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A Boy Named Sue.

Well, if you read my previous post, its only redeemable distinction is that it froze a snapshot, in medias rei as it were (in the middle of the predominating action, for those knucklheads afoot who preferred Pig-Latin the the actual dead language), of the reigning NFL champs erstwhile sleep-walking through the first part of their season.  History records that they woke up, like that second coming “slouching towards Bethlehem” to be born, or crowned yet again unlikely conquerors, leaving in their wake the mangled corpses of would-be contenders strewn along the pavement of the gridiron equivalent of murderers row, starting with the Jets and the Cowboys in the playoff swing of the second round of league play leading into the playoffs, and culminating with the awe-inspiring dragon-slaying of the much vaunted Patriots and their comic book hero Tom Terrific.


Ok, my point?  Well the only redeeming item possible in my previous rant comparing the Champs when they were down to the short-lived career of some reluctant cross-dressing obscure pop music figure in his undeservedly dubious fifteen minutes of fame, only to disappear into the scrapheap of history only to be revived for a nanosecond as a comedic mechanism in a defunct comedy series…. Ok, my point?

I am only hoping some NY Giant fan or team member read that blog and reported out to them that fandom at large considered them bearing the appearance of first class punks and chumps at that point in the season, and reported out to them, awakening in them such a fiery righteousness as to inspire them to pull of the most legendary of second halves of the season in NFL history, on their way to a more historic singular win in the Super Bowl.

If someone can corroborate this for me, I can promise to do my best to furnish them with a completely unblemished vinyl 45 vintage recording, not on scratch or pop to be heard, of Ol’ Johnny Cash’s classic country western classic of the hero legend who responded to a lifelong affront on his manhood to slay all naysayers who came his way in his adult life;  that old song you and I have come to know and love:  A BOY NAMED SUE!

Congratulations Giants!  Eli was not only coming; he came, he saw, and the whole damned crew conquered big time.  Well deserved and earned!!!!!


New Chick in Shalamar

No disrespect to Micki Free (wikipedia the name and see he was one of the few if not the only certifiably Native American rocker solo acts in the seventies, who had the misfortune of being recruited to the disco/pop group by the name of Shalamar after the long overdue departure of ex-soul train dancer, and pretty boy in competition with the girls at the beauty contenst, Jeffrey McDaniel). My point? Well these personas were immortalized in the David Chappelle vignette “True Hollywood Stories” by non other than Charley Murphy. The reference to Micki Free and Shalamar belonged to particular episode of this skit describing Charley Murphy’s erstwhile encounter with Prince and Revolution in a club during a night on the town in the much heralded, halycon party days of the eighties.

My point (you are probably wondering again at this time)? Well this series skits for “True Hollywood Stories are probably best remembered for the episode featuring Rick James in cameo, shortly before his death, also immortalized by Rick’s own Emancipation Proclamation: “I’m Rick James, Bitch”

Ok, okay, my point?

Back to the Shalamar episode of these skits, Charley Murphy and his gilded thug life buddies (featuring Ashy Larry) get invited home to Prince’s home for a listening party, where promptly Charley and his boys are caught off guard by being challenged to a game of basketball by Prince and the Revolution. Well, history records that Charley and his boys were taken to fashion school on the hoops court and dealt with in the most indelicate manner.

NOW TO MY POINT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

When a team with a winning record in the NFL, in the second round of league play leading to the playoff-deciding stretch of the season, mails it in to a team in marginal or no contention, and gets dealt with. Do they or do they not resemble Charley Murphy and his boys at the Prince listening party?

Back to Micki Free (whose unfortunate stage persona in his short-love stint with Shalamar– where’s Howard Hewitt when you need him to get a witness — was an obvious knock-off of Prince’s stage persona), okay, okay, prompted Charley Murphy to pose the musical question tantamount to when an erstwhile contender is billed as a manly addition, but performs in, shall we say, a confusingly androgynous manner: “Hey, did you hear they got this new chick in Shalamar? She fine ‘n a muhuh fuh-her!” Hell, just call the NY Giants this week: “Micki Free!”

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