Sports

The Kobe reset

Vanessa is leaving Kobe. One might ask - what took her so long? To all the gents lamenting Kobe's pocketbook, fear not. He'll live to ball hog another day. He'll be groping new asses any second now. I, for one, was never a Kobe fan. Let me reset my post on why (from June 2010):

In honor of the NBA Finals, here's my obligatory basketball post. I'm a football girl and the best thing about these Finals is that we're that much closer to NFL season. That being said, let me get to the point: I don't care for Kobe, not one bit.

I had the temerity to express my dislike of Kobe "Black Mamba Thinks the Sun Rises and Sets on My Hindparts" Bryant on Twitter and was lambasted and called a hater. Pardon me… it's not hate if you have LEGIT reasons for your dislike. Well now you have done it. Forced me to dig back into my bag of "High-Rollin' BougieTales". Back in my "high-rollin' days", I jetsetted about with a variety of entertaining sports and celeb type folks. Mostly good times but a few… not so much.

First let me say that yes, he is a supremely talented basketball player. One you have to consider in the pantheon of "GOAT" (Greatest Of All Time) nominees. On that we can agree. But guess what? Being a talented (even brilliant) athlete does not equate to being a pleasingly pleasant person. I'm sure there are people who have met Kobe and enjoyed the experience. I'm not in that number. Allow me to present my evidence (sort of, some things I have promised to take to the grave):

The Case of the Mother's Day Mishap: At the time, I lived in Marina del Rey and BougieMom came out to visit. I had planned a wonderful Mother's Day Weekend for her including Sunday dinner at a chi-chi frou-frou restaurant in Santa Monica. Fifteen minutes prior to our reserved dining time we showed up, valet parked, and greeted the hostess. The place was packed. She double-checked our reservation, told us they were prepping our table and asked us to step to the side for five minutes. So far, so good. Very shortly thereafter, a flurry of activity broke off near the entrance. Enter Sir Kobe with entourage of at least ten peeps. Master Bryant wanted a table immediately. Flustered hostess naïvely asked if he perchance had a reservation. Silence.

The look on his face said it all. He was Kobe Bryant. This was Los Angeles… did he really need a reservation? The restaurant manager (maybe the owner) appeared and dove into the fray. So pleased to have you, Mr. Bryant. It's a crazy busy day, Mr. Bryant. Would you mind waiting for five minutes, Mr. Bryant. The hostess pointed to me and said, "Your table is ready, ma'am." As BougieMom and I stepped forward, Le Kobe said, "What's up with their table? Can't they wait?" Yeah he did. He said it. To a seventy-something year old woman and her daughter on Mother's Day. Just as I opened my mouth to break him off a bougie piece of my mind, one of his crew stepped forward. "Sorry ma'm, ya'll go on ahead." Um-hmm. I gave him the side-eye and he was looking sulky. Me no like.

The Case of the Charity Curmudgeon: I do so wish I could name names in this story but I promised years ago never to reveal all. I will say this… At a charity event, you are supposed to act charitable. i.e. Not complain about the room you were given (for free) or the food served to you (for free) or wonder whether other sports figures were treated better than thou. At no point should you speculate if someone was considered "a bigger name" and therefore given more shine and star treatment. It's also not classy to decide that not enough bowing, scraping and ass-kissing was happening and not show up to the event. No bueno.

The Case of the All-Star Shiggity: I will truly get my ass kicked if I tell this story. Ya'll don't even know. How can I tell it without telling it? Let me see… Oh here we go – Not every woman attending an All-Star weekend is a groupie. Not everybody wants some of you. And nasty, freaky, and rude does not look good on anybody. Puts me in the mind of that movie Kingdom Come where Whoopi wrote down two words to describe her deceased husband: Mean and surly.

Granted, others have said that Mamba-dude is nice as can be and devoted to his charity works, family, city, yada-blah. I'm just saying I haven't seen it. So when I say I don't like Kobe… I mean what I know of him, I personally do not care for. No worries, it's not keeping him or me up at night.

My point is (Rabid Laker Nation) that my dislike has nothing to do with his Lakerdom or celeb status. So quit tellin' me I'm hatin'. True, I've never really been a Lakers fan but I'm more of a girl who cheers for a player rather than a team in basketball anyway. For instance, I'm really not a Celtics fan but I love Kevin Garnett. Met him once. And yes, he was nice (and really, really fine). So guess who I'm cheering for in this series?

Stay tuned, one day I'll tell the stories of why I don't like Brett Favre or Warren Moon either.
Thoughts on Vanessa and Kobe? Give less than a damn? That's okay too. The floor is yours…

Mavs.


Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Texas is a red state (even though Dallas County is now officially 53% blue), our governor is an idiot. We have tornadoes and you hate the Cowboys. Dirk is white and Jason Kidd should be in jail. I know. Shake it off for a second.

The Mavericks are NBA champions. It was a team effort. These guys showed a lot of heart. They kept finding ways to win when no one (least of all the sportscasters) gave them a chance. Congrats, Mavs.

P.S. I'm out getting a little celebration on. But I'm on deadline editing Book 3 this week so I'll post as I'm able. But don't hold your breath. In the meantime, have you caught up on my Tumblr? Take a peek and see you soon.

I'm not in charge of your expectations - Thank you LeBron!

It's funny. I've been wanting to write a post for a while about how other people take their hopes and dreams for what they perceive your life should be and project it on to you... sometimes with relentless vigor. But I never thought LeBron James would be my inspiration to get it written. It is in by top 5 pet peeves when people share (in not-so-subtle ways) what they think about your world. For example:

"Oh you're not married?" Clearly not.

"No kids? You're so good with kids!" Thanks, I think.

"I always thought you and insert name here would get married." Solar beam side-eye.

"You didn't become an attorney, you would have been great at that!" No doubt but I left law school over 10 years ago. Maybe I'm great at what I do now?

"Crime thrillers are a really profitable genre, have you considered writing that instead?" Maybe someday, why do you ask?

"I thought you'd be taller/shorter, thinner/thicker, lighter/darker." Okay, but here I am.

"You should take a break from dating/date more often/date outside your race/do something completely different." You think so?

It goes on and on. But the great thing is - finally I realized. I can only be who I am. [Intro to Eric Benet's True to Myself plays in background] And I'm still figuring out exactly who that is. I simply cannot be my best me while juggling umpteenth many people's expectations of what they think I should be. Sounds exhausting. It IS exhausting. Been there, done that, got the ulcer at 24 years of age to prove it. 

I once heard Dick Gregory do a skit about bill collectors. He said the bill collectors would call, he would tell them he didn't have the money and so they would call back. He decided to try a new strategy; he just started telling them, "I'll get you a little something in the next thirty days." Thirty days passed and the bill collector called indignantly, "Mr. Gregory, what happened?" He replied, "What do you mean?" The bill collector said, "I expected to see a payment from you last month." He said, "Well I'm not in charge of your expectations."

Let the church say... Okay, moving on...

Recently, LeBron James has gone from being a media darling, beloved NBA player and one of the ten most popular personalities of all time to a man having to battle for his reputation. He dropped from number 7 most admired sports personalities to 92 (I think I read that right). Anyway, he went from being deified to vilified in the course of an off-season. For those that don't follow sports, Mr. James opted to get the hell out of Cleveland and jump to the Miami Heat to team up with Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh in his quest for a ring. I wasn't mad about it. People paper-chase and title-chase on the Paycheck Plantation regular. I've never stayed at a job because the people loved me there. I've often left a job because I had a better offer with better long-term possibilities.

But back to Bron: For a man who has generally only basked in the warm glow of adulation and approval, this has been a struggle for him. I don't necessarily feel sorry for a multi-millionaire who bounces a ball for a living. But I get it. He's come face to face with the fact that you can't please everybody all of the time. For those of us that haven't managed not to give a damn, it can sting a little.

This week, Nike debuted a commercial where LeBron keeps it all the way real. It so very much reminds me of when I decided to bolt Texas for California. And when I decided to leave full-time consulting to write. Of course, I didn't get paid millions for announcing my decision and ESPN gave not a damn. That's not the point. Just sayin' I wish I'd had this video to play (on repeat).

(FYI - At last viewing, NikeBasketball had blocked the video for distribution. FAIL! Anyway, click here to view if the video below is blocked.)



Love. It. Do you, Bron-Bron. By the way, me likey the not so subtle dig at Charles Barkley. Shout out to @tmcydame for bringing the video to my attention.

BougieLand, how you handle the expectations others have for you? Have you gotten to the point where you can tune them all out? What do you think of LeBron's ad? Don't we all have to get to the point where we brush the dirt off our shoulders and keep it pushing? Thoughts, comments, insights? You have the floor.

The party is over... for the Cowboys at least

Well, we wrung all the party we could out of the four-day celebration of Bougie Older Bro's birthday. The Jerry-Dome is gorgeous, our seats were amazing but the Cowboys quite honestly suck. Even before they carted Romo off the field and threw poor old ass Kitna in front of the bus, the season was tanking majorly. Maybe by the time I wake up in the morning Wade Phillips will have been run outta town. I mean 1 - 5, seriously? I'm planning on getting a bunch of these printed up:
Yes, I know our real problem is our Owner and GM. As soon as I win two bijillion in the lottery, I'm going to buy the team from him and make it right. In the meantime, go Rangers?! New post up at 7:00am. 

An open letter to Le Tigre: Stop with the Peaches, go with a Paulina Porizkova

Hey Eldrick,

Rough year, huh? The ass-whipping, the rehab, the injuries, personal drama and whatnot. I want to sympathize, breaking up is hard to do and all but um – you SO brought this on yourself. Karma is a bee-yotch. An evil boomerang of a vindictive witch just waiting for you to stand up again so it can whack you in the head. But I guess you know that by now, huh? And you know, it was not just the pathological lying and cheating and the terrible sexting, whatever. Keep a penicillin shot and a non-disclosure agreement with you at all times, quote Barry White in your texts and if that fails you have the option to roll up on women and say "Just Do It" – I mean you kinda own Nike, right? These are just suggestions.

My main point is this: You brought this on yourself with the choice of spouse to begin with. You proposed to Peaches, not Paulina.

Okay so maybe Elin isn't the exact Caucasian equivalent of Peaches from around the way but she was close enough. You can call her a supermodel if you want to. Call me a Pulitzer Prize winner while you're at it. She wasn't and I'm not… yet. J That überNordic chick was a nanny. NTTAWWT (Not That There's Anything Wrong With That). It's an honest way to make a living. But when your net worth is over a billion dollars and you know you're a closet p!-hound you need to marry a real supermodel, someone hustlin' for their own dollars. You like those Eastern European types, that's why I mention a Paulina. I'm sure there's a 20-year old equivalent out there. Or maybe you've decided to go exotic this time around? Get you one of those Brazilian Bikini chicks if you don't wanna flow to the Iman/Naomi side of the spectrum.

The thing is when you marry the nanny; you end up with a nanny who has become accustomed to living like a billionaire's wife. Now your exploits get splashed all over every available media outlet and some judge wanting to make history gives your nanny/wife 750 million dollars. Seven hundred and fifty million. (Somewhere somebody just started head-boppin' to Get Money). Homie, that's a sponsored come up for real tho. Monsieur Tigre, that is more than the country of Iceland needed to avoid bankruptcy last year. I added that not to be mean but just in case you needed some perspective… Iceland could get a loan from your nanny/wife.

Moving on...

Let me plead with you right now…step your game up. Not your golf game; I'm sure that will be fine. Your relationship game, sir. I won't waste typing time telling you how many sisters would be honored to have you cheat on them and then set up their next five generations with wealth. No need for that. I'm just saying how about you snag somebody with their own dollars? Someone who brings a little more to the table than a blonde ponytail and adoring smile? I'm not knocking Elin, she clearly has enough on the ball to catch you, keep you and toss you back while retaining (let me type it again) $$750MM of your money.

And actually, might I suggest before you go looking for your Paulina that you work out whatever's going on with you? I don't know what kind of clinic you attended or where your head is but I have to assume you don't have another ¾ of a BILLION dollars to parcel out to the next one. If you don't plan to play by the rules, don't even bother with the marriage vows. Mayhaps a series of flings? Again here's hoping you choose some ladies that don't look like cheap wanna-be porn stars working the food court in a mall in Jersey? (No shade to Jersey… just sayin' the side pieces were a damn disgrace in more ways than one)

Well, good luck to you. Just wanted to share my thoughts. I'm positive you've been waiting for them with baited breath.

Keep it Pimpin',
OneChele

Have anything you'd like to say to Le Tigre? I'm sure my blog is on his morning reading list.

Shout out to #TeamUSA and a little Take 6

It's FIFA World Cup time. And even though I've never considered myself a soccer (or football, depending on where you live) fan, I watched a game yesterday and got hooked. South Africa tied their first game and Desmond Tutu danced in the stands... that's good TV.

Le Sigh. Darn BougieDad teaching us to love all sports for sports' sake. As I type, the USA team is battling the Brits. However it turns out, they are putting up a great team effort. You know how competitive we Americans can be. I find myself screaming at the screen, "Kick it that way, kick it!" [cause they can hear me and all]

At any rate, take a moment to get your Star-Spangled Banner on with the a capella stylings of Take 6:


Happy Saturday! Has anyone been watching the World Cup?

Sorry, I don’t like Kobe and no, it’s not hateration…

In honor of the NBA Finals, here's my obligatory basketball post. I'm a football girl and the best thing about these Finals is that we're that much closer to NFL season. That being said, let me get to the point: I don't care for Kobe, not one bit.

I had the temerity to express my dislike of Kobe "Black Mamba Thinks the Sun Rises and Sets on My Hindparts" Bryant on Twitter and was lambasted and called a hater. Pardon me… it's not hate if you have LEGIT reasons for your dislike. Well now you have done it. Forced me to dig back into my bag of "High-Rollin' BougieTales". Back in my "high-rollin' days", I jetsetted about with a variety of entertaining sports and celeb type folks. Mostly good times but a few… not so much.

First let me say that yes, he is a supremely talented basketball player. One you have to consider in the pantheon of "GOAT" (Greatest Of All Time) nominees. On that we can agree. But guess what? Being a talented (even brilliant) athlete does not equate to being a pleasingly pleasant person. I'm sure there are people who have met Kobe and enjoyed the experience. I'm not in that number. Allow me to present my evidence (sort of, some things I have promised to take to the grave):

The Case of the Mother's Day Mishap: At the time, I lived in Marina del Rey and BougieMom came out to visit. I had planned a wonderful Mother's Day Weekend for her including Sunday dinner at a chi-chi frou-frou restaurant in Santa Monica. Fifteen minutes prior to our reserved dining time we showed up, valet parked, and greeted the hostess. The place was packed. She double-checked our reservation, told us they were prepping our table and asked us to step to the side for five minutes. So far, so good. Very shortly thereafter, a flurry of activity broke off near the entrance. Enter Sir Kobe with entourage of at least ten peeps. Master Bryant wanted a table immediately. Flustered hostess naïvely asked if he perchance had a reservation. Silence.

The look on his face said it all. He was Kobe Bryant. This was Los Angeles… did he really need a reservation? The restaurant manager (maybe the owner) appeared and dove into the fray. So pleased to have you, Mr. Bryant. It's a crazy busy day, Mr. Bryant. Would you mind waiting for five minutes, Mr. Bryant. The hostess pointed to me and said, "Your table is ready, ma'am." As BougieMom and I stepped forward, Le Kobe said, "What's up with their table? Can't they wait?" Yeah he did. He said it. To a seventy-something year old woman and her daughter on Mother's Day. Just as I opened my mouth to break him off a bougie piece of my mind, one of his crew stepped forward. "Sorry ma'm, ya'll go on ahead." Um-hmm. I gave him the side-eye and he was looking sulky. Me no like.

The Case of the Charity Curmudgeon: I do so wish I could name names in this story but I promised years ago never to reveal all. I will say this… At a charity event, you are supposed to act charitable. i.e. Not complain about the room you were given (for free) or the food served to you (for free) or wonder whether other sports figures were treated better than thou. At no point should you speculate if someone was considered "a bigger name" and therefore given more shine and star treatment. It's also not classy to decide that not enough bowing, scraping and ass-kissing was happening and not show up to the event. No bueno.

The Case of the All-Star Shiggity: I will truly get my ass kicked if I tell this story. Ya'll don't even know. How can I tell it without telling it? Let me see… Oh here we go – Not every woman attending an All-Star weekend is a groupie. Not everybody wants some of you. And nasty, freaky, and rude does not look good on anybody. Puts me in the mind of that movie Kingdom Come where Whoopi wrote down two words to describe her deceased husband: Mean and surly.

Granted, others have said that Mamba-dude is nice as can be and devoted to his charity works, family, city, yada-blah. I'm just saying I haven't seen it. So when I say I don't like Kobe… I mean what I know of him, I personally do not care for. No worries, it's not keeping him or me up at night.

My point is (Rabid Laker Nation) that my dislike has nothing to do with his Lakerdom or celeb status. So quit tellin' me I'm hatin'. True, I've never really been a Lakers fan but I'm more of a girl who cheers for a player rather than a team in basketball anyway. For instance, I'm really not a Celtics fan but I love Kevin Garnett. Met him once. And yes, he was nice (and really, really fine). So guess who I'm cheering for in this series?

Stay tuned, one day I'll tell the stories of why I don't like Brett Favre or Warren Moon either.

Ever met a celeb you just didn't like? One who impressed you? A celeb you are dying to meet? Who are you rolling with? Lakers or Celtics? The floor is yours…

In Defense of Professional Athletes with a look at “Just Wright”

So… speaking of professional male athletes: there are approximately 462 NBA players, 1760 NFL Players, 800 MLB players and 720 Hockey dudes. I don't know from golf, soccer and boxing but let's just round up and say that in these here United States of America (and a few parts of Canada), there are approximately 5000 current professional athletes and who knows how many retired. To hear folks tell it, every last one of them is a megalomaniacal, wife-beating, gun-toting, sex fiend who can't save a penny, speak coherent sentences or look beyond their personal bling.

Before I get into my personal experiences, I have to point out that I've been amazed and unamused at the sweeping generalizations attached to that group. Maybe because as a single black female, I've seen that kind of random media bias and subsequent shade-throwing up close and personal these days? The caricature of the spoiled, rude, 12-baby-mama-with-all-the-drama rich boys is perpetuated because that's generally the story the media focuses on. (Don't get me started on Basketball Wives) It's sexier to talk about Plaxico Burress shooting himself, Ricky Williams smoking pot and Dwayne Wade's divorce than to talk about the 400+ foundations, charities and kids' camps currently attributed to professional athletes.

There is a movie coming out May 14th that I'm fairly excited about. It's "Just Wright" starring Queen Latifah and Common (rise of the rapping actors, FTW!). Official synopsis from Fox Searchlight: Leslie Wright (Queen Latifah) is a straight-shooting physical therapist who gets the gig of a lifetime working with NBA All-Star Scott McKnight (Common). All is going well until Leslie finds herself falling for Scott, forcing her to choose between the gig and the tug-of-war inside her heart. Oblivious to her romantic overtures, McKnight is instead drawn to the affections of Leslie's childhood friend Morgan (Paula Patton), who has her sights set on being an NBA trophy wife. Is Leslie destined to play the role of "best friend" forever or will Scott finally see that what he always wanted is right in front of him?

One of my least favorite reviewers (who shall remain nameless because I refuse to send traffic to his site) said he thought the movie was way too bland. He felt that the main characters have been stripped of personality and he couldn't buy Common's character because he "is the nicest, safest, NBA player in history. I mean c'mon a nice and considerate NBA player?? Here's an idea…what if the film had made him an arrogant, loud mouth, annoying person (with maybe a baby momma somewhere) to hide the fact that he's an insecure, lonely person afraid his glory years as a player have passed him by? You know a REAL person."

For real tho? Have you met any players… in like… REAL life? Or are you stereotyping based on what you've read? Glory days as a player? Most athletes have 3 – 5 years of a career (if they're lucky) and then they're done. 72% of those playing never reach star (let alone superstar) status. If you knew you could only do your job for three years and then you have to do something completely different… that might change your outlook.

I've had the interesting life experience of knowing, dating, and hanging around professional athletes for years. Being bougie in nature, I was never one to gawk or jock. I never have been nor ever will be any flavor of groupie. To me, they were just guys with high-profile jobs and more change jingling than others. Of course I've seen the good, the bad and ugly. But I've seen a lot more good than bad and ugly. There's something that happens when you start depositing checks with nine figures and have a microphone in your face morning, noon and night. It doesn't happen to the athlete, it happens to the people around them and then the athlete is forced to react. The dynamic gets strange when people begin to think you're important because of how you move/protect/deflect a ball. Not everybody reacts well to having long-lost cousins call you up for bail/house payment/random loan at 3:00 in the morning, having your mother steal your credit cards, having your housekeeper put your personal items on eBay behind your back, having random women whip out their breasts and say "sign these" – all of these are stories that I have witnessed personally. Now if you don't have a strong foundation and support system, all of that is going to do something to your head. As one athlete said, "We're grown-assed men playing little boy games. And that we get adored."

My point is - selfish jerks with problematic lives are everywhere. Some have money and high-profile jobs, others do not. If regular Joe has a bad day, two people hear about it. If Superbowl Joe has a bad day, it's YouTubed and leading on ESPN Sportscenter. I'm in no way excusing the bad behavior that we've seen exhibited by some athletes (and the women that chase them). I'm just going to say it's not easy. These guys work incredibly hard. Even the most naturally gifted athlete has to maintain his athleticism, learn the nuance of his position and deal with all the extra stuff that comes along with being a multi-millionaire before 40. I know, I know – boo-hoo, he makes $52 million and has to work for it. I'm just saying… your paycheck probably isn't published on the Internet. Your performance at work isn't witnessed by millions and presumably, no one spits on you and threatens to burn your house down if you make a mistake.

I've had the pleasure of being around athletes that were grounded, those that planned for the future, kept the drama at a minimum and had an idea of who they were when the lights weren't shining and the game is gone. So-called "good men" trying to do the right thing for themselves and their families. I've also been around those other cats and just stayed out of their way. The same way not all men cheat, not all professional athletes walk around with an inflated sense of self.

I've also had the interesting phenomenon of being judged because I dated professional athletes. As if there is only "a certain type of girl" with a "certain kind of look" and an agenda that spends time with those guys. I'm going to call bullshiggity on that whole thought process. I've literally met a guy, he finds out the name of a guy I used to date and all of a sudden he's looking at me in a different kind of way. Le Huge Sigh.

Long post short? Stop hatin' on athletes unless you know some that have done you wrong personally. And even then, quit painting them all with the same brush.

Oh, and go see the darn movie. It may be watered down but that makes me happy. When we can have romantic comedies starring African-Americans that are just as so-so as those starring Caucasians – we're come a long way. And by so-so let's talk about anything starring that chick from Grey's Anatomy (27 dresses), half of Julia Roberts' (Duplicity) and Meg Ryan's (French Kiss) movies, that last movie with Sarah Jessica Parker (Did you hear about the Morgans) and something awful I saw with Amy Adams (Leap Year). I think we deserve the chance to be equally "just okay". I can't wait to check it out. Most of the folks I know that have seen advanced screenings enjoyed it. I personally love a BougieTale of romance up on the big screen.

So BougieLand, thoughts on the professional athlete? Have I altered your view of them and the women that date them at all? Who's planning on seeing "Just Wright"? The floor is yours.

Under the Covers: The Tiger/Reggie Bush Haterade Flows

The picture on the left is Le Tigre with knit cap and weights on the cover of Vanity Fair (picture was taken prior to MistressGate). The picture on the left is of oiled up, platinum dog tag-wearing football player Reggie Bush on the cover of Essence. Both men are black athletes. And both covers have drawn the ire of many. Let's talk about it for a minute.

Personally, I'm not feeling Tiger. He's never been sexy to me. Nothing about him oozed cocoa-sexy. And that was before he white-washed his public persona to the least common dominator, colored himself Caublanasian (or whatever) and married the whitest woman on the plant and then cheated repetitively on her. Good for him. What I admired about Tiger was his mind and his game. And now that I know his mind can't wrap around simple concepts like not announcing yourself on your jump-off's cell phone or sending traceable text messages, I just admire his golf game. Wildly interested to know what that will look like when he returns. That about it.

Reggie Bush I never thought a lot about one way or the other except to gloat when my Longhorns beat his team in the Rose Bowl in 2006. Or where he impacted my fantasy football team. For as long as I've heard of him, he's dated the pseudo-celebrity Kim Kardashian who is about as deep as a saucer of milk and just as interesting. Good for him. I gave him credit for assisting (sporadically) the New Orleans Saints in their past few winning seasons and wearing the all-black uniform quite well. But that about it.

Then within the span of 24 hours, I was assailed with multiple tweets and emails about these two magazine covers. Let me start by saying I haven't read either article. They could be great insightful exposés, I just don't know. For now, let's talk about these covers. I didn't care for Tiger's cover at all. First of all, I'm so tired of Tiger. But Vanity Fair could not resist in cashing in. Good for them. Secondly, he's still not coming with the sexy. The cap, the pouty expression, the sloopy-hairy nipples and not quite a six-pack just weren't working for me. I don't know whether Tiger was trying to look "urban" or "edgy" or what – none of it worked. The majority of folks on Twitter and the Blogosphere agreed. Some thought he was going Hammer (referring to when clean-cut rapper MC Hammer tried to go all hoody street with the infamous 'Pumps and a Bump' song and video), I don't know. I just wasn't feeling it. A lot of the sisters will never forgive Eldrick for not checking for Shaquanda so they took the opportunity to pile on about just how "unsexy" Tiger's picture was. Never in the history of Pro Sports have more women felt less enthusiastic about a half-naked billionaire. Right about now, you put Tiger and Bill Gates in a room with 2 sisters – Bill's getting lucky. Tiger's getting knocked the eff out… just on GP.

Reggie's picture stirred up a controversy I did not see coming. I looked at and appreciated the cocoa-sexy and the 6-7-8-pack he had going on. Made a snarky remark that Tiger needed to see what a cover shot looked like. Immediately, I was pounced upon by the sisterhood. Was I not insulted that Essence, a magazine geared for Black Women would feature a man who (as far as we know) had no time for Shaquanda and Ne-Ne? Didn't I think that putting Reggie on the cover of Essence was like putting Robin Thicke on the cover of Cosmo? {which I thought was a hilarious analogy}. Especially since this was the Black Love issue!? Okay true, target audience may be a little off but ur, uh – I was just saying old boy was fine. I didn't realize it was a social commentary. Furthermore, if we stopped putting Black Celebs/Athletes who don't date Black Women on the cover of magazines, aren't there only 3 or 4 folks left to photograph? [sorry, couldn't resist]

So I turn this over to you, BougieLand. Both the fellas and the ladies. What do you think about these cover photos? Which picture do you prefer? Would you buy either magazine of read either article? Do share.