rev·o·lu·tion·ary: adjective : constituting or bringing about a major or fundamental change
Yesterday morning, when I woke to the news that Stuart Scott had passed away, I was immediately filled with sorrow – a grief that I snapped out of the very next minute. His death immediately seared the image into my mind of loving kids losing their father, an ex-wife losing her former lover and co-parent, a supportive girlfriend losing her rock, a family losing a loved one and close friends/colleagues losing a man of monumental stature. But, “losing” to cancer was NOT how Stuart Scott wanted to be remembered. He told us all, that thriving while surviving throughout his long battle with cancer was the true victory, and he was absolutely correct.
Over the next few hours, I watched the many beautiful tributes done for him, as well as taking in all of the accounts of his magnanimous and captivating life from close friends such as Rich Eisen, Hannah Storm and Robin Roberts, to name a few. Everyone collectively agreed that Scott brought a funk to sportscasting that had never been seen, attempted or pulled off by anyone in on any TV station anywhere in North America. But, as amazing as those reflections on his impact were, they stopped short at announcing his real impact on modern American society: He was a young, Black revolutionary figure that brought the country together, racially and socioeconomically, in a way that politicians, journalists and many activists never could.
First, let’s set the scene that Stuart Scott walked into. Sports is not a hobby or a pastime in the United States – it’s a serious and all-encompassing lifestyle. Whether you like it or not, the average American is more educated on the name of the leading scorer on their city’s team than their mayor’s political party. Americans will recognize a coach before they can spot the speaker of the house. And sports commentators live in a special lore that many serious news anchors never reach. For many people, sports anchors are more of a regular, everyday staple of their routines than some of their close friends and family members. To a great number of people, the job of a sportscaster, and how it’s carried out, truly matters.
But the U.S. is also a country with a deep racial divide. Saying America has had problems with race relations is like saying Michael Jackson had a slight discoloration. As Malcolm X once famously said:
“If you stick a knife nine inches into my back and pull it out three inches, that is not progress. Even if you pull it all the way out, that is not progress. Progress is healing the wound, and America hasn’t even begun to pull out the knife.”
That is the United States in a nutshell. A country based in an intense racial divide, unwilling to even acknowledge that its present, except when it flares up in overt and polarizing circumstances. And before Stuart Scott sat behind the ESPN anchor desk in 1993, racial animus in sports was at an all-time high.
1993 was the year the Fab Five rocked bald heads, long shorts and black socks as they attempted to make it back to the NCAA men’s national championship game. A team routinely called thugs and gangsters in the media, and far worse in everyday society. Their hip-hop swag was not seen as an example of a multicultural society, but rather as an affront to respectability, class and appropriate diffidence.
1993 was the year Allen Iverson was arrested for his alleged role in a race-based brawl that took place in a bowling alley in his hometown of Hampton, VA. That incident reopened many racialized wounds in that community, which persist today.
1993 was the year many schools all over California began outlawing Los Angeles Raiders gear because it was seen as a statement of gang affiliations, instead of organizational support. Starter also introduced their pullover hoodie line, which led to widespread robberies, covered by the media in a manner which many feel was racially-tinged, if not overt.
Simply put, in the early to mid-nineties, rap was an expletive. Of course, there were a few cuddly stars that the mainstream would embrace (i.e. the Fresh Prince, MC Hammer, etc.) but everyone else was relegated as being too risqué for a “respectable” place like ESPN. Our stars, our music, and our slang was collectively persona non grata. In a year where suburban, middle-class parents were trying to steer their children away from rap albums like Snoop Dogg’s “Doggystyle”, Cypress Hill’s “Black Sunday”, and 2Pac’s “Strictly 4 My N.I.G.G.A.Z”, Stuart Scott decided to bless the building in Bristol, Connecticut with his raw and unapologetic Blackness.
Before Scott stepped one foot inside the building, there was no color in the commentating like there is today. If you are under 30, there’s a small chance that you truly understand and recognize the stuffy air of “professionalism” that engulfed sports anchors. They were supposed to be entertaining yet demure, funny yet far from bombastic, energetic and simultaneously evanescent – all things that didn’t rock with Scott’s natural flair and charisma. And that all changed when Stuart Scott graced the SportsCenter screen.
When Stuart Scott was on screen, he didn’t announce the highlights to you, he spoke directly to you, with equal parts energy and authenticity. But, more importantly to ME, he spoke right to young, Black folks who were unknowingly desperate for his style of communication. He used the lingo that we used every Saturday morning in the barbershop when we talked about a dunk Michael Jordan did the night before. He used the vernacular we used in the classrooms, playgrounds and street corners with our friends. He wasn’t just a Black man in a high place – he was US – bold, proud, and courageous. Man, he didn’t just show us that we CAN – he showed us that we CAN in OUR way TOO.
But, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the fact that he faced a lot of detractors for his flagrant and unrepentant Blackness. His style was considered by many to be “ghetto”, “unprofessional” and “unbecoming” of an elite news anchor. He received hate mail that ranged from antiquated lectures of respectability, to downright racist diatribes. And not once did he ever consider switching his style up to appease his detractors, even when it might have felt like he was all alone.
A few years ago, a study by two Indiana University professors analyzed how television impacts the self-esteem of children from different racial backgrounds. The study found that Black girls and boys both experienced a decrease in self-esteem, while white males experienced an increase. The study found that children are negatively affected when they don’t see themselves positively represented on screen. And it’s that result in mind that propels Scott from a talented sports anchor, into a symbol of revolution for young Black people. He represented success, intelligence and excellence in a non-code-switched package that was inclusive of Black folks of every socioeconomic class. And that legacy changed how sports, an everlasting, important American institution, has sounded for the last 20 years, and how it will sound until the day we all die.
Besides the love he showed his family, the legacy he will leave us is as a powerful revolutionary. He changed how sports SOUNDED. He changed how sports was REPORTED. He gave hope to people who never felt they could ever be represented on TV. Young, Black journalists (such as myself) were emboldened by the new reality that a place for our unique and unabashed viewpoints had been forever established through his trailblazing. He fought cancer bravely, just like many of our family members and friends do. He loved his children, just like many of us do. He was many things to many people, but I selfishly will remember him as the man, whose mere presence on my TV screen, boldly stated that I could do it too, whatever I wanted “it” to be.
My condolences to his daughters, Taelor and Sydni, his ex-wife Kimberly, his girlfriend Kristin Spodobalski, and everyone who was blessed to be his friend. There’s only one fitting sentiment I can think for a man who so bravely battled cancer:
Rest In Power.
Photos: Twitter, ESPN