Get Rich or Die Tryin' (Part 2)

Mistakes were made. (By who?)

Me. I waited too long to post the second half of this mega blog.

Like a good neighbor wannabe lawyer, I reviewed and deliberated the facts. I looked at my four protagonists (Jay-Z/MJ and 50 Cent/Kobe) closely. I listened to more of their music than I’m comfortable admitting in public. I read and re-read their lyrics, even drawing parallels between 50 Cent’s “How to Rap” mix single and Kobe’s 1997 dunk contest explosion (both acknowledged and respected their predecessors). I even compared 50 Cent’s performance style to Jay-Z’s, and failed to extricate anything that would lend a direct criticism to 50 Cent’s character. Even in a vacuum, 50 Cent doesn’t fully compare to Kobe…and Jay-Z doesn’t fully compare to Michael Jordan.

And I was caught with a mixed metaphor.

Settle down, Kobe fans. This is not to say that Michael Jordan takes a backseat to Kobe. Hold up, 50 Cent savants. He still doesn’t hold a candle to Jay-Z. But as my buddy Jason claimed, to buttress Jay-Z’s accomplishments in order to solidify the metaphor isn’t prudent.

In addition, there are some elements of Jay-Z’s rap game that reflect Kobe’s hoops style. Gasp!

I’m willing to admit that I was licked by additional research, if only to ensure that Trey (my 15-year old son) still comes away with the main point: 50 Cent wasn’t a better rapper than Jay-Z. Kobe wasn’t a better basketball player than Michael Jordan. Got it? Cool.

Argument Caveat #1: Comparing Jay-Z to Michael Jordan openly anoints Jay-Z as the G.O.A.T.

I should’ve done this before I wrote the post, but there’s no better time than the present. Before comparing across disciplines, ground rules have to be established and a framework needs to be cemented. In other words, before we compare Jay-Z to Jordan we have to provide an answer for “The Question”.

Who’s the best rapper of all-time?

Yikes. There aren’t enough column lines in this post to satisfy that answer. We’ll have to save this debate for the barber shop. BUT...if you had to pick four rappers to make a Mount Rushmore-style monument honoring their greatness (a Mount Rapmore, if you will), who would make the cut? I don’t even think Jay-Z makes my top five (Rakim, Biggie, Tupac, Nas/Q-Tip). Does this sound like a guy that deserves to be compared to Michael Jordan – The Greatest Basketball Player EVER? I think not.

Argument Caveat #2: Does Jay-Z pass the Alpha Male Test?
Let’s say you meet a lady for drinks at a lounge. You’re generally having a good run – she’s laughing at your jokes, you’re enjoying sincere quality time, you haven’t tapped into “I Need to Order Her More Drinks to Skew Her Judgment of Me” mode, and you’re beginning to get the feeling that, umm, there’s light at the end of the tunnel. And then, without notice…both of these guys walk through the club door: Jay-Z and 50 Cent. Which guy would command the room?

Here’s the catch: Neither guy is rich or famous, but are simply two regular guys looking for a good time on a Friday night.

Which guy makes you more nervous? For me, it’d HAVE to be 50 Cent. (You know…if random club guys actually made me nervous. Pshaw!)

I mean, look at him. He’s incredibly ripped. He’s got an infectious smile. He walks upright and has confidence. If 50 Cent decided to sit on the adjacent lounge couch and undress my date with his eyes when – coincidentally – I would need to get up and use the bathroom, guess what? I’d have to hold my pee. Period.

Let’s play the same scenario out with Jay-Z. I’d probably invite him to the couch. I’d buy him a drink. I’d even go as far as to solicit my date’s girlfriend (you KNOW there’s always one grenade that looms awkwardly around the date) so that he could have someone to talk to. Basically, I’d assert Alpha Male status…not the other way around.
Argument Caveat #3: How many of these guys are pathologically competitive?
There’s a great debate that will always rage within English Literature circles: Was Hamlet acting crazy, or was he legitimately crazy? In basketball, there’s no doubt that Michael Jordan fits the latter description like a glove. My favorite crazy-competitive Jordan story involves the ‘92 basketball year, when everyone kept comparing a crummy Clyde Drexler to Michael Jordan. Of course, M.J. went on to rip Drexler’s heart out in the NBA Finals (winning Ring #2), and then continued to kick his tail in Dream Team practices to the point where Magic and Bird (the team captains) told Jordan to stop before Clyde’s ego was irreplaceably damaged. Who else would take a slight to that extreme?

I don’t think any of the other three principals have that streak. Kobe exists in a league where guys befriend each other in AAU tournaments (an attitude that definitely rubbed off on him), 50 Cent is driven by sales and paper before greatness, and Jay-Z smartly cashed out while at his peak (netting Beyonce, fame, and 1% of the Nets in the process). I’m not hating on these three, honest…but no one was as insatiably driven to vanquish his foes quite like M.J. For better or worse.
Argument Caveat #4: If you analyzed the greatest rapper year-to-year from 1999-2006…who would claim my teenage heart?
I created a four-part formula to explain this caveat (based loosely on Simmons’ pick-up game theory). This is how I came to my conclusion. Indulge me, if you will:

Part 1: VORR (value over replacement rapper) = If I could replace the best rapper from that year with an average rapper, how much worse would that year have been? For example, if we replaced Tupac with The Pharcyde, 1995 would’ve been WAY different.

Part 2: CLUTCH = If I needed to win a rap battle at any point in that year, who’s the first guy I’m grabbing for my corner? For example, remember when we thought Puff Daddy was going to be the heir to the rap throne once Biggie died? Too bad Puff Daddy was EXPOSED so badly that he was forced to change names three times. He's the anti-clutch.

Part 3: LEGACY = When we talk about that year's "rap state" ten years from now, who’s the first person that comes to mind?

Part 4: DEFENSE = If you pick a guy that someone doesn’t agree with, would they respect your decision?
Sweet. Now that we’ve got a loose formula, let’s examine our time period:
1999 (Eminem), 2000 (Nelly), 2001 (Jay-Z), 2002 (Jay-Z), 2003 (50 Cent), 2004 (Jay-Z), 2005 (Kanye West), 2006 (Lupe Fiasco).

If I were Gregory Peck, here’s where my “Jay-Z over 50 Cent” defense would rest. Jay-Z clearly owned three of my teenage years; ’01 (The Blueprint), ’02 (The Blueprint 2), and ’04 (The Black Album). 50 Cent only holds claim to one year (’03 – Get Rich or Die Tryin’) and even then, he’s elbowing Andre 3000 and OutKast for space most of the year. (Ultimately, I gave 50 Cent the nod even though Speakerboxx/The Love Below won the Grammy that year, because it was a tag-team effort.)

FINAL ANALYSIS = Jay-Z (3) > 50 Cent (1).

As you can see, I overanalyzed and debunked this concept to the fullest. We can add the “Jay-Z/50 Cent” answer to the annals of other great debates, like Nike being better than Adidas and Lucky Charms over Marshmallow Alpha Bits. Thanks for hanging in, and I hope you enjoyed the ride.

Hey, if this saves me from a depressing car ride to the Poconos in fifteen years with my 15 year-old son Trey, it was DEFINITELY worth it.
M.B., II

Get Rich or Die Tryin' (Part 1)

In twenty years, some idiot is going to goof around on Wikipedia, find out about a guy named Curtis Jackson, look at his record sales and start a blog declaring “50 Cent” the best rapper of this decade. My 15-year old son will then believe this blogger, blindside me with a definitive statement about 50 Cent while we drive to the Poconos, and leave me speechless as my wife massages my arm and gives our kids another box of Dunkaroos to keep quiet.

And then, I’ll re-read this article. And laugh. And show it to my son.
How quickly we forget.

Remember 2003? It was a crazy year. President Bush started the War in Iraq, Darko got drafted over Carmelo and Wade, and Martha Stewart was busted in the insider trading scandal. That summer, on every Top 100 radio station, a guy with a raspy voice and kindergarten rhymes bopped into our hearts with his insistence on rapping around sex, drugs, and getting paid. The guy’s name was 50 Cent. And we enjoyed every minute of it.

50 Cent came along at the right time. Thanks to Jay-Z’s success, the pressure on New York City to find the next Notorious B.I.G. to soothe a global hip-hop craze died down, but still…an opportunity existed for someone to co-exist and steal some hearts. Jay-Z was a cool dude and solid rapper, but he looked like Joe Camel. Not someone an easily malleable teenager from Queens is totally sold on patterning his life after.

50 Cent was gully, which was more than enough for us. 50 was from Queens (unlike Jay-Z, who made it a point to claim his Brooklyn heritage). 50 had tattoos and muscles. 50 got shot NINE times, a fact that was recited more times in ‘03 than the Pledge of Allegiance. Everyone had the prerequisite “I SWEAR, 50 Cent was on Jamaica Ave. last Sunday!” story, which made this rapper a man of the people. You know, even though he owned a house in Bridgeport, Connecticut.

My track team bumped the mess out of 50 Cent’s music: from his hit song “In the Club” (which convinced me to sport a white tee and fake earring one summer) to his passionate “21 Questions” ballad (which made it OK to be a lover and a fighter). Apparently, we weren’t the only ones – 50 topped the Billboard charts that year (back when people still bought music) and earned a Grammy nod, ultimately losing to Outkast’s “Speakerboxx/The Love Below” dual-threat album. (In a related story, Nelly’s “Sweat/Suit” followed suit and impressed no one.)

Like all teenagers, I grew up. I stopped wearing baggy jeans and fake earrings, I listened more intently to Jay-Z music (The Black Album came out later that year) and soon realized that Jay-Z was the better rapper, even if he looked like a recurring character from The Banana Splits. Honestly, I thought the argument was moot…until I goofed around on Billboard.com and saw this telling stat under their “Artists of the Decade” rankings:

Eminem (#1). 50 Cent (#6). Jay-Z (#10).

Wait, WHA?? Granted, this is based on Billboard’s album sales count and hot songs charts (note: everyone stopped buying music in 2006) but still, some idiot who wasn’t old enough to see the progression of 50 Cent and Jay-Z will make the ludicrous claim that 50 Cent was better. It’s up to us (the teenagers and fans who lived through the 50 Cent saga) to explain to future generations that 50 Cent couldn’t hold a candle to Jay-Z in the rap game.

Here’s the problem: Since the mega stats back it up, Idiot Future Blogger will have a legitimate argument. Yikes.

And this is where I insert the sentence comparing 50 Cent to Kobe Bryant. Yup.
In about a week’s time, Kobe Bryant will pass Hakeem Olajuwon’s scoring mark and move to #10 on the All-Time Scoring List (the Punnett Square of NBA Stats). Since Kobe’s point totals have dropped an average of 153 points per season since the 2007-08 season, we can roughly assumed (given how Kobe takes care of his body) that Kobe will score around 1,817 points this year (’10-11), 1,664 next year (’11-12), 1,511 in Year 3 (’12-13), and 1,358 in Year 4 (’13-14) in his 17th NBA season (age 35). To place it in perspective, only Kareem and Karl Malone lasted that long and scored more in their 17th years, and both had HOF point guards (Magic, Stockton) giving them bunnies. Amazing.


(By the way, by the time Kobe’s 36th birthday rolls around, it’s not inconceivable to believe that he’ll be sitting at #3 on the all-time list behind the aforementioned Malone and Kareem (with over 33,284 points). WOW.)

This begs the argument: What’s worth more: quality or quantity? Do we give the G.O.A.T. title to Kobe because he’ll quantitatively top Jordan (barring injury), or does M.J. get it based on MVP seasons, title belts, and the fact that his peak dwarfs Kobe’s in every respect? I’ll save you the time. Of COURSE M.J. is better...but you still had to think about it. A scary proposition indeed.

For the fun on it, I’ve extrapolated the careers of Kobe and 50 Cent. Both have measureable talent (athletic ability, mental dexterity), both have taken the world by storm (one teenage suburban girl at a time), and both need to be examined thoroughly to prove to my 15-year-old son that Kobe/50 Cent < M.J./Jay-Z.(I’m splitting this post in two, if only to let you get back to work before your boss peers over your shoulder to see you staring intently at a picture of a shirtless 50 Cent. (By the way, if I ever saw my assistant looking at a picture of 50 Cent at his/her desk, I would point, laugh, and say “Stay thirsty, my friends!” as I hit the water cooler. Yes, even if that’ll be fifteen years from now and they’ll miss the joke.)

- M.B., II

“Mo’ Better Hoops”: M.J.’s Epic Transcendence of the Game

By all accounts, Michael Jeffrey Jordan is the greatest basketball player of all time.

I’d like to pretend that depicting Michael Jordan in the context of this series was a cinch. I’d like to believe that I’ve imbedded enough hyperlinks for my reader to understand and embrace the grandeur of the game’s greatest ambassador. I’d like to declare my ability to instantly summarize the impact of “His Airness” in this brief affidavit to the rooftops of my dorm at Howard University. However, that proclamation would be a bold-faced lie.

Truth be told, I’ve been tinkering with this portion of my “form/function” theory since its inception. I wondered aloud, seeking to figure out a correct way to illustrate Jordan in the scope of my work. How could I capture M.J.’s excellence, mastery, and artistry in a way that would bring further understanding to the basketball cavalcade? After much deliberation, I realized that answering this question in fullness is moot. To me, deconstructing Michael Jordan is as daunting a task as summarizing the Black Arts Movement in a paragraph, defining John Coltrane for an encyclopedia, or making meaning of Rakim’s lyrical content for a Time Magazine editorial. I apologize in advance for failing to fully illustrate the significance of Michael Jordan.

But as my dad once told me, the best way to devour an entire salami is by eating it one slice at a time. The only way for basketball intellectuals to gain some semblance of understanding in regards to Michael Jordan’s career is through continuous discourse. A writer, no matter how gifted, will possess all the answers. I invite everyone to join me in this rhythmic dance, to add your opinion to existing rhetoric. Lastly, before I begin analyzing M.J.’s game, I submit that the intricate events of our superstar’s life are not all coincidental. I assert that God had a plan for Michael Jordan’s life – like He does for every single life on the planet – and that the amazing correlations that I will make within this discussion echo this belief. Even the best theorists and thinkers of our day would agree that not all ideas can be explained with the parameters of intellectual discourse. Greatness is an idea that’s impossible to explain.

Michael Jordan was an individual birthed into a family of innovators. Michael’s mother, Deloris, worked in the banking industry and his father, James, was an equipment supervisor, allowing the Jordan family to embrace black middle-class status. While still a toddler, Michael’s parents decided to leave their Brooklyn residence and migrate southward to the state of North Carolina, beginning a trend that exists to this day. Currently, African-Americans make up nearly a quarter of North Carolina's population with the number of middle-class blacks increasing exponentially since the 1970s (Wikipedia).

Before we move on, it is of interest to note that young Michael was born in Brooklyn, NY – a dynamic metropolis of Africana basketball culture. Here, basketball was played in a way that emphasized the aesthetic qualities of the game, a free-flowing exhibition that reflected the Africana elements of black life in New York. James Jordan lived in this vibrant setting for a number of years, and undoubtedly passed some of Brooklyn’s cultural elements on to his young sons, Larry and Michael, after their move to North Carolina.

Though Michael Jordan was born in the concrete jungle of New York, he was bred in the plains of North Carolina. According to the NBA.com encyclopedia, Jordan shared an intimate bond with his father, with baseball being the first love of both men. Young Michael only began playing basketball due to his idolization of his older brother Larry, “a spectacular athlete in his own right,” who cultivated young Michael’s competitive desire (NBA.com). Simply put, he wanted to defeat his older brother.

In high school, Jordan attempted to transfer his game to his varsity team, but was considered too short to play for the squad (only 5’11’’ by his sophomore year). This setback unintentionally allowed Michael Jordan to begin honing the elements of his distinct game – a process that would continue on every level of his amateur and professional athletic career. Jordan played in an era before AAU programs and sponsorships, a damning product of today’s amateur athletics that stifles the aesthetic growth of children and teenagers during the very important formative years (a concept that I will discuss later on in the series). Jordan spent his sophomore summer practicing, embracing the multiplicity of his game, and beginning to strike the balance between the Africana qualities inherent in form with the functional tenets of basketball. Jordan’s early tinkering with this fusion of form and function is important to analyze in the context of Jordan’s game. Jordan’s synthesis of both basketball elements within the parameters of his game allowed him to garner measurable success on every level (NCAA and NBA championships) without compromising his game’s expressive qualities inherent in Africana. However, because Jordan would be the first player birthed from this “form/function” fusion, practice and repetition would be vital towards gaining a mastery of this intricate basketball concept.

Michael Jordan returned from his sophomore summer an entirely new basketball player. God blessed the teenager with another four inches of height (pushing M.J. to 6’3”) giving Jordan access to the varsity squad at Laney High School. The rest of his high school career is an exercise in recounting history. Michael averaged a triple-double in his senior season, gained recognition by earning a place on the prestigious McDonald’s All-American Team and was selected by the legendary coach Dean Smith to play at one of basketball’s collegiate powerhouses – The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

As a freshman at Howard University, I used to chill and debate sports with three good brothers from Raleigh, North Carolina – Brenden, Ellis, and James. To me, these three gents possessed a cognitive dissonance when it came to North Carolina’s basketball programs, loving one team (UNC) while hating another (Duke), a concept that I didn't fully understand. Brenden Whitted, our resident UNC basketball expert, used to always say (and I quote), “Duke will get guys drafted, but UNC creates superstars.” But why is that the case? I believe to properly analyze the greatness of UNC basketball is to begin with a case study of Dean Smith. While Coach Mike Krzyzewski and other select coaches recruited players to add to their collective legacies, Coach Dean focused initially on cultivating talent inherently present in certain individuals. Coach Dean wanted to make his basketball program a favorite for prospects seeking to evolve their games. Heck, Dean Smith was probably a secret connoisseur of Africana. Smith fought for desegregation in athletics – recruiting UNC’s first black scholarship athlete – and for equal treatment of African-Americans by local Carolina businesses. Smith adapted his style from the legendary black basketball coach John McLendon, a fellow KU alum who created the now-famous fast break offense as well as the four corners technique (which later forced the NCAA to adapt the shot clock to minimize ball control). Dean Smith understood the importance of growing free-flow talent better than any basketball coach, and realized that teaching his students to harness that talent would invariably lead to collegiate success.

To further acknowledge this point, let’s quickly compare Michael Jordan’s basketball career to that of Duke’s Johnny Dawkins. During the 1980s, one could successfully argue that Dawkins was the better player. Dawkins held the record for points scored in a career (until J.J. Redick broke it in 2006), and lead the Blue Devils to the national championship game of 1986 on the coattails of a 37-3 record. However, Dawkins became the first of many talented Africana players to have his exceptional talents marginalized for the betterment of university success. Simply put, Coach K stunted Dawkins’ basketball growth and crushed his inherent free-flow aesthetic in favor of critical acclaim for Duke’s college basketball program. Dawkins went on to become a very marginal NBA player, playing for the Spurs, Pistons, and 76ers before eventually retiring and returning to Duke as one of Coach K’s assistant basketball coaches. Arguably, Coach K is one of the first basketball coaches to siphon basketball talent in order to bolster his personal attributes – also known as the abuse of black bodies for personal gain. To any student of Africana peoples, this damning idea is one that should be easily recognizable in the context of black history.

Either knowingly or unknowingly, Michael Jordan’s alignment with UNC showed a recognition of Coach Dean’s philosophy. While the young teen may have chosen to attend the college based on its proximity to his hometown or any number of extenuating factors, his choice to attend UNC was a major factor that gave him greater leverage to master the delicate balance between free-flow and functional basketball. Fortunately for basketball fans, Jordan made the correct choice.

When Jordan arrived at UNC, he initially played second fiddle to two talented upperclassmen – James Worthy and Sam Perkins. While this slight is often seen by basketball critics as damning to Jordan’s career, this allowed young Jordan’s game to mature at a healthy rate and further master this “controlled chaotic” style of basketball, a fusion that would catapult Michael Jordan to the height of the basketball world.

(Side Note: In this thesis, the idea of “controlled chaos” is the product of a fused “form/function” basketball aesthetic. My definition of controlled chaos is the result that occurs when a basketball player has completely mastered the attributes of form and function, and can use these qualities at their discretion at a moment’s notice. Jordan was the prototypical engineer of this unique basketball quality, a quality that would take “His Airness” years of discipline and practice to fully master.)

However, some of the features of a “controlled chaos” aesthetic cannot merely be practiced…they must be performed on the biggest of stages. As I mentioned in Part 3, one such immeasurable attribute is the idea of “clutchness”. In addition, the ability to be clutch cannot be taught. An athlete either has the flair for the dramatic or will exist simply as a consummate professional or statistical sensation. (Hence, the existence of guys like “Big Shot” Robert Horry, Larry Bird, and Chauncey Billups.) By allowing Michael Jordan to take the winning shot against the Ewing-led Georgetown Hoyas over his upperclassmen, Dean Smith was testing the young champion’s ability to access this unknown part of a basketball player’s aesthetic, one that only a select few individuals have possessed in the history of the game. In Roland Lazenby’s article “Michaelangelo: Portrait of a Champion”, Jordan states that this shot was a turning point in his basketball career. I agree, and add that by making this championship-winning shot as a freshman, Jordan added a lethal weapon to his already diverse arsenal. The foundation for basketball transcendence had officially been laid.

In 1984, Michael Jordan was drafted third by the struggling Chicago Bulls. While most sports pundits laugh at the fact that two teams passed on the greatest basketball player ever, I can’t be totally angry with their assessment at the time. Jordan was a swingman, a position that still hadn’t been seen by league intellectuals as one that could lead to championship success. With the first pick, the Houston Rockets selected center Hakeem Olajuwon, a member of the famous “Phi Slamma Jamma” fraternity at the nearby University of Houston, and a guy who won championships and became a great player in his own right (arguably, the best center of the 1990’s). The Portland Trailblazers selected oft-injured forward Sam Bowie because they had already taken superstar guard Clyde Drexler in the former year’s draft and had a wealth of swingmen already on their roster (Jerome Kersey, Kiki Vandeweghe, among others). The door was wide open for the Chicago franchise, and they seized the opportunity.

Upon arrival, Jordan immediately dominated the league and was voted to the All-Star game by fans in his rookie season. However, veteran players became jealous of Jordan’s rapid ascension, allegedly leading to a “freeze-out” during the first All-Star game with players refusing to pass Michael Jordan the ball. However, Jordan shrugged off the existing tension, continuing to dominate and later winning the Rookie of the Year award with ease. Jordan’s training under Coach Smith at UNC was finally beginning to pay off.

However, roadblocks were beginning to materialize. Critics argued that Jordan lacked a consistent jumper, and couldn’t make his players better. But a more glaring light shone in the form of the Detroit Pistons, who sought to limit Jordan’s effectiveness through their implementation of the “Jordan Rules”. The “Jordan Rules” was a defensive strategy where the opposition would hound Michael Jordan with two or three defenders in order to wear him down and limit his effectiveness. Basically, the Pistons were daring the other Bulls to beat them. Unfortunately, because the other Chicago players weren’t able to create their own shot, the defense was impenetrable.

After three straight losing trips to the Eastern Conference Finals, the Bulls fired coach Doug Collins and replaced him with Phil Jackson, a relative unknown on the New York Knicks’ 1970’s championship teams and an amateur in regards to coaching. However, it was through Jackson’s unconventional coaching style that Jordan’s Bulls were finally able to surpass the Pistons for Eastern Conference supremacy. Phil Jackson adopted the “triangle offense”, a system devised by Tex Winter to maximize the efficiency of all players on the court. The offense provided easy opportunities for players to score while dually allowing Jordan to take charge when necessary.

As they say, the rest is history. The Bulls overcame their archrival Pistons and went on to “three-peat” as NBA champions prior to Jordan’s retirement in 1994. When M.J. returned after this basketball sabbatical, the Bulls picked up where they left off, winning a record-setting 70 games in the 1996-1997 season. After finishing the second “three-peat” with his signature jumper over Utah’s Brian Russell, M.J.’s transcendence was complete. Jordan had finally mastered the fusion of form and function in his game, allowing our hero to exhibit this “controlled chaos” at his convenience. His team was simply “Unbeata-Bull”, and Michael had cemented his legacy as the greatest player to ever play the game of basketball.

After Jordan’s second retirement, a question still remained unanswered. How would the basketball world respond to Jordan’s decade of domination? A new generation of prodigies used “His Airness” as their basketball template. The ripples of the Jordan decade were set to disseminate, and today’s basketball world exists as a reaction to the post-Jordan era.

Welcome to the exciting modern world of basketball.

Mike Benjamin, II