Month: June 2002

CHAMPIONSHIP LEVEL

Think you’re following the reverie surrounding this weekend’s Lewis-Tyson fight closely?

Well, I went to church on Sunday with Lewis’ mama. Or at least I was at church with his mama, and the rest of the Lewis entourage (sans Lewis himself), when they showed up to get some of that fightin’ Holy Spirit this past Sunday at Al Green’s church.

Sure, Lewis may have gotten the keys to the city from Mayor Herenton, but his family and followers went for the keys to the Kingdom, which were handed down from the mighty Reverend Green and his rockin’ gospel choir.

The church seemed more than happy to receive them. “Your son can whoop anyone in this world. Praise the Lord,” proclaimed the pastor who headed things up until Green arrived. You’ve just got to love Memphis.

And any of you who are heading to town to root, hobnob, or bet this week might want to check out this little gem, hidden off Elvis Presley Boulevard in the shadow of Graceland.

My advice to you? Forget Graceland for the moment. Keep driving, and catch the Jungle room in August when the 25th death anniversary set gets here. That will certainly be a much more interesting time to check out the lush/tacky abode of Rock ‘n Roll’s proclaimed King.

I mean, you’ve got a chance to see Al Green preachin’ and singin’ and healin’ and dancin’ live and in the flesh, and for free, no less. Who knows, he might even serve you up some redemption, and who, in some corner of their little soul, doesn’t want to be redeemed by that man with the voice of gold and the giant ring on his finger to match?

This church/attraction is undoubtedly an authentic Memphis experience unlike any other, and while you kind of have to gauge your odds as to whether Green will be there on a given Sunday, what with the fame and the tour schedule and all, it’s more than worth it either way. I’ve now been once with Green at the pulpit and once without, and both experiences were equally (or almost equally) memorable.

Since Green will be performing with Isaac Hayes at the Desoto Civic Center on Thursday, I’d say your chances of catching him in preacher mode this weekend are probably good to excellent. Six to one lets say, though you’d have to consult that agency in Vegas if you want to get the actual odds.

The church is officially called the Full Gospel Tabernacle, and is nestled away at 787 Hale Road. And when they say full gospel, they mean it. This parish and choir can sing. I mean really sing, and I suppose it’s not altogether surprising when their leader is one of Memphis’ most famous musical exports.

On top of the singing, there’s the dancing. Now normally I don’t shake my proverbial groove thing unless there’s a six-pack or so behind me, but both times I stepped foot in Green’s house of worship I was up, clapping and swaying, before the morning was through. Even in light of the ever-rolling cameras present this time around, obviously there to capture the Lewis clan in their every public step as the fight night countdown continues, I danced. The resultant fear of flicking through the channels only to see my aforementioned groove thing wiggling on national television will surely wear off with time.

If my churchgoing experience as a kid involved more of that kind of praise, I might not have whined and complained about going so much. Although, I’ll admit, a three-hour plus service isn’t something that I could do every weekend.

Now, to be honest, I sometimes had a bit of a hard time following Green when he commenced with the sermon. Much of his preaching was interjected with commentary about the aforementioned news cameras that were circling around the church all morning. But we know better, don’t we? Al Green, entertainer extraordinaire, uncomfortable in front of the camera’s adoring eye?

I’d contend that Green’s comments were more for show than anything else. This seemed especially likely in light of his repeated references to the “ways” of the Deep South, followed each time with a meaningful glance at the cameras, and also his diatribe on the blessings of America in a sociopolitical context of terror. This latter theme came out of left field, so to speak, but doesn’t every public figure have to address the issue when offered a national platform to speak post-September 11th? At one point, mid-sentence, he even erupted into an impassioned rendition of God Bless America, which while off-putting at first, or maybe just unexpected, was damn good. I mean darn good. Oops.

But Reverend Green’s ability to vacillate between the message and the showmanship is precisely what makes him such an entertaining preacher. By making the service and its corresponding message a bit of a performance, people listen rather than falling asleep behind their Bibles, even if he doesn’t make complete and total sense.

The service begins pretty late in the morning, so don’t you worry if you plan to spend fight night carousing and cheering, or crying and cursing if you’ve misplaced your bet. Things start heating up at about 11:00 AM, and go until 2:00 PM or so, but people seem to pretty much show up when they want to. At least “tourists” like myself (and the Revered) do. The small core of actual parishioners gets there at about 9:45 for Sunday school, but this week Green didn’t roll in until 12:30, fresh off a plane from Chicago.

Punctuality is, at best, optional.

So what was Green’s advice for Lewis come fight time?

“Better put some tape on those ears,” he quipped, and no one was afraid to laugh.

In light of the little chunk Tyson took out of Lewis’ leg at a January press conference, you can’t really argue with the man on that count.

Mike Tyson gets a handler’s embrace after his workout before a media throng at Fitzberald’s Casino in Tunica Tuesday. (See this week’s Flyer for Tyson-Lewis fight special and follow our daily coverage on this website.)

Not only do I think steroid use in baseball should remain legal . . . I think it should be made (read: forced to be) public. In the aftermath of former MVP Ken Caminiti’s disclosure in Sports Illustrated that he was a frequent user of anabolic steroids, the debate over what is “performance-enhancement” and what is outright cheating has resurfaced.

One camp says baseball is being ruined — and records permanently tarnished — by the use of testosterone-building drugs. Everyone wants to hit the ball as far as Mark McGwire, regardless of what the juice used to reach those distances may do to their health (or, for all we know, what it did to Big Mac’s health).

The other camp — which, significantly, includes Major League Baseball’s player’s union — says leave the athletes alone. Steroids are merely another step up the performance ladder, “the next level” in sportspeak. If you’re not going to ask what kind of vitamins Barry Bonds is taking, or what kind of vegetables he eats, then don’t ask about what he might periodically inject. And while I’m hardly accusing Mr. 73 of abusing steroids, Barry would be the first to tell you that, if steroids are what got him all those home runs, he’d have a lot more company in the Over-70 Club. Steroids are an athlete’s choice. There is no victim in their use. Dead issue.

I’m of a mind that we treat professional baseball players like the big boys they are. The very wealthy, and thus powerful, big boys they are. Just as every major league player must decide whether to get behind the wheel of a car after that fourth or fifth drink, so he can decide whether the allure of home run distance and it’s accompanying glory are worth the needle marks that accompany steroid use. Since when is it the public’s responsibility to protect an athlete from himself? And as for protecting records, see Bonds’ stance above.

Unlike football, where brute strength is the fundamental element for success (and the reason steroids are and should be banned by the NFL), I’m not convinced bigger biceps help a batter turn around a Randy Johnson slider or a Pedro Martinez fastball.

The one “solution” I would ask of baseball in general and the players in particular is honesty. And this is certainly the key to obtaining performance justice and, I’m willing to bet, the ultimate eradication of steroids in the national pastime. Force the players to sign a disclosure form before every season, simply checking off a “yes” box if they have used steroids over the last 12 months or intend to over the year ahead. If they feel this is a violation of their civil rights, tell them to find the next career path that pays a minimum salary in excess of $200,000 for six months of work. And wish them well.

This will allow fans, the media, and everyone directly involved in baseball to at least know who is on juice, and who isn’t. (I envision an asterisk on the back of bubble-gum cards so youngsters, too, can learn fully — honestly — about their heroes.) What will keep a player from lying on the disclosure form? You guessed it: random testing. The only means of measuring a player’s system objectively, player to player. If a player checked “no” on his disclosure form and is found to be positive, he’s suspended for the remainder of the season. No second chances. See you at spring training.

Remember, all I’m asking for is honesty. When Sammy Sosa hits a ball 475 feet into an apartment building adjacent to Wrigley Field, I want to know if that was his muscle, built the old fashioned way, or some turbo-charged liquid power. And if he happens to be on steroids (this is merely hypothetical, Cub fans), fine. He still turned on a big-league pitch in a way no one else in the game can.

Get the players to open up about this heretofore closeted skeleton and it will lead to (1) an educated army of ballplayers who at least know what steroids do to them (and for them) and (2) a situation where, more than likely, the liquid monster will be stigmatized in major-leage clubhouses far and wide. Because if steroids are confronted honestly and openly by everyone from slugging outfielders to slap-hitting utility

men, the atmosphere surrounding those abusing these drugs won’t be hard to identify. It’ll be shame.

No longer will language be a hindrance to adequate legal advice. A grant from the Office of Criminal Justice Programs will pay for a new tool to help eliminate language barriers in Tennessee courtrooms.

Professionally produced videos in English and six foreign languages — Spanish, Arabic, Kurdish, Laotian, Russian, and Vietnamese — have been issued to every courthouse in the state. The tapes cover the most common topics in the judicial system, including basic rights of defendants, obtaining orders of protection for victims of domestic violence, and the rights of parents in child abuse and neglect cases. The videos also discuss courtroom protocol.

“Because the state has become rapidly culturally diverse, there was a need to reach people who come to the courthouse for various reasons,” says Sue Allison of the Supreme Court of Tennessee. “[The tapes] are meant to allay the fears of foreigners. We’re leaving it up to each judge to find creative ways to use them.”

The $100,000 grant allowed for 200 sets of the tapes to be produced with the Tennessee Foreign Language Institute and distributed to the presiding judge in each judicial district.

Judge James Beasley of the judicial district covering Shelby County says several agencies have requested copies of the tapes.

“I’ve talked with Legal Services and they want copies for their clients, and the public defenders also want some,” says Beasley. He also wants to implement the tapes in a mandatory preliminary-information session which would be held for non-English-speakers upon their first contact with the court system