Love and Basketball : Ferguson Missouri

Anthony Powers Love and Ball

11/26/ 14
Much of the language of the following was taken directly from transcripts of Darren Wilson’s grand jury testimony in the police murder of Michael Brown.

So here’s what happened. I ‘m in my police SUV patrolling Lincoln Street in New Lenox, IL. I see these two male whites walking in the middle of the street. It’s a hostile territory. They don’t like blacks too much in this area. I often see guys standing on corners with Obama in Hitler mustache and Swastika signs.
A robbery was called in a little earlier in the day. Two male whites had allegedly stolen some cigars. We take cigar theft and jaywalking real seriously in these parts.
I notice that the larger male white has marijuana socks. I notice this because he has on basketball shorts. He also has strange tattoos. I drive along-side them and say: “Hey fellas, why don’t you get on the sidewalk.” The smaller male white replies: “We’re almost to our destination.” I ask them, “What’s wrong with the sidewalk, guys?” At that point the larger male white comes around the mirror and says: “Fuck what you have to say.”
I was taken aback by his response. I guess he had a real thing about sidewalks.
Suddenly I see the larger male white has some Cigarillos in his hand. I realized that the two male whites match the description of the alleged Cigar thieves. They are male whites. And the Cigarillos I suddenly see in his hands are a dead giveaway. They are prime suspects!
They keep walking in the middle of the street. I call for backup. I position the SUV to cut them off. As I move to get out the car, I tell the larger male white: “Hey, come here a minute.” He turns and faces me, and says: “What the fuck you gonna do about it?” I say, “about what? He says, “about it”. I say, “about what it”. He says, “about it”. I guess that’s just the way these thugs talk.
Then in a flash, before I can get out the car, he slams the door shut. I tell him to get back but he just stares as me, like to intimidate or overpower me. It was definitely an overpowering look. His face was intense, like a beast. I tell him, “get the fuck back” and push my door at him. He pushes my door back, ducks into the car window, and begins to punch me in the face. Then he stops punching me in the face, hands the Cigarillos’ to his friend (Cigarillos are obviously a prize possession in this ghetto), saying “My man, hold these while I kick this armed cops ass in his patrol car”.
He is on foot and I am in a Police SUV with backup on the way. This gives the large white male the advantage over me. These thugs are very athletic you know. And mean. That’s why they dominate Hockey. And football offensive lines.
He had already hit me twice. The two punches grazed me. I am certain a third would’ve killed me. Or put me in a wheelchair for life. These large white males can really hit. You ever see a hockey fight?
I grab the large male white’s arm and pull out my gun. I say: “Get back or I’m going to shoot you!” He says: “You are too much of a pussy to shoot me”. I say: “Huh?” He says: “You are too much of a pussy to shoot me.” I say: “Me being a pussy has nothing to do me being able to shoot you”. He says: “yes it does”. I say: “no it doesn’t”. He says: “yes it does.”
He reaches in and grabs my gun. This wasn’t covered in my police academy training for apprehending a crazed male white from within your stationary vehicle. He pushes the gun into my leg and pushes his finger into the trigger area. Then I somehow manage to push the gun up and at him in spite of his superior strength, leverage and animal rage. He continues to hold the gun. I guess he really did think I was a pussy. I pull the trigger until it goes off. Glass and blood falls on my hand.
He steps back and looks at me with this intense aggressive face. He had this real angry look. The only way I can describe it is like a blue eyed devil.
He comes at me again. I shield my face as he punches me again. While shielding my face, I fire two more times. Now he knows I’m definitely not a pussy. He begins to run, followed by a cloud of dust. Like a horse in old western.
I call again for more cars. I get out the car a begin give chase. Suddenly he stops and turns around to face me. At this point I really wish he would make up his mind as to whether or not I am a pussy.
I tell him to get on the ground. He grunts. Stamps his feet menacingly. He is like the Incredible Hulk and I am like a five year old. He gives out an aggravated growl. Then he barks. He comes at me, his hands reaching under his shirt. Oh my God, I think to myself, he must have a gun in his basketball shorts. Those whites wear them real baggy to accommodate their large….
Anyway, he’s coming at me. I begin repeatedly firing at him. I know I hit him at least once because he flinches again. At this point it looks like he is almost bulking up to run through the shots, like it is making him mad that I’m shooting at him. And the face that he has is looking straight through me, like I’m not even there, like I’m not even anything in his way.
It is then that I realize he is a mutant.
I am backpedaling quickly. I know if this mad white male mutant reaches me he’ll crush me like a tin beer can. He’ll pull my eyes out my skull. He’ll eat my children. He’ll knock me into a state of Bolivia.
When he gets ten to eight feet away, all I can see through my sites is his big ass head, so that’s what I shot. The demeanor on his face goes blank, the aggression is gone, it is gone, I mean, I know he stops, the threat is stopped. This is what tends to happen when you shoot a young large (as in my height) male white in the head. Having successfully stood my ground against overwhelming odds, I could only mutter to myself: “Told you I wasn’t a pussy”.
So here’s the question for you, Dear Reader: Do I get arrested? Properly investigated? Charged? Given opportunity to present the above case to the grand jury without cross examination? Given the opportunity to have the District Attorney prosecuting the case as my de-facto Public Defender? Assured that the foregone conclusion would be never having to suffer the inconvenience of an indictment and trial?

Is the media sympathetic to me? What is the reaction from the New Lenox community?

By the way: note from the County Prosecuting Attorney: Every single eye witness to the events from the New Lenox community is either too much of a liar, too emotional, too much of a criminal element, or too dumb to be credible.
So this is Love and Basketball. Here’s the basketball. Stay with me here. I recently read Roland Lazerby’s; Show: The Inside Story of the Spectacular Los Angeles Lakers , a great oral history of arguably the premiere franchise in NBA history. From George Mikan and Jay Pollard, Kareem and Magic through Shaq and Kobe, no franchise other than the Celtics represent the whole of NBA’s short history like the Lakers. Ran across this story: Jack Kent Cook, the Laker’s owner who preceded Jerry Buss and the emergence of Showtime, was at a restaurant shortly after a doctor’s appointment. The doctor called and congratulated him for having “the constitution of a 25 year old man and the heart of an ox.” Cook hangs up the phone and immediately has a heart attack. He survives, and when his mother visits him at the hospital, he informs her that he had actually “died” for 30 seconds. His mother replies: “Tell me Jack, which way were you going? Heaven or hell?
I wonder if Officer Darren Wilson’s and County Prosecuting Attorney Robert McCulloch’s mamas would have the same question

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