Advice To Ujaweem
Fred Fights For Justice. Like Batman.
Today I'm going to become a great moral leader, like Gandhi, but without a diaper. I'll win the eternal gratitude of all downtrodden people everywhere, and maybe a Nobel Prize.
Magazines, and those reprehensible lying TV shows like Twenty Minutes or whatever, are bleating like hung-over goats about how universities mulct black basketball players. Yeah. The players get used for the glory of the school, and then thrown on the street when their eligibility wears out, like cheap shoes with a hole in the sole. They probably end up uneducated and drained and bagging groceries for fat white ladies in Beverly Hills. At least that's what it sounds like. Every couple of years an uproar arises about it and nothing gets done. Black columnists holler and say it's exploitation and just no end bad and rotten.
Which of course is true.
The predatory commercialism shouldn't surprise anybody. College athletics ain't a thing in the world but semi-pro ball, attached loosely to a presumed institution of higher learning. Schools will swindle labor like any other form of sweat shop.
It isn't really racial, of course. Give the universities credit for broader vistas of immorality. They would just as soon give basketball pseudo-scholarships to Polynesians, or paralytics, or giraffes, or construction cranes. They are indiscriminately unprincipled. It's just that black guys play better basketball.
What can the players do about it? I'm going to tell you. Right here. Copyright me. If black players want an education instead of being jerked around, they can get it. Easy.
If they want it.
Here's how. First, the captain of the team probably named Ujaweem al Bundeswehr -- at some major basketball factory UCLA, say should get on the blower to the Los Angeles Times and all the networks. He should tell them, "Hey gang, next Thursday we're gonna have a big press conference and talk about how the brothers are getting tromped on and done evil by. You news weasels can distort it and blow it out of proportion and get Pulitzers. Is that a deal or what? Three o'clock."
They'll be there.
Next, Ujaweem should call the Maximum Leader of the university. Yeah, the Prez. The Big Guy.
Now, I have no idea who is currently the Reichskanzler of UCLA, or Field Marshall, or head mistress, or whatever universities have to give them form and direction. He may be anything, possible even a vertebrate. But let's assume that he's a typical neutered spineless frightened university president. He'll have a name like Dr. Erlenmeyer Flask and a wife named Florence who gives elegant tea parties. Ujaweem should advise Dr. Flask of the press conference, and suggest the advisability of his showing up. Three o'clock.
The Prez will show. Otherwise heaven knows what might happen, and he wouldn't be able to put the right spin on it.
OK. Picture it. A sunlit afternoon, with scruffy students wandering around like insouciant landfills. A sense of impending spectacle will hang in the air. Ten TV trucks will be there and seventy-five print types. Reporters flock to a racial story like dung beetles who have discovered a camel dropping. Cameras will wave and point. Ditzy blondes with perfect hair will do stand-ups. Anchor persons will ask stupid questions.
And there will be Ujaweem and the whole UCLA basketball team, united, ominous, towering over journalists and most buildings.
Whereupon Ujaweem should speak to the Prez in this wise: "Now look here, Dr. What's-Your-Flask. We're getting just a little tired of this scam, see? We came here on scholarships, but all we do is play basketball for free, so this sorry school can make money and keep a bunch of rich alumni happy, and you can live in a big house and strut around like you amounted to something. Which you don't.
"That's fine for you.But we get outa here with some lame degree in Recreation, or Rhythmic Breathing we got rhythm or nothing at all and end up being gardeners and pruning the tops of short trees in Orange County. Ain't gonna happen, boss. That's over. Gone.
"You got ten minutes to get your scrawny white ass over to the academic dean, and sign us up for real degrees in whatever we want, and figure out a schedule so we got time to study. Otherwise we quit. Think about it. Now git."
At that point, Ujaweem will have him by the . . . yes. If any.
See, the Prez is going to think: "Headlines." Huge, grim, inescapable headlines. "UCLA Denies Blacks Education." "Racism Alive at UCLA." The LA Times. The New York Times. The Washington Post. None of them care about blacks, whom they regard as bushmen, but they love to eat the politically wounded. The Prez will know he's chow. He will also know it will be only a matter of time about fifteen minutes before one of the circling journalists comes up with, "The New Slavery: Black Life at UCLA."
A bit of technical advice, Ujaweem.. I recommend that the players wear waders, like duck hunters do in swamps, or at least Gore-Tex socks. It's because ol' Prez will fall instantly on his face and start licking your feet like a puppy that's found a gravy stain. At least, he will if he's like those Ivy League presidents. Academic officials are cowards. It's their most useful quality. They're probably an example of parallel evolution. I mean, it's hard not to believe that Dan Rather evolved from a monkey, but university presidents seem to have started as jellyfish, and didn't get very far.
In an hour the entire team except the white guy could be enrolled in electrical engineering.
That's all it would take. The trick is knowing what the most important things are in academia: athletics, and political correctness. Schooling is a distant third. You guys control the first two, Ujaweem, so you can get the third. If you quit, the team would be three puzzled white benchwarmers, not very good, who would either have to play extremely fast break, or revert to law school, buy lousy suits, and become divorce attorneys. And the Dr. Flasks everywhere are scared to death of the race card. Use it. In this case it's justified.
Dead serious, guy. There's not a school in the country that would dare deny you a real education. Then you'd be making out like a Democrat around an unwatched budget. You'd be getting a fairish education in anything you wanted, for free, and playing basketball in front of the whole country and a bunch of scouts. Go for it.
If you want it.