In an election year during which the incumbent uses his basketball fandom to gain "everyman" status, it's hard not to think about politics with every pass of the ball, every shot through the hoop, every board ripped down from the glass. Sports are a part of our national fabric as much as, if not more than, debates, primaries, and straw polls.
Several weeks ago, I was pointed to an article about Harrison Barnes in The Atlantic titled "Moneyballer." It was sent by a friend, arguing—incorrectly, if you ask me—against college basketball players being paid, using Barnes' self-branding strategy as an example of how colleges offer enough opportunity already. One nod to Barnes' generally infuriating self-branding decisions particularly got my goat. You've probably heard others complain about it:
Although he founded a Bible-study group in high school and paid particularly close attention when he met Barack Obama before a game aboard a U.S. aircraft carrier earlier this season, he’s reluctant to discuss either experience. “Anytime you want to get into religious or political views,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “that can instantly polarize people.” (In this he seems also to be following in the footsteps of Jordan, who, when asked why he wouldn’t endorse Harvey Gantt in a Senate race against Jesse Helms two decades ago, reportedly answered, “Republicans buy sneakers, too.”)I railed against Barnes for days, cursed the evilness of MJ's legacy, and lamented the lack of personalized, political passion in the world of athletics—at least from the most meaningful members of that world. But a week and a half ago, a link to a photo you've probably seen by now showed up on my timeline and made me realize that, just maybe, there's been a one-man rebellion growing right under our noses.
