safer. Because there's less blowback from university presidents, trustees, donors and friends of the program.
"I've always said that good white folks are reluctant at times to break the mold because of the pressures that are put on them," Thompson said. "They may feel a little freer to do the right thing now that we have a president of color. With [Barack] Obama going in, I'm just hoping that's the case. It gives them permission to do the right thing."
Gill inherited one of the worst programs in major college football. Before he arrived, the Bulls had won only 10 of their previous 79 games. Under Gill, they've won 12 of their last 33, are 5-4 this season, and could become bowl eligible with a victory at Akron on Thursday night. His success could lead to a more high-profile job, as well as create more opportunities for minority candidates. As it is, he gets occasional requests from other coaches asking for advice.
"All you do is share your experience," he said. "I tell them, 'You've got to do your best job there. That is all you can do.'"
You can also do what Thompson did. You can draw a line in that turf and say, "No more." You can make a stand, make noise and perhaps make a difference.
But Thompson, says Manuel, was a national and international basketball figure. He had larger-than-life stature and credibility, thanks partly to his NCAA championship in 1984. For a minority football coach to walk off a playing field in protest of hiring practices might not carry the same weight.
Thompson isn't buying it.
"Next time you talk to him," said Thompson, his deep voice softening, "you tell him John Thompson said he was glad Rosa Parks didn't feel that way. She didn't have to be Dr. King. She didn't have to be Malcolm X or Jesse Jackson. She was just tired."
We should feel the same way. Not callous, but tired. Tired of 3.36 percent.
Gene Wojciechowski is the senior national columnist for ESPN.com. You can contact him at email@example.com.
|November 14th, 2008||#6|
Join Date: Dec 2003
"his deep voice softening" What the fuck kind of writing is that? By a man, no less. These people who care about pro sports so much, and write about it with deep emotion, strike me as queers masquerading as mainstream, kind of like faggot and pedo priests.
The country is going bankrupt -- I sure hope "pro" sports goes bankrupt too. I tell people to forget pro sports and support their local high school team . . . if it's a White town.
Godzilla mit uns!
|November 14th, 2008||#7|
Join Date: Mar 2008
Blog Entries: 1
his deep voice softening as i saw his shitskined muscles rippling through the tight expanse of his jersey. his swollen ebony lips, and his sultry jive tone swept me away. it was then and there he had made me feel like I was the only reporter that mattered, the only reporter that existed.
ANYHOO. About the article. Are they stupid? Or can they just not accept the fact that most niggers don't have strategic minds therefore none of them are fit to take the job?
I guarantee you for those 4 or 5 nigger coaches they've got. I bet they have 20 white coaches that didn't get hired, and any one of them would be more fit for the job.
|November 14th, 2008||#8|
We're the Good Guys
Join Date: May 2005
Location: Pediatric Burn Unit
Coaches generally have to be intelligent. That rules out 99% of the niggers.
Life's so simple sometimes.
|November 21st, 2008||#9|
[Another race piece from ESPN, celebrating the heroic Buffalo team for refusing a bowl invitation back in 1958 because the Southern location didn't want any niggers and they had a couple on their team.
WN waste time talking about IQ - the battle is drawn over the morality of discrimination. Flesh must be put on our principles. Our opponents, the jews and semitically correct liberals, shriek eternal over the horror of niggers denied food and roost. We shriek eternal over humans raped murdered lives destroyed by niggers. Which is more equal than the other? Why, that depends on the size of your satellite uplink. Fight the kike by bringing out the side of the story he suppresses - make it bloodier and louder than he can. ]
All or Nothing
In 1958, the University of Buffalo football team won eight of nine regular-season games and was awarded the Lambert Cup as the best small-school program in the eastern United States. Team co-captains Nick Bottini and Lou Reale received the trophy during a Sunday night broadcast of "The Ed Sullivan Show" and dined that evening in Manhattan's famous Toots Shor's Restaurant.
Days later, the Bulls were invited to face Florida State in the 13th annual Tangerine Bowl in Orlando, Fla. -- still the school's only bowl bid in 102 years of football.
In anticipation of their trip south, players were measured for new sport coats at The Kleinhans Company in downtown Buffalo. But before fabric for the coats ever was cut, the university learned that the team's two African-American players, starting halfback Willie Evans and reserve defensive end Mike Wilson, were not welcome in Orlando.
The Orlando High School Athletic Association, the Tangerine Bowl Stadium's leaseholder, prohibited blacks and whites from playing together. Despite the protestations of the Orlando Elks Lodge, the bowl game's sponsor, the Bulls would be allowed to participate only if Wilson and Evans did not play.
The university and coach Dick Offenhamer left it to the team to decide whether to accept the bid. The players gathered in a basement room of Clark Gymnasium on the Buffalo campus to take a vote. Bottini and Reale held small paper ballots in their hands, but before they could pass them out, the players spontaneously and unanimously rejected the bid.
"We weren't the same team without Willie and Mike," guard Phil Bamford remembers. "Whether they were benchwarmers or stars, we wouldn't have been the same team."
1958 Buffalo players
Adrian Kraus for ESPN.com
Buffalo players, from left, Gene Zinni, Paul Szymendera, Willie Evans, Jack Dempsey, Dick Van Valkenburgh, Phil Bamford and Joe Oliverio have shared a strong bond for a half-century.
BOUND BY COLLISION
The drill was called "Bull in the Ring." You stood in the middle of a circle of teammates in linebacker position, arms up and fists clenched. Coach called a name and someone came running to hit you. You absorbed the blow. Delivered your own. Then he called another name, maybe someone behind you, and you spun and rushed to combat again. And so it went. A dozen hits -- maybe more -- at a spell.
Your hands stung at first. Your breath came in bursts. Then you settled in. Collisions expected, pain the norm. After a while, the hits became your measure -- of what the other guy had, of what there was in you, what reserve you could draw on for the battles to come. Over time what mattered was that you suffered together. Every man had a turn. And as a season of practices wore on, the drill developed into an oath, a pledge to go all-out and a call for the other guy to do the same.
Ask quarterback Joe Oliverio, now 69, what it means to be part of a team and for starters he will stand up on the balls of his feet, in linebacker position, and describe "Bull in the Ring." He'll recall how the drill was brutal and long, and Coach Offenhamer was relentless. He'll say there were times he wanted to run out of the circle and never look back. He'll also say, with a light in his eyes that belongs to the 19-year-old quarterback he once was, that he wouldn't trade the experience, hit after rattling hit, for anything in the world.
Adrian Kraus for ESPN.com and Courtesy University of Buffalo (inset)
The Lambert Cup stands as a symbol of all the Bulls accomplished during their magical 1958 season.
1/11th OF A PRECISE MECHANISM
Buffalo often began its games with Sweep Right 29. The right tackle pushed forward, both guards pulled wide right, the fullback came hard on the outside shoulder of the left guard, the quarterback pitched the ball to the halfback, and the halfback ran around the corner of the line.
Willie would line up in the backfield for Sweep Right 29 just a step deeper, and a half-step farther to the right, than he did on any other play. He was edging toward the corner of the line. He knew the blocks would be there. He knew his guys up front would open a hole. You practiced for this moment. You were one of 11 moving parts, a critical element in a precise mechanism geared to achieve.
It has been 50 years since '58, but the idea of team for Willie begins by pointing to a newspaper photograph in a wood-bound scrapbook he keeps -- a picture of him coming hard right with the ball tucked under his right arm. This play, this feeling, right here, this is football.
Adrian Kraus for ESPN.com
In three seasons as a Buffalo Bull, Evans ran for 1,559 yards and scored 15 touchdowns.
Adrian Kraus for ESPN.com
"We were aware of what was going on in the country. But there was very little coverage where we were," Oliverio says. "It was absolutely incredible to us to think that another human being could be treated differently for the color of his skin."
Joe was the first in his family to go to college. He came to UB from North Tonawanda, a suburb between Buffalo and Niagara Falls. His parents were first-generation Italian immigrants. Dad worked in the North Tonawanda paper mill. Mom was a homemaker.
Their neighborhood was white, almost all Italian. Most blacks lived in the city. You played against one another in high school, but you didn't know one another, and what you did know you had heard from aunts and uncles and crusty guys at the barbershop -- suspicious words with old ideas and cruel intentions just below the surface.
University life and Bulls football were revelations. Whites and blacks lived, worked and played together. You brought a black friend from the dorms home to dinner with the folks. You ran sprints alongside a black teammate from downtown one night and an Irish farm boy the next, and when one of you tired the other pushed him on. Things felt simple and bright. Connections came easily. You were from the neighborhood, but with each passing day, you felt like a citizen of some bigger place.
LOOKING OUT FOR "LITTLE EVANS"
Willie Evans, Mike Wilson
Courtesy University of Buffalo
Evans, left, and Mike Wilson would have been banned from participating in the Tangerine Bowl in Orlando.
The men on Purdy Street in downtown Buffalo called him "Little Evans." He was 8 or 9 years old at the time. They were mostly soldiers home from World War II, many of whom had become firemen and police officers, or shop and club owners in Buffalo. They helped look out for him, something his mother and father appreciated, what with nine other kids at home. Checked Willie's schoolwork. Tossed the ball around. Introduced him to politics and to opera. Taught him how to carry himself. Told him anything was possible.
You believed in yourself because they believed in you, because you were never just you but always a part of the community, of the world they had seen out there and were helping to build back here. They sat up on their porches in the evenings, and you felt them watching as you walked past and you knew you had to be something in this life.
Willie bought his first tailored suit in high school -- blue pinstripes, $65 cash -- and became a tailor for a year between graduating high school and entering UB. He wasn't fast, but he cut a straight line. He was good with pockets, with details. He loved the smell of wool wrapped in bolts. A suit was a statement. A man who wore a suit gave a damn, commanded respect.
He played basketball and ran track in those days. He came to the University of Buffalo having played only one year of high school football. The first time Offenhamer called for a "dive," he dove headfirst for the ground. As a freshman he played a total of 3 minutes and 41 seconds. This is a number he remembers. Not "three or four minutes," not "barely at all." Three minutes and 41 seconds, the precisely measured distance between being on the outside looking in and being in the thick of things, between settling and wanting more.
THE POWER OF SHARED EXPERIENCES
Long before there was a vote in a cramped room in the basement at Clark Gym, there were scrimmages that lasted until after dark. "We hit each other so hard that games were nothing by comparison," defensive tackle Jack "Bear" Dempsey recalls. "You felt like King Kong out there because you knew the guy on the other side of the line hadn't worked as hard as you'd worked."
There were blocking sessions on "the log" -- a barely padded telephone pole hanging on a chain from an A-frame -- and tackling sessions on a cement-weighted dummy. "Every day you'd sweat, bleed, get beat-up together," halfback Paul Szymendera says. "What he was going through, you were going through."
Adrian Kraus for ESPN.com
"We didn't look at the outside," Bamford says. "We lived together and worked together and struggled together, so we saw the inside of each other."
There was an upset of Harvard in the mud and a trip home to find 2,000 fans waiting to welcome them. "I think we started to believe in ourselves that night," Bamford says.
In Week 4, there was a painful loss to Baldwin-Wallace, coached by Jim Tressel's father, Lee. "Woke us up," guard Stan Kowalski remembers. "Didn't play a close game the rest of the way."
There was Kenny Born quick-kicking a ball into the backside of his blocker and Coach running the clip back, over and over again, during the Monday film session.
There was the night the Mohawk Airlines pilot came over the loudspeaker on a bumpy flight over Lake Erie to pray for a safe landing: "Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name ..."
There was the surreal day Elizabeth Taylor christened the new UB dorms by presenting the team with a bull that her publicist had purchased from a local farmer.
There were times when a buddy needed a lift home after a late night at the Moonglow, when a newbie needed his tie tied straight before training table at the Saturn Club, when you had to steer a guy through physiology homework or persuade a guy not to quit the squad, no matter what that SOB Offenhamer was putting them through.
Dick Van Valkenburgh
Adrian Kraus for ESPN.com
"That time was the foundation of the rest of my life," says Van Valkenburgh, who later became a high school coach. "I tried to instill that feeling with all the teams I coached."
And there was from the beginning a sense they were building something together, putting Buffalo football on the map. "There were no real stars," halfback Dick Van Valkenburgh says. "There was no first string, no second string. You pulled for each other."
There is no story here without the vote after the Tangerine Bowl bid. The 1958 University of Buffalo Bulls are remarkable because of those few moments in that cramped space when they said that racial prejudice is simply wrong, because while so much of the country was deeply and often violently dedicated to what divides us, they acted on behalf of our fundamental connection.
But the vote didn't define them. It didn't unite them. It testified to who they already were. It was the logical extension of the sacrifices they made for and beside each other, the sum of the routines and anecdotes that made up their lives together.
ABSTRACT RACISM MADE REAL
Joe felt as if he had been hit between the eyes. One minute the Buffalo Evening News is making plans to send a band down to Orlando with the team, the next minute somebody is telling Offenhamer and Buffalo chancellor Clifford Furnas to leave Mike and Willie at home. He couldn't get his mind around it.
"Outside the Lines" will look at the 1958 University of Buffalo football team on Sunday at 9 a.m. ET on ESPN.
Who or what is the Orlando High School Athletic Association? This is 1958, for god sakes -- the modern world. Who thinks this way anymore? He had seen separate white and black drinking fountains in newspaper photos and heard stories of bus boycotts in Alabama, but all that had seemed a world away. Now the abstract idea of racism is real and immediate. Now the victims are people you know. Now the whole of a toxic tradition is sitting on your front porch.
First, you feel the heartbreak. Then comes the rage. They judge you and your teammates? They hit you like this? You want to hit them back. You start to think of the association, of the insidious spirit of all of American prejudice, as next week's opponent. You fall back on something the coaches have repeated a thousand times: Take down the man in front of you. Deliver a blow. Everybody does that and we'll be fine.
It was barely a meeting. There was no discussion. Somebody said, "We're not going." Somebody else said, "Damn right." And they stood together, nodded, put their arms around one another the way men do. And then they walked out. And though they had walked in to that room full of hurt and fear and anger, if they'd had to put a word on what they felt in the moments just after the vote, Joe thinks it would have been "love."
NO VOTE NEEDED
Willie doesn't remember the meeting. He must have been there, but he has no memory of it.
Coach Dick Offenhamer
Courtesy University of Buffalo
Coach Dick Offenhamer drove his players hard during practices.
He remembers looking at a picture of Emmett Till, his face swollen and bludgeoned beyond belief, in Jet magazine in 1955. (Till, from Chicago, was murdered for the "crime" of flirting with a white woman while visiting Mississippi.) He and some friends from high school huddled around it at the corner store on Ferry Street and saw a teenager just like them, saw a world they wanted nothing to do with. He remembers being harassed by two Buffalo police officers for carrying a miniature souvenir baseball bat when he was a boy of 11 or 12. It was a toy, but they called it "a club." They took him for a ride just to scare him. He remembers his mother, who was born in Mississippi, never wanting to talk about her life before she came north to Buffalo. After he had been drafted by the Buffalo Bills in the early summer of 1960, he remembers a Bills cornerback, an Ole Miss grad, refusing to speak to him or to any of the black players in training camp. He remembers applying for his first job as a physical education teacher and having members of the school board ask him straight out who he thought he was, trying to land a white man's job. He remembers leaving a job in life insurance a few years later and coming back to teaching because the company wouldn't allow blacks to advance to management positions. But he doesn't remember the meeting in the basement of Clark Gymnasium.
You want to keep some things sacred. You don't want to think about some nobody who has never even met you, some ignorant fool clinging to dumb ideas, dictating your time, altering your experience with this team. You appreciate the way your teammates responded in rejecting the bowl bid. You do. You feel that affection and commitment, and it brings you true joy even now. But to hell with the idea that what you had with them had to be put to a vote at all. To hell with the idea that your status, and Mike's, was ever, even for an instant, anything other than integral. You were a football player on a team that went 8-1 in 1958, and 8-1 again the next year. You were a football player on a team that won the Lambert Cup. You wear a replica pin of the trophy on your lapel to every home game. The vote isn't your story. The game you didn't play is nothing next to the games you did play, nothing next to the feeling when the the gun went off and your effort, and the effort of every man on your side, was enough to win.
On Homecoming Weekend last month, the university invited the '58 Bulls back for a celebration of the 50th anniversary of the vote. They gathered at midfield and were acknowledged before a sellout crowd. Willie tossed the coin to begin the game. They stood as a group, the sun shining on their faces, some of them wearing their old letterman sweaters.
Adrian Kraus for ESPN.com
"We weren't heroes," Dempsey says. "It was just something you did. It was just the right thing."
It was a familiar routine. A number of them had come together on the Friday night before homecoming at a local bar called Brunner's every year since 1960. They never talked about the Tangerine Bowl or the vote. They talked about work -- many of them became coaches after attending UB -- and about retirement now. They talked about their wives and what their kids were up to, and about how the Bills were looking. They wondered what had happened to the teammates, including Mike Wilson, who they could not track down over the years. They reminisced about surviving "the log." They told tales of the Harvard game. They imagined themselves young again. "Everything takes you back. If you're a football player, when were you happiest? You were happiest playing football," Bamford says. "These guys, these are my buddies and my brothers."
When Gordy Bukaty got a tumor, Jack Dempsey took him to the hospital and visted regularly until the day he died. They stood for weddings. They went to one another's parties. They grabbed a beer from time to time. They stayed connected. The ones who moved away wrote letters. The ones who didn't like to write got regular calls from Dempsey. When Joe's wife, Elaine, passed away six years ago, his phone didn't stop ringing. "I was never alone," he says.
THE TEST OF A LIFETIME
Joe's father used to tell him the most valuable thing a man had was his reputation. Once you lose it, you can't get it back. Take pride in what you do, he said. Always ask yourself, what's right?
He was young and his life was just beginning to take shape when they refused the bowl invitation, but he knew he was being tested that day. He knew they all were. The ideas and truths they had come to believe in and live by, the habits by which they conducted themselves, were at stake in that room.
Fifty years later, you wonder whether it made any difference in the world, whether it will matter to anyone now to learn what they did, before the vote and after.
Fifty years later, after you have raised a son and a daughter and been a schoolteacher and football coach for 33 years, you wonder how to describe what it has meant to you.
You wonder, what's the difference between knowing who you are and having no idea at all?
KEEPING THE WISDOM ALIVE
Willie taught in Buffalo area schools for more than 30 years. He coached football, and tennis and swimming, and ran a city parks program for most of that time as well. "Little Evans" became the mentor.
These days, he's an adviser for the university's alumni association, and coach Turner Gill recently asked him to speak to the 2008 Buffalo football team, a squad that is in a position to receive the university's second bowl bid.
You tell them what the men home from the war told you once upon a time. Keep striving. Don't quit. Anything is possible.
You tell them that if they work together they can achieve something special, something that endures.
You tell them about the Bulls of '58.
Eric Neel is a senior writer for ESPN.com and ESPN the Magazine.
Join the conversation about "All Or Nothing."
1958 Buffalo programs
Courtesy University of Buffalo
|November 21st, 2008||#10|
Pussy BŁnd "Commander"
Join Date: Aug 2007
Location: land of the Friedman, home of the Braverman
Now you know why Pittsburg Steeler QB, Ben Roethlisberger, from small town Findley, Ohio talks like a whigger.
Worse than a million megaHitlers all smushed together.
|November 21st, 2008||#11|
Join Date: Dec 2003
Location: Virginia, CSA
This bag o' rancid jewjizz is from the same filth reservoir that spewed the "Greatest Generation"/Shaving Ryan's Privates wink n' nod ego-stroking of senile Yankee goyim: "Oi, vhat brave, noble fellows you vere, sticking up for a schwart-....er, an African-American! Not like those dirty Southern Frank-lynchas!"
All those dupes richly deserve to have their grandchildren raped & butchered by the offspring of the 2 niggers they championed.
|August 20th, 2009||#12|
Plaxico Burress gets two years for accidentally shooting himself with an unpaperworked gun.
Unlike Michael Vick, who tortured and killed a bunch of dogs, and Leonard Little and another clown I forget who both killed people driving drunk, Burress gets NO sympathy from anybody. Why? Because preventing whites from defending themselves is a higher priority than even making excuses for niggers, which is pretty near the top of ESPN's values board.
So, no sympathy and two years' imprisonment for nigger Plaxico Burress, but Vick, Little and the other coon back on the field stepping high and celemabrated by the ESPN jew nigger-pumpers.
|August 14th, 2013||#14|
ESPN fires a nigger for calling another nigger a nigger
[i would not call this a PC firing, this firing seems justified]
Only point to make here is that color hatred doesn't stop at the black border. Blacks not only hate whites, they hate lighter-skinned blacks too, particularly if they exhibit other seemingly white qualities like a greater degree of self-control than the average blacker-the-berry has.
Not the only point to make, actually. This imbroglio occurred at a convention put on by the National Association of Black Journalists, which of course ESPN has no problem with its people attending, unlike, say, a hypothetical organization for white journalists.
Gathering: The incident happened in Orlando, where (left to right) Smith, Douglas and their co-host Jemele Hill attended a convention organized by the National Association of Black Journalists
I would not be surprised if ESPN put some money into the NABJ meeting, although I don't know that for a fact.
Last edited by Alex Linder; August 14th, 2013 at 08:45 AM.
|February 18th, 2017||#15|
Join Date: Jul 2014
Anti-White Sportscaster (((ESPN))) Losing 10,000 Subscribers Per Day
February 16, 2017
The advent of the internet and customized entertainment has made it difficult for Jews to compel white males to sit their and listen to them trying to convince us we’re sexually, athletically and morally inferior to non-whites – the cracks in the information monopoly have led to us realizing the opposite is true.
(((Disney’s))) ESPN and other forms of Jew-run sports media have sought to politicize the trivial breads and circuses they hock by driving a model man like Tim Tebow out of the NFL, convicting the young white men via trial by media in the Duke LaCrosse rape hoax (while constantly covering-up actual black-on-white rape), and banishing Curt Schilling for saying what most Americans believe about transsexuals on his own time.
And then there is their racialized approach to the sports themselves, which blames the lack of a successful black quarterback in the majority Negro NFL on racism, while at the same time demonizing and reaching for faults in whites showing skill in traditionally black roles like running back.
This is all starting to catch up to them. ESPN’s decline is actually mind-blowing; the downward spiral of this sports empire is even starting to weight down the stock of heavily diversified and massive Jewish megalith Disney.
The way Jews are able to keep stuff like ESPN running on the Kill Whitey track is by acquiring guaranteed income streams that make up for losses elsewhere, e.g., Disney acquiring the Star Wars franchise, which produces films that millions of nerds will see multiple times no matter how bad it is.
In response to this, the goal of every white man should be to live closer to minimalism and to seek “alternative” forms of accessing content you just must have. It might be in vain, but at least you have stopped paying people who want to kill you.