Friday, May 4, 2012

(Words/Guest Blogger) Words by @jg24lyfe X Mr. Wiley Can't Be Happy

BLOGGER NOTE: I am mad I didn't write this. I promise I am. Hats of to Graham for this.. For real.

It's around 2:30 am and I'm making that dreaded trip to the toilet. No matter how well positioned, your slippers are never truly visible in the dark. Under normal circumstances no big deal but this morning the dream was too good and too real. Ralph Wiley was talking to me...

 Now, I've had celebrities in my dreams but breast and ass always set the stage but not tonight. Ralph Wiley was talking to me...

Mr. Wiley was angry. And needs you to keep his name out your mouth.

      For those of you who don't know Mr. Wiley was a wordsmith with the ability to charm and blast you without as much as a deep breath. Socially aware and outspoken in both written and broadcast journalism. Not one to compromise or retreat because if he said it, he meant it. A superior knowledge of NFL, NBA, boxing and MLB made the most basic sports fan stand at attention or in my case sit in awe. He inspired me with his command. He was "telling the truth". A Black truth.

    "Graham, wake up. I need to talk and you're going to listen." 

Face was familiar but didn't catch the voice. What the fuck, didn't matter because I wasn't resting well.
     "Did these negros not expect me to come back? Was I expected to rest in peace as they continue to sight me as a part of the inspiration in their approach to sports journalism?"

     "Oh shit! Its Ralph Wiley! Haha, my man...wait, shouldn't this conversation take place with one of the ESPN types who profess their undying love for you?"
     "Tried that. You think I'd come to you first? Not likely but I knew you'd listen, weren't sleeping well and about to make that can run."

      "True." He had me there and the overriding thought was hurry up cause I'm not going to make it through one of those SportReporters type slow drags.

     "Besides, I could take this to Online Black something or other." 

     "Would you really do that Mr. Wiley? Really?" 

     "No, he's part of the problem. I think he still prays to me. Nice guy though but I digress. You listening or what?" 

     "Yes sir."

     "I'm going to keep this short and to the point. You don't have to tell it but I have to get this of my chest. You know I died of a heart attack right? Anyway, I can't believe that the people who swear their inspiration is me can have their voices muted by a mouse. Really, Mickey has the power to quiet the voices that say I'm their guide, the one that moves them to be better? To be great?" 

    I'm sitting up now. Why? Because it's the truth. 

     "This is a dream so lay your ass down. Do you know how much it pains me to see all these wonderfully talented writers and minds controlled by an entity that wears white gloves, clogs, & no shirt?"

     "Mr. Wiley, they point to their paychecks. The money is the driving factor. They speak their minds only when they think no ones watching. Hard to reach and question because of their position."

     "Bryant H. McGill once said, and I quote, "The world is not fair, and often fools, cowards, liars and the selfish hide in high places." 

     Wow. Could it be that my thoughts all along were true? I'm really feeling this thought process. I'm smiling like shit. This dream should have come with a pause button. Dream or no dream I got to piss. 

     "Graham here is my heart...I, no, no, I need someone, anyone, to step up and be the voice I lost too soon. Can you do this? I'm not sure but I trust you to try. This won't make you popular amongst those who desire to be me or like me but our black athletes need an uncompromising voice who values the personal story above the check. Someone who will communicate what's right and not what they're told."

     "Yes sir."

     "You don't need to sir me. We're talking, well I'm talking. You continue to give me this time and I'll take care of you."


     "At some point I'm hoping these young brothers and sisters have a true Ralph Wiley moment and voice what they think when it's not hidden on twitter DM's and Facebook messages." "We can't keep hiding." 

     Mr.Wiley voice is getting louder but becoming stained. His eye's are red but it's anger and sorrow. Frustration of a man who can't reach the masses and has little to no faith that the black sports journalist can no longer shake the power of the mouse. 

     "Graham, understand my man, all of them aren't bad. Those who have other income generally speak from the heart with little regard of backlash or having to play Minnie." 

     "Mr. Wiley, can you see this ever changing? Is it truly possible that we can see a more candid, unabashed, thought sharing black sports journalist in the face of Disney control?"

     "If none emerge it will further kill the public image of our black athlete. Most times we're all we have. We've already done damage that will never be repaired." 

     "I understand...totally."

     "Get up and go to the bathroom. I'll be here when you get back so we can discuss the coonish behavior of the negros sitting across from Skip Bayless." 

Sitting up I throw my feet over the bed and damn, slippers right there. I heard his voice inside my head saying, "I told you I'd hook you up. I'm in heaven and I think Jesus likes my work!" 

     In his last piece, Mr. Wiley began with these words: "All a man's got is the integrity of his work." I believe that. If only they believed that in the face of Mickey. If not, continue to "protect that check and your money" & I'll continue to say fuck you and we're both satisfied. 

Peace, Grahamzlaw