In One Week I Saw the Spectrum of Human Emotion Play Out In The Streets: Part II

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Wednesday night of the protest. Less than a block and less than an hour from the spot where Justin Carr was shot

An all too familiar scene unfolded, one that I had only been exposed to through social media in other, far more remote and flawed cities. As if to make sure there was no confusion to the point, another unarmed black man was shot dead in the streets. This time, in my seemingly picture-perfect and socially insulated home city of Charlotte.

This incident, the killing of Keith Lamont Scott at the hands of the Charlotte Mecklenburg PD, played out not unlike most other highly (and not-so-highly) publicized instances of police brutality. A lone, unarmed black man encounters a group of police officers who, despite outnumbering him, fear for their own lives and react with the swift pull of a trigger. Four shots ring out and in an instant, seven kids are without their father, a wife without her husband, and the strange fruit that once hung from a tree is now lying in a pool of blood in an apartment parking lot.

The date was Tuesday, September 20. Mere hours after I had felt an inescapable sense of community with a group of strangers whose only common bond was the love of life, another group of strangers would be bound together in the streets by an inescapable sense of fear and anger under the ominous specter of unjustified death. The universal joy and happiness was replaced by a cold and bitter, yet all too familiar feeling of hopelessness.

Just a few hours after those fateful four shots were fired, protests erupted in the area. Fueled by the countless images of violence and bloodshed that the black community had been cruelly exposed to for what seems like an eternity, tensions had reached a boiling point. Like a fire hydrant that had been burst open, the streets of northeast Charlotte furiously flooded with people who had enough. A spontaneous burst of emotion that could no longer be quelled manifested itself in hundreds, perhaps thousands of people who had no more patience for silent hope. An unorganized but intensely passionate protest raged through the night, even blocking part of I85 during the early hours of the morning.

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Police in riot gear march down Trade Street towards College Ave.

Over the next several days, the protests would continue. Wednesday and Thursday night saw the flame fanned into uncontrollable rioting in Uptown, resulting in the calling of state police, the SWAT team and National Guard. The governor of North Carolina called a state of emergency. The mayor of Charlotte signed a curfew order. The blood of another innocent black man, Justin Carr, was spilled on the same sidewalks I stroll by on a daily basis on my way to lunch.

Several of these nights I witnessed this surreal scene for myself. Streets blocked off by Humvees. Lines of riot police blocking other streets in gear that seemed more at home in Fallujah than Mecklenburg County. The unmistakable smell of tear gas in the air. The deafening bang of stun grenades. Protesters with signs, chants and makeshift gas masks fashioned out of t-shirts. Blocked highways. Shattered windows and store fronts. Blood-smeared police wagons. Helicopters circling above. Young girls not old enough to fully understand what’s happening crying in front of city council. Grainy and shaky video of the catalyst incident was dissected over and over Zapruder-style after an awkward wait for it’s release.

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Blood on the police van

The emotional makeup of the city was as scattered and fragmented as it had ever been. Besides the vitriol of the protesters, others experienced emotional reactions that were reflected, perhaps rooted in, who they were at their core. Some people condemned protesters for lashing out at their own community. Some people lamented the fact that their previously pristine city was being portrayed as chaotic in the national news. Many grappled with an internal struggle that came to terms when they were forced to acknowledge a side of the city that they had tried so hard to dismiss. Others saw it as an opportunity to create chaos without repercussion, or a chance to live out a voyeuristic fantasy. For some, it was finally their time to be heard.

All of this played out in the streets. Groups of people who were previously strangers connected by an intangible force, moving in unison. The parallels to what I saw a week earlier in Atlanta were uncanny, except with wildly different emotions.

In one week, I saw the spectrum of human emotion play out in the streets.

34 Years on Earth, Ten in Charlotte

Bobcats inside sales ten-year reunion, 2016

Bobcats inside sales ten-year reunion, 2016

So here I am. 34 years old to the day and also ten years to the day that I moved to Charlotte.

If you’d have asked me about my long-term plans for Charlotte, I’d say the same as I would today: I don’t have concrete plans to be here for another 10/20/30 years, but I absolutely could if I had to because Charlotte is such an awesome city, clean and progressive, and now, I even have firm roots here. I’ve done a lot of growing, a lot of progressing, while also having a few stumbles along the way, just like the city that I now call home.

But before we get into that, let’s flashback to Charlotte in May of 2006.

The Carolina Panthers were hot, having just come off a Super Bowl and an NFC Championship Game appearance in the past three seasons. They were coached by John Fox and Marty Hurney was the GM. The quarterback was Jake Delhomme, the first round pick was a RB out of Memphis named DeAngelo Williams and they also signed the decrepit corpse of WR Keyshawn Johnson. The Panthers finished 8-8 and missed the playoffs.

The Hornets were still known as the Bobcats back then, just two years removed from expansion status. Time Warner had not yet bought the naming rights to the arena, so it was known as “Charlotte Bobcats Arena”. The key players on the team were Raymond Felton, Sean May, Emeka Oakafor, Gerald Wallace, Brevin Knight, Primoz Brezec and the immortal Walter Hermann. The Bobcats used the third overall pick in the draft to select Adam Morrison, a guy who is today best known for crying at the end of an NCAA tournament game. Michael Jordan first bought into the Bobcats franchise that year as a minority owner, he would eventually purchase the team from then-owner Bob Johnson.

BB&T Ballpark was still in the beginnings of a years-long battle to secure the space, which was at the time, a giant undeveloped eyesore pit in the middle of uptown.

The Carolina Hurricanes won the first (and so far only) professional sports championship in North Carolina that June.

The NASCAR Hall of Fame had just been awarded to Charlotte, but was several years from construction. The US National Whitewater Center was already under construction, and opened that summer.

The light rail was still a year and a half from opening. There was no rail trail, no Little Sugar Creek Greenway in Midtown, and no statue of Captain James Jack.

Construction of the Ritz-Carlton Uptown, 2008.

Construction of the Ritz-Carlton Uptown, 2008

There was no Duke Energy Tower, VUE, Catalyst, Element, Skye, UNCC Center City, Romare Bearden park, Mint Museum Uptown or Bechtler Museum. The Epicenter was under construction, but shady real estate deals and the 2008 recession would dramatically alter it’s course. Dixie’s Tavern (now the future site of Google Fiber) in the prime of it’s Jager-Bomb slinging, Def Leppard screaming life.

Wachovia was still headquartered here before they got bought out by Wells Fargo in 2008. The PGA tournament was still called the Wachovia Championship. Tiger Woods was the absolute undisputed greatest athlete on earth.

The only breweries in town were Carolina Brewery and Rock Bottom. Then-Governor Mike Easley had just signed into law the Pop-the-Cap legislation, which raised the ABV for beer brewed in state from a paltry 6% to a much more brewer-friendly 15%. It would be three years before Olde Mecklenburg Brewery really established itself as Charlotte’s first true craft brewery. The closest thing you could get to craft beer in most stores? Belle’s Oberon.

There was no Kindred. No Passion 8. No Custom Shop. No Midwood Smokehouse, no Earl’s Grocery, no Pure Pizza, no Sabor, no Chima, no Five Church or Nan & Byron’s, no Dandelion Market, no Soul Gastrolounge, no Cowfish, no Halcyon, no Mayobird, no Block & Grinder, no Pinky’s, no Bistro La Bon, no Bad Daddy’s, no Luna’s, no Futo Buta, no Heirloom, no Fahrenheit, no Queen City Q and exactly zero of the food trucks and mobile food options we enjoy today. The Penguin in Plaza Midwood was still in the tail end of its prime, however.

Montford (where I lived back then) was certainly not the Montford of today. You still had Angry Ale’s, but no Roasting Co., Brazwell’s, Good Food on Montford, Duckworth’s and Park Ten Lanes was still a serious renovation away from becoming an acceptable place to hang out.

NoDa (where I live now), was not NoDa back then. There was no Heist, no Jack Beagle’s (and no “Als Ich Chan” mural), no Growler’s. no Crepe Cellar, no Revolution Pizza, no Blind Pig and no Chop Shop (just like today). There was a pre-Guy Fieri Cabo Fish Taco, and Salvador Deli however.

Smoking was still allowed indoors.

There were only five CDGC-sponsored disc golf courses. Now there are 18.

Independence Boulevard was a mess of abandoned strip mall spaces and shuttered doors, a true eye-sore along such a prominent stretch of road. Oh wait…

Eastland Mall was still standing and in operation, however very much removed from its glory days.

Patrick Cannon was a four-year city council member. Jennifer Roberts was on the Mecklenburg County of Board of Commissioners. Pat McCrory… was mayor.

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Senator Obama stumping in uptown Charlotte, 2008

May 13, 2006 – I woke up with an unreal hangover in Athens, Ohio, where I had spent the previous night hanging out with my college roommate who was in grad school at Ohio University. Athens was a good checkpoint in my move to Charlotte, as it’s just a six-hour shot straight down I77. Despite my lingering intoxication, I set out just after lunchtime, for the second leg of a trip that would take me to just the second city in which I’ve ever lived.

The ride south on I77 is actually very scenic. Almost the entire drive is through the robust, rolling hills of the two Virginias. Southern Indiana had a few small hills, but these were seemingly infinite stretches of deep undulations that felt like something out of a movie or postcard.

As I got into the general Charlotte area, probably somewhere south of Huntersville, I realized I hadn’t printed out any directions to get to my new apartment. Back in 2006, maps and directions on phones were technically possible, but not really functional in the way we know them today. Because I had just spent the last six hours on the road, I called my friend back in Athens, had him Google my address and describe over the phone how to get to my apartment.

The first apartment complex I lived in was 1420 Magnolia, a nice but anonymous complex just off of Park and Woodlawn. It was getting dark by the time I finally found where I was and pulled into the parking garage. This would be the first (and last) giant apartment complex I would have ever lived in, and it didn’t seem particularly welcoming. The hallways are dark and cavernous, the doors are made of steel and my unit was completely unfurnished, meaning the only things I had to fill it with were the things I brought in my Jeep.

I didn’t rent a U-Haul (which both then and now seems insanely expensive), so the main things I had to my name upon my first night in Charlotte were a mattress (yes, I was that dude who strapped a mattress to his luggage rack), my clothes, a few small storage units with random shit, and my Dell desktop PC (I didn’t have internet hooked up yet, so it was basically just a stereo playing the music on the hard drive).

My roommate wouldn’t move in until the next day. There was no Yelp!, so I couldn’t figure out what bar was close by. I couldn’t call anyone who could tell me. I literally didn’t know one other person in the city. I called my mom to let her know I got there and that was nice.

It was this unescapable feeling of loneliness that was how I celebrated my 24th birthday.

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A detour in the Smokey Mountains, 2006

Fortunately, that feeling wouldn’t last. My roommate moved in the next morning, and we’re still close friends to this day. A week later, I would start my job at the Charlotte Bobcats, which had a built in team of young people like me who were all new to the city too and just wanted to have a good time.

Fast forward a decade later and I feel pretty lucky to have grown and evolved in step with a young, dynamic city. I now have a deep set of roots and a diverse circle of friends, colleagues and acquaintances. I can actually navigate my way through the majority of this city without the help of navigation. I’ve also starting following the Hornets and Panthers as much as the Pacers and Colts (but not more).

I still don’t know if I’ll be in Charlotte for another 10/20/30 years, but this city is awesome enough that if that were the case, I wouldn’t be mad about it. Charlotte is a great city that’s only getting better. Today I’m celebrating myself, but I’m also celebrating my city, and all the ups and downs we’ve shared over the past decade.

The original Bobcats inside sales team, 2007

The original Bobcats inside sales team, 2007

Two Sides of Responsibilities in Charlotte Cycling

I’ve always liked riding a bike, but when I moved to Charlotte, I didn’t bring my college bicycle with me. I really wasn’t in a hurry to get another one either, since Charlotte was clearly a car-heavy town (living in the Park & Woodlawn area didn’t help at all). It wasn’t until about four years ago when I had to go six months without a car that I spent $35 on a bike I found on Craigslist.

That shitty (boy was it shitty) bike got me around for a bit, but I’ve since graduated to a much nicer Specialized Rockhopper, and ideal hybrid/commuter bike. Ever since then I’ve been a huge fan of riding my bike around town. It’s great exercise, lots of fresh air, tons of fun, all the same reasons I’m sure you’ve heard.  It certainly doesn’t hurt that it’s just a 15-minute bike ride to my work uptown, the fastest option for my commute.

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The other side of that fun and convenience is that riding a bike in Charlotte is a major risk. The streets were designed almost exclusively with cars in mind, making most biking lanes scarce or redundant. Drivers are also either overly aggressive with cyclists or wildly timid. The only greenway that connects the entire city probably won’t be completed until after 2020. Oh, and one of the most dangerous intersections for pedestrians in the city is less than half a mile from my house.

To me, that leaves three main areas of improvement that can address the situation. The first is infrastructure. There have been some great efforts by the city, Sustain Charlotte and local cyclists to make the roads wider, increase the number of bike lanes and create exclusive bike paths. The second is driver etiquette. Drivers need to show patience around cyclists (who are required to ride on the road by state law) and be comfortable with the idea of sharing road space.

But the third area of improvement falls squarely on the rider themselves. Now most riders I know are like me and pretty courteous. We stop at stop signs, signal when turning and generally follow the same driving rules as if we were in a car. But as the old saying goes, a few rotten apples spoil the entire bunch.

I’ve been either riding or driving and seen the lone jackass cyclist weaving in and out of traffic, running stop signs and cutting people off. That one cyclist out of 50 that doesn’t wear their helmet or lights at night. It’s a daily occurrence uptown to see a cyclist fly through an intersection and narrowly avoid a pancaking. That kind of riding is the same as it is in a car: aggressive and problematic. It’s also that one idiot cyclist that drivers remember when they drive.

So when I’m riding my Specialized Rockhopper (paid a lavish $100 for at a pawn shop) down Davidson, I’m getting drivers who want to come as close as possible to me (I guess to prove a point) or go the exact opposite way and give me ten feet of berth, swerving into oncoming traffic. Another classic example is when I pull up to a stop sign, actually stop, and then have to spend the next 10-15 seconds pantomiming reassurance to the opposite driver that they can indeed proceed. The message to me is that most drivers are deathly afraid of cyclists, to the point that they would actually rather have a wreck with another car than a cyclist.

It’s not going to be easy, and it’s going to take a collective effort, but cyclists need to be just as courteous to drivers as they want drivers to be to them. We need to stop at busy intersections, not make sudden movements and use good judgement when switching lanes (I’m asking a lot on that last one, I know).

(Quick side note: more cyclists on the road will also force the hands of the city and drivers to be more accepting of cyclists on the road. The more you see it, the more you adapt. Just another reason to break out your bi-ped!)

Until both cyclists and drivers can learn to occupy the road together, and the city can build roads and paths that encourage cycling, Charlotte will continue to have a shaky relationship with cyclists. Out of those three things, however, you can contribute directly to at least one, and possibly two. Drive with patience around cyclists, and ride with respect around the half-ton death machines flying around you.

Words at the Bechtler

A few weeks ago, when the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art hosted Creative Mornings Charlotte, I was called upon to deliver a few words on the Bechtler when our president wasn’t able to make it. I had no idea I would be speaking that morning until about ten minutes before this video was filmed. Given just a few minutes to prepare something to say in front of 250+ influential Charlotteans, this is what I came up with:

Andy Goh / Bechtler Intro – CM6 from Charlotte Star Room on Vimeo.

Durham Lawyer Reveals What Systematic Racism Looks Like

I love Twitter.

Twitter is the social platform that speaks to me and my ADHD-addled brain the most. Information flying in and out at real-time speed, 140 characters forces you to say something important/funny/profound in a concise manner, the occasional opportunity for notoriety, and stream-of-consciousness thoughts that can only be captured by Twitter’s ease of use.

That last factor is what brings me to today’s post. Yesterday, amid the perpetual swirling of a chaotic and confusing discussion about race relations (ignited by Black History Month, the CIAA, the LGBTQ non-discrimination ordinance and general southern racial tensions), a friend of mine and former counsel T. Greg Doucette (@greg_doucette) had apparently had enough.

A criminal defense lawyer by trade, Greg routinely handles cases from the trenches. Robberies, assaults, drug possession etc. So it’s no surprise that he sees first hand on a daily basis what the effects are on a community when the legal system (whether actively or implicitly) works against that community.

Yesterday, a case involving a client produced an all-too familiar scene, one that he could no longer keep quiet about. Here, I present his series of 40-some tweets (with Greg’s permission, of course) that tell a story that is hidden from the eyes of the public, but one that rings true for so many.

(I’ve edited his words for continuity, grammar and punctuation, but his words are verbatim otherwise. See the entire thread in it’s original form here)

I get asked – often – if I hate police. I don’t.

I look at “police” generally like I look at teachers. When a teacher decides to rape a student, we don’t demonize all teachers. Same with teachers who are woefully inept at teaching. But, at the same time, no sane person denies there are teacher-rapists and teachers who suck at their job. I view police the same; I’m willing to take a leap of faith and assume you’re competent, until you prove otherwise.

Soooooo that brings me to court today.

Client is a 17 year-old black male, “YBM” in defense lawyer parlance. My YBM is charged with reckless driving to endanger, a very serious offense. He’s terrified. Cried in my office explaining the situation. He insisted he was just trying to avoid an animal that darted into the road, and swerved to the right. I pull the shuck, and read the officer’s narrative of what happened:

“Neighbor saw driver doing donuts in street, nearly hit wife. Skid marks show clear 360° circles. Driver claimed he was trying to avoid hitting cat.”

Re-read that: “clear 360° circles”.

Thankfully (how fucking sad is it that “thankfully” is the appropriate word here?) his mom didn’t trust the officer, and took pictures which she kept and sent to me (most of which were useless. People take pictures of a lot of useless shit when they’re terrified, by the way).

Now go back and re-re-read: “Clear. 360°. Circles.”

What. The actual. Fuck.

Do I hate police? No. I hate raging incompetent cowboys with badges financed by my tax money who clearly haven’t had an eye exam recently.

(╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻)

The DA was kind enough to dismiss the case without putting up a fight. My YBM client’s family is out what they paid me. Client himself is traumatized. And basis for police mistrust gets a fresh exhibit. While the officer who (wrongfully) charged him – and pretty clearly lied on official court documents – will face *0* repercussions.

This is what police brutality looks like. It’s not just people having their rights violated and the shit kicked out of them. It’s an innocent 17 year-old black kid trying to be a good human being and not running over a cat getting thrown headlong into our court system. It’s having to come up with money you don’t have, to defend yourself against charges that shouldn’t have been filed. And recognizing that – but for photographs that someone had the foresight to take immediately – you’d have been convicted based solely on the word of a law enforcement officer who swore an oath to serve and protect who then lied to the court with impunity.

The state doesn’t care of course. For every one case dismissed, hundreds more plead guilty. Court costs are $188 and up apiece. A day’s worth of traffic cases can finance an ADA’s salary for a year. Likewise for a clerk or judge.

Guess what that means for legislators? They can cut preexisting court funding and put it somewhere where it’ll buy them more votes. So you’ve got a court system that ends up somehow being underfunded despite charging a shitload of money for minor offenses; police rerouting more and more people (predominantly young and black) into the court system, patting themselves on the back (all for protecting us from eeeeeevil 17 year-old YBMs trying not to hit cats while driving). While the politicians fiddle as their constituents burn, because people naively assume things like this would never happen.

Welcome to the clusterfuck that is our criminal justice system. I filed to run for the State Senate because of this bullshit.

It doesn’t matter if you put an R or a D or a U beside your name – this is wrong.

Sorry for taking up your timeline. For reasons I still don’t understand, I’m *still* in disbelief that this shit *still* happens, when I know better. I’m now going to clog my arteries with BoJangles in the hope/prayer that I won’t still be flamingly pissed after lunch.

“clear 360° circles”

(╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻)

I decided to reproduce this because it’s a candid look into the micro-inequalities (hooray for new words) that quietly exist within our society. When people talk about racism being a system that benefits a certain person over another, this is exactly what that system is. Not using the N-word or moving people to the back of the bus. It’s a systematic and clandestine effort between multiple moving parts that allows prejudice to manifest itself, whether consciously or subconsciously.

Yes, we’ve moved on from fire hoses and separate water fountains. No, the underlying hatred and ignorance hasn’t changed a bit.

Carolina Panthers’ Super Bowl Run is what Cities Dream of

via charlotteobserver.com

There it is. You feel it?

There it is again. And again. Wait a second –

It’s everywhere.

It’s that rare electricity that’s been not-so quietly surging through Charlotte for the past two weeks, culminating in today’s Super Bowl. You’ve felt it everywhere because you’ve seen it everywhere. It’s in the jerseys and the car flags, the pep rallies and flash mobs. You see it in the Panthers-blue skyline that has lit the night, you’ve tasted it in silver and blue macaroons, your social media feeds are filled with endless Panthers hype videos. And, of course, you see it in the omnipresent and perpetual dabbing that has remained an ever-present anchor to this roaring showcase of Carolina pride.

(here’s the dab’s origin, if you somehow haven’t looked yourself yet)

The Carolina Panthers’ sudden run to the biggest stage in American sports has almost certainly had a positive effect on the local economy between two high-profile home playoff games, the bonus hospitality income that comes with them and the exponentially increased merchandise sales. Someone smarter and more motivated than me could probably produce a sound study that could tell you the added amount of dollars that are flowing into local businesses, and that number would probably be pretty satisfying.

But that energy? That excitement? That flavor and fun that has let you wear football jerseys and dab with your friends and coworkers?

There’s no study that can quantify that.

That kind of energy doesn’t come around often, and Charlotte is soaking it up. Regardless of what happens in the game tonight, the city of Charlotte won’t forget this Panthers season very soon.

Panthers Pep Rally January 29 at Romare Bearden Park. Photo via sportingnews.com

Two years ago, there was a bit of an uproar about how the Panthers asked the city for $87.5 million dollars in renovations to the 20-year old Bank of America Stadium. The Charlotte Hornets got in on the action too, riding the wave of team renaming fever to the tune of $33.5 million for upgrades to the not-even ten-year old Time Warner Cable Arena. Understandably, there was a bit of push-back and hand-wringing over the city using public funds to essentially subsidise private investment. For good reason too, this is the same city that wouldn’t give George Shinn money to upgrade the old Charlotte Coliseum, and also originally voted against building a new uptown NBA arena.

In the greater American sports landscape, this isn’t anything new. Major cities are routinely held just short of ransom with their respective pro sports leagues leveraging the threat of moving to another city in order to pry loose those taxpayer dollars. Ask the fan bases in San Diego, St. Louis and Oakland right now about how they feel about it. Ask fans in Seattle how they feel about the Sonics. The list goes on and on.

That electric feeling that has been so pervasive in our city in 2016? That’s the feeling that cities gamble on when they make these deals with pro sports teams. Every major city that has every invested in pro sports has had daydreams about experiencing a run that Charlotte is having right now (right now!).

For the past two weeks, the entire nation has gotten to see what we here in the Queen City have known for quite a while: that Charlotte is a quickly growing bold presence. Outside of North Carolina, people across the country have been saying things like “So the Panthers play in Charlotte, not Raleigh!” and “Charlotte is in North Carolina, not South!”. That beautiful skyline that we get treated to everyday has been seen by millions of new eyes, and people are recognizing the unique combination of finance and culture we have. We see this Super Bowl run as a manifestation of all the growth, development and progression that we’ve had for the past 30 years.

Not to mention, a whole lot of supposedly smart pundits and prognosticators have been made to look pretty silly by Cam and the crew.

via nytimes.com

That last point is not insignificant when it comes to how special this season has been. This Carolina Panthers team (led by its quarterback) has redefined what it means to be a championship NFL team, and one that embraces its culture and personality. Cam Newton has shattered stereotypes and challenged all of us to take a good hard look at who we are and how that affects what we perceive in other people. The team as a whole has carried itself in that incredibly hard to balance sweet spot between having swagger, being honorable and charitable, while also having laser-like on the task at hand.

As if that wasn’t enough, this Panthers team (if they win tonight) could be looked back on as one of the NFL’s all-time greatest teams. There’s not a whole lot of buzz about it now, but if Carolina was to finish as only the fourth team to finish 18-1, there’s going to be a lot of people taking a long hard look at putting this team in the top tier of all-time greats.

So enjoy it, Charlotte. Take pride in your dab. Wear with gusto your Kuechly jersey, your Cam jersey, or your Brad Hoover jersey for you old-schoolers. This is such a rare and perhaps fleeting opportunity to relish in the sunny spotlight that so many cities, sports fans and elected officials dream of.

Watch the Panthers win this game tonight and the city literally never be the same again because of the increased exposure for the city and for Cam Newton. If the team loses and that electricity is replaced by bitterness, it’s all the more reason to savor this moment, because we might not have another one like it soon.

 

Did Michael Jordan Ruin Muggsy Bogues?

image via bleacherreport.com

I love stories about how ruthless Michael Jordan was back in his playing days. I’m sure he’s just as ruthless now as he was then, but it’s a little harder to take him seriously given his choice of attire.

But back in ’96? Probably no other competitor as intimidating in the world. That’s why when I read this collection of maybe/maybe not true stories of mid-nineties MJ, I raised an especially high eyebrow when reading this passage:

Johnny said physically Jordan and Pippen were about the same as defenders. But when you add in MJ’s ruthlessness and trash talk, that put him ahead of Scottie. When Johnny was coaching with the Hornets in 1995 they had a good team. Glen Rice, Mourning, Johnson. Series was tied at 2 and Hornets had a chance to win game 5 in Chicago. On the biggest possession of the game, Mugsy had the ball with the Hornets down 1. Jordan backed off of him and told him: “shoot it you fucking midget.” Mugsy shot it, didn’t come close. A year later Mugsy actually told Johnny Bach that he believes that single play ruined his career. His shot never recovered.

To have as successful an NBA career as Muggsy had (1st round pick, 15 seasons, 7.6 apg) at an absurdly-small 5’3″ probably required the ability to shake off endless short jokes from teammates, coaches, fans and everyone else.

Yet, that’s how brutal MJ was with his shit-talking game.

When you’re unquestionably the greatest player on the face of the earth with a reputation for spitting verbal venom at your opponents, it can penetrate the target’s psyche long before the competitors step onto the court. Muggsy (like every other non-Bull of the era) was on the verge of a mental meltdown, and with just the right push, Jordan sent him tumbling over the cliff using the one insult that Muggsy spent years building up a wall against.

And just like that, the wall crumbled.

image via complex.com

I wonder what it’s like nowadays when they run into each other here in Charlotte…