Clowns to the Left of Me, Jokers to the Right

by Michael A Smerconish

  And it could only happen here.

  Can you imagine 20,000 upstanding citizens of St. Louis, or L.A., or Tampa packing into a major arena beginning at 5:30 A.M. to cheer on truck-sized men in a chicken-wing-eating competition? I doubt it.

  Many will never even make it to work tomorrow, choosing instead to attend one of the many “after parties.” This is arguably the only radio-station-created holiday in a major American city and the honors go to WIP and its P. T. Barnum–like ringleader, Tom Bigby.

  That must say something about us as a community. Just what I’m not sure we want to know.

  What I can tell you is that it began 10 years ago in the lobby of the Wyndam Franklin Plaza when 150 people showed up to watch just two contestants. Carmen “the Beast from the East” Cordero won by eating 100 wings. You want a sign of the city’s progress? How about the fact that last year Bill “el Wingador” Simmons took the title by besting a field of 25 and eating 137 wings?

  Rumor has it that more beer is sold at this morning event than at any other booking at the First Union Center. Not to mention the 2,000 or so wings that will be downed by the contestants, who have worked hard to get this far.

  You can’t help but appreciate that Gentleman Gerry ate three pounds of melon and prosciutto in under five minutes. Or that Ali Blobba ate four pounds of tripe in under 20. And Tailgate Russ, who ate a pig’s head, including the snout, cheek, and brain, garnished with shrimp and parsley.

  Wing Bowl. The Lakers in town. And that other game Sunday afternoon. It doesn’t get any better than this.

  AFTERWORD

  Challenging political correctness was a focus of my columns and books long before Donald Trump used the subject to propel himself into the White House. Two years after I wrote this column I published my first book, Flying Blind: How Political Correctness Continues to Compromise Airline Safety Post 9/11, and three years after that I published my second book, Muzzled: From T-ball to Terrorism—True Stories That Should Be Fiction. Still, the longevity of such a politically incorrect “contest” as Wing Bowl surprises me. You have to think the prospect of an organized protest against 20,000 individuals, mostly men, coming together to celebrate women in thongs is always looming, but perhaps these antics will get a reprieve in the era of Trump. On February 3, 2017, Wing Bowl celebrated its 25th anniversary. Bob “Notorious B.O.B” Shoudt downed 409 wings to win—at age 50! In the preceding two years, he had finished in third place. The victory earned Shoudt a new Hyundai Santa Fe and a check for $10,000. Meanwhile, Catherine Clee beat out the other nine finalists to be named Wingette of the Year, earning her $5,000. The wrestling great “Nature Boy” Ric Flair was among the dignitaries on hand in the sold-out Wells Fargo Center. Flair implored the crowd to “get drunk, eat chicken wings, then take your woman home and do your thing.”

  KOBE? HE’S NOT ONE OF US

  Philadelphia Daily News, Thursday, February 14, 2002

  LOOKING FOR A SIGN that we’ve returned to some sense of normalcy in the aftermath of September 11?

  One word: Kobe.

  After all, which of the following received more of your attention in the past few days: the booing of Kobe Bryant, or the extraordinary terrorism warning issued by the FBI?

  The answer, I’m sure, is Kobe. His treatment at the All-Star Game is the talk of the water coolers from West Philly to Wissinoming.

  Instead of trying to figure out where Yemen is located, we’ve become a bunch of shrinks offering our own explanations for the psyche of the Philadelphia fans who delivered the razzing. Well, pull up a sofa, because this Bob Newhart has a different diagnosis to offer.

  Kobe’s reception had nothing to do with his pledge about the Sixers last spring to “cut their hearts out.” You give the boobirds too much credit to think that they universally had that comment in mind.

  Ditto for the speculation that we, as a city, still haven’t gotten over our thumping by the Lakers. We’ve moved on, thanks to the Eagles.

  And it’s not because he took too many shots in the All-Star Game. Seems to me he made most of them.

  Kobe got booed because of self-image. Ours, not his. We like people who look like us. We like people who act like us. People with a gritty, urban determination. People with imperfections. People without privilege. People with fannies that freeze in the winter and bake in the summer.

  And when we look at Kobe, we don’t see ourselves. He’s gone Hollywood. And if you’re not one of us, we’re against you. And we don’t keep you in the dark about our feelings.

  In a world divided into Apollo Creeds and Rocky Balboas, Kobe is down with Apollo Creed.

  Allen Iverson is another story.

  AI is a legitimate Rocky figure. An underdog. Humble roots. Small stature. Enormous heart. Truth is, we see more of our collective self in the little guy from Newport News than the homegrown traveler from Lower Merion Township.

  Think about it.

  Who did you take to your high school prom? Kobe took a pop tart whose name escapes me. (AI recently married his childhood sweetheart.) What do you see when you look in the mirror? Kobe’s still got his smooth skin and boyish looks. (AI may not have the celluloid good looks, but he has adopted a style all his own with cornrows and tattoos.)

  Philadelphia has always had an underachieving mentality, and we’re more comfortable rooting for a man who is a questionable 6-foot-0 supporting 165 pounds on two skinny ankles than a fellow with a legitimate NBA physique at 6-foot-7, 210 pounds.

  This is nothing new. There are plenty of other examples.

  Think Bobby Clark, not Wayne Gretzky.

  John Kruk, not Steve Garvey.

  Buddy Ryan/Andy Reid, not Jimmy Johnson.

  Kobe might have the local roots, but when push comes to shove, we’re each a bit more like AI than Kobe.

  And THAT’S why Kobe got booed.

  AFTERWORD

  One of the first things to hit me when rereading this column was my characterization of Kobe’s prom date as a pop tart. Uh oh. I have no idea why I wrote that and have long since forgotten the meaning of the reference. A quick Google search reminded me that Kobe’s prom date was the singer-songwriter Brandy, to whom I apologize.

  When I think of the sports-related highlights of my life, they are all Philly-centric and the list is short: Joe Frazier defeating Muhammad Ali at the Garden in 1971; the Philadelphia Flyers winning the Stanley Cup in 1973–1974 and again in 1974–1975; the Philadelphia Eagles reaching the Super Bowl in the 1980–1981 season (I know, they got there in the 2004–2005 season, too, but for me it wasn’t as special); the Philadelphia Phillies winning the World Series in 2008 (I know, they won in 1980, but it wasn’t as personally exciting as 28 years later); and the Philadelphia 76ers reaching the NBA finals against the Los Angeles Lakers in the 2000–2001 season (again, this run was more special to me than even their championship in 1982–1983). All such great memories!

  At the time of the 76ers’ 2001 run to the NBA finals, our next-door neighbor was Pat Croce, then the president of the 76ers. That season, Pat and I were acquaintances but not yet the close friends we would later become. (Kinda funny, we moved into the house next to Pat after having lived in a place that was two doors down from 76ers coach Larry Brown.) You could fit our house inside Pat’s house; in fact, one day I discovered a guy nailing a Christmas wreath to our front door, and when I asked him what he was doing, he said, “Isn’t this the Croce pool house?” Anyway, the Sixers’ success in 2000–2001 reflected Croce’s work ethic and gritty determination. It’s hard to describe the mania that swept Philadelphia that basketball season, but everyone would agree that it was due in large part to Pat’s getting the city stoked. During the Sixers’ conference semifinal series against Toronto, Croce climbed the 265-foot Connelly Containers Water Tower in Manayunk and hung a 20-by-30-foot sign that read, “Go Sixers!” Then during the NBA Finals, he climbed a 640-foot cable to the top of the Walt Whitman Bridge and hung a 5-by-70-foot banner that read, “Go Sixers—Beat L.A.”

/>   Everyone in Philadelphia and its suburbs was into basketball. Cars had 76ers flags on them. And at our house, we flew an Allen Iverson flag on our flagpole. The finals had all the elements and high drama. AI versus Kobe. Dikembe Mutombo versus Shaq. The Lakers won in five games, but the excitement of that season, and the heart of Allen Iverson on the court, is something I will never forget. I still get goosebumps when I hear the sound of then–First Union Center announcer Matt Cord introducing a “six-foot guard from George-town, No. 3, Allllllen Ivvversson!”

  And while Kobe might have been a better NBA star than Iverson, he would never have been a better Philadelphia 76er.

  GAY NUMBERS AND 9/11

  Philadelphia Daily News, Thursday, June 13, 2002

  IN 1948, ALFRED KINSEY did some research and concluded that 10 percent of the population was gay. Ever since, there has been great debate about that figure. It’s not just cocktail chatter.

  There is power at stake because gays draw political support from politicians’ perception of their numbers. It’s all about the votes.

  Now, information from the 9/11 tragedy casts doubt on Kinsey’s number.

  Kenneth R. Feinberg is the special master of the fund created by Congress to compensate the victims of 9/11. He made headlines recently by clearing the way for the compensation of surviving gay partners. Feinberg’s decision may enable gay survivors to collect about $1.85 million. That’s a big incentive to come out of the closet. The wishes of next of kin will be considered as part of the funding decision.

  If we assume Kinsey to be correct, 10 percent or so of the victims of 9/11 would have been gay or lesbian. So, assuming a total of 3,000 victims, that would equate to 300 gay victims.

  Now, not all of the 300 could be expected to be in committed relationships. Line up any 300 people who are straight or gay and many will not be in such relationships. So, let’s cut it in half and take the number down to 150. In fact, let’s be cautious and cut it by another third. Say that 100 of the 300, or a third, were in committed relationships.

  Now the rub: There aren’t 100 surviving partners seeking compensation—there are only 22 known surviving gay partners!

  That suggests that the gay population among the victims of 9/11 was less than 1 percent!

  Some may say that we’ll never get an accurate picture because of a lingering social stigma that is attached to being gay. I can think of 1.85 million reasons that no surviving partner would remain in the closet.

  Others may say gays were underrepresented in the tragedy. I think the victims were a pretty random cross section. Men, women, blacks, whites, Americans, foreigners, cops, firefighters, busboys, brokers, the young, and the old. Obviously none of them volunteered for this fate.

  By contrast, Professor Kinsey relied entirely on volunteers. And 25 percent of his survey sample were prisoners, who arguably had a higher proportionate share of individuals who had engaged in homosexual behavior.

  So this just might be the most accurate assessment of the percentage of gay population.

  But even if the gay population is closer to 1 percent than 10 percent, it should not alter the debate about compensation.

  Despite opposing gay marriage, I think we should compensate surviving gay partners as long as there is evidence of a committed relationship. William Randolph and Wesley Mercer are one case: They were together for 26 years until Mercer died on 9/11.

  Mercer, who was vice president of corporate security at Morgan Stanley, has been credited with saving all but two of the company’s 3,300 employees. Mercer never divorced his wife, so she will be getting his Army pension, Social Security, and worker’s compensation. I think Randolph should share in the fund created by Congress.

  My conservative friends see the compensation of gay survivors as an example of gay leaders capitalizing on tragedy. I disagree. It’s the proper response to the greatest domestic attack on our country. Even if they are only 1 percent.

  AFTERWORD

  I remember getting some blowback to this column by a few who misinterpreted my aim as somehow being dismissive of gay rights and the size of the gay population. That was never the intent. Instead, I simply thought the tragedy of 9/11 provided a lab experiment of sorts about how many of us are gay—not that there’s anything wrong with that! I also wanted to highlight the work of Kenneth Feinberg, whose name to me is synonymous with the word “competence.” I later heard Feinberg deliver the Edward B. Shils Lecture at my alma mater, Penn Law, in December 2003 and found him to be brilliant. That Feinberg, a former chief of staff to Senator Ted Kennedy, was tapped to be the special master of the 9/11 fund by the George W. Bush appointee Attorney General John Ashcroft is a testament to the universal recognition of his capabilities. In fact, Congress gave him a blank check to settle thousands of 9/11 cases, such was their trust in him. And after resolving a mountain of litigation in that capacity, Feinberg similarly played Solomon in compensation matters involving the Boston Marathon bombing, General Motors, BP, and Volkswagen. Not long after Feinberg’s lecture at Penn Law, I ran into him in New York City on the Avenue of the Americas near 30 Rock. I was glad I got the opportunity to introduce myself and tell him how much I admired his work.

  As to the number of Americans who identify as LGBT today—at least via poll—the percentage continues to grow, especially among young adults. The most recent Gallup Poll report, released in January 2017, indicates that 4.1 percent of all adults over 18 identify as LGBT. But among Millennials (born between 1980 and 1998), the number is 7.3 percent.

  Seth Stephens-Davidowitz, a brilliant Harvard-educated Ph.D. and Internet data explorer, took his own shot at discovering the truth behind the number of gay men in the United States based on an analysis of pornography using Google analytics for his book Everybody Lies: Big Data, New Data, and What the Internet Can Tell Us about Who We Really Are. Think about it—no leading questions, no judgmental stares, no social pressures, just you and the Google search bar that can answer your deepest questions and concerns. Using data from Google Trends and Google AdWords, he found that among male searches for porn, about 5 percent of those searches are for “gay-male porn.” Interestingly, he found that there is parity in those searches between what would be thought of as gay-friendly states and less-tolerant states. For example, among searches for porn by men who live in Mississippi, 4.8 percent of those searches are for gay-male porn, which is fairly close to the 5.2 percent of searches for porn in Rhode Island that are for gay-male porn. Here’s his conclusion: “So how many American men are gay? This measure of pornography searches by men—roughly 5 percent are same-sex—seems a reasonable estimate of the true size of the gay population in the United States.”

  THE SINS OF THE FATHER . . .

  AND MOTHER

  Philadelphia Daily News, Monday, July 29, 2002

  ARE WE READY for a candid conversation about the circumstances surrounding the Erica Pratt kidnapping?

  I seriously doubt it.

  I tried on the radio the other night and it only took about 10 minutes until a caller used the R-word to describe me and what I had to say. (Perish the thought that a white guy should offer an opinion on a crime where both victim and perpetrator were black.) The injection of the R-word is usually all it takes for most—but not me—to end the discussion. It also explains why we often don’t have the tough talks and why nothing ever changes with race relations.

  Maybe you’re thinking that there is nothing left to be said. After all, two guys are in jail. Erica is all right. The story has a happy ending.

  Me? I say there is more to this than just James Burns and Edward Johnson. Something about what is wrong in America.

  First, a gut check. If the last thing you want to remember about the Erica Pratt case is the television image of a happy child reunited with family and friends, then stop reading this column now. But if you’re up for some dialogue about what really caused this crime, read on.

  Erica has been put in harm’s way by those around her. Her relatives have not onl
y put themselves at odds with the system, which is their adult decision, but they have placed this promising young girl in the crosshairs of drug violence, a situation over which she had no control.

  They are as much to blame as the men who kidnapped her. There. I said it.

  She has one uncle who was found dead last March—shot after being charged with attempted murder in connection with a September 2001 shooting. (A subject for another day is why he was out on the street after being charged with attempted murder.)

  Another uncle was acquitted of murder by a jury in 1993. More recently, this gentleman survived a murder attempt outside a Center City hotel during Philadelphia’s NBA All-Star week celebration.

  Then there is dad. He is reported to be on probation after being arrested on charges of drug possession and intent to distribute.

  It gets no better with mom. She reportedly was found guilty of reckless endangerment in January. Apparently she sprayed two women in the face with a dog repellent. And she has a prior arrest for drug possession.

  And so the responsibility for raising Erica—as it so often does in urban America—has been left to extended family, not a mother and father. In Erica’s case, that task belongs to a 45-year-old grandmother.

  I don’t know anything about her except her young age for being a grandmother. But I have read that the kidnapping happened about 9:30 P.M., when Erica was outside with a 5-year-old. By my clock, that is about an hour and a half past her bedtime.

  This is no environment for a child to grow up. Poverty. Drugs. Despair. And most important, an absence of male role models.

  The deck has been stacked against Erica Pratt. Not by race. But by relatives.

  AFTERWORD

  Shortly after this column was published, I received an e-mail that began as follows: “Michael: Let me briefly introduce myself. My name is Bernie Goldberg. I was a correspondent with CBS News for 28 years, I now work at HBO’s Real Sports and I wrote a book recently called Bias.”