I share this historic feat with coach Dungy in a way very few others are. You see, bestowed upon the winners of the Super Bowl since 1967 is perhaps the most coveted possession in the game of football and one of the most illustrious symbols of success in all of sports—the Super Bowl ring. I was on this 2007 championship team and am blessed to own the customized Super Bowl ring that commemorates the Colts victory on that fourth day in February. This Super Bowl ring resembles most designs of the past in the fact that it is engraved with the Colt’s logo, my last name, jersey number, and position on the team. That which is most notable, however, is the petite Lombardi Trophy shaped by diamonds inside the large Safire horseshoe logo resting in a cloud of tiny diamonds on the top of the ring. I have shown my ring to many friends and family. I occasionally will wear the ring to special events, especially when I have the opportunity to be in the presence of a crowd of young kids. Like the particular game for which this ring memorializes, the spectacle-like piece of hardware signifies a much deeper and more complex plot far beyond a celebratory souvenir of a game played and won after sixty minutes.
Embedded into one of the horseshoe logos of this particular ring is something that can be easily missed if close attention is not paid. There rests a small red ruby stone. If you are to ask the members of the team the meaning of this stone, you are likely to get several interpretations. Some would say the one single ruby was meant to embody a drop of blood for all the hard work. You might also hear from a team member that this small ruby is the heart or cornerstone of the entire ring. Others have said that it signifies this particular team’s commitment to a dream. One close teammate of mine would often say that the ruby, seemingly out-of-place, represented the immeasurable intangibles of hard work that may never be celebrated, but will never be forgotten. Each of us that received this Super Bowl ring likely reflects on our personal paths filled with the many loved ones and friends, coaches and teammates, trials and tribulations overcome, all amounting to an embodiment of a collective display of hard work. But the significance of Dungy’s pioneering win suggests that there was even greater meaning and context to make sense of the hard work associated to the ruby stone. Although the ring is mine, a narrowed definition of that red ruby simply explained within the confines of how my personal path led to that fourth day in February seems severely negligent and ignorant of a greater truth.
What truths, then, might be extrapolated from the red ruby stone? What more does it signify that is not explicitly forthright by its presence. From that ruby, what must be realized to make sense of the gravitas of the commemorative ring? These are the questions that constantly fill my thoughts every time I glance at the red stone embedded in the ring. While I am filled with the perplexities of such curious thoughts, I too, experience a sense of comfort as I wonder over the stone. It appears to be perfectly arranged and positioned, yet still a stranger to the spectacle and luster of its diamond encrusted, white gold climate. In parallel, the milestone meeting between two black head coaches and the crowning of the first black head coach in the NFL’s championship game seemed to be perfectly prescribed just days into black history month, yet still a stranger to the spectacle. The presence of these two black coaches in this pinnacle moment of the sport, standing on opposite sidelines, signified progress made in the historic race to capture the essence of the American dream, yet also called the consciousness of people to be evermore aware of a continuous sprint toward justice. The professional ranks of the National Football League and its championship game are not the only places for which the spectacle and stranger coexist. In fact, my own journey through Division I intercollegiate athletics while attending a historically white institution was itself an embodiment of the labors of social progress where I too often felt like a stranger to the spectacle of an industry. It is thus from this historic moment and place of personal familiarity that this book begins for me. As I clutch a piece of history with great pride in the palm of my own black hand and realize that the opportunity to attend and play football for my own alma mater has come at the expense and perseverance of others before me not afforded the same accesses, I cannot help but to wonder how to make sense of being a stranger rightly fitted among today’s spectacle of sport. Considering all that the black athlete and that of black participation in sport has achieved, I still dream for a society to not irresponsibly assign the label of progress based on the black achievements of a few born of a long and sustained history of injustice against black humanity.
The Paradox
The dream is made of the many threads woven between generations of black America. The existential fabric made of these threads shape the garments uniquely shared among those that have and continuously struggle for equal dignity and freedoms. A dream, worn like the traditional clothing passed down through a community, is filled with much meaning. The clothing of the dream is intimately related to the environments for which each generation of black America has lived and a faith in how the next generation might live. The metaphor of the dream, in the black community, has long represented more than a euphemistic symbol of hope for prosperity (Ladson-Billings, 2009). The significance of the dream and the fortitude of black dreamers define the collective backbone of black perseverance and resilience throughout the long and arduous sojourn of a freedom struggle dispensed on the shores of Jamestown to the present. Black dreamers and their faith in the dream have, time and time again, filled the air with their prophetic sermons from behind the pulpit, delivered countless speeches with unmatched oratory gifts to crowds of all sizes, and followed their most personal curiosities with intellectual rigor to unearth the social and material truths that deepen understandings and elevate a widening collective consciousness. Black dreamers and the dream itself have toiled to unshackle the chains of bondage, torn down the twine ropes from strange fruit trees, desegregated the lunch counter, classrooms, and ball fields. Black dreamers and the dream itself have ushered in civil rights policy and delivered the black vote to the ballot box. Black dreamers and the dream itself, in the twenty-first century, have energized a new generation to demand that black lives fundamentally matter—unconditionally and without compromise.
How are you clothed in the dream? What meanings can be found within the fabric of your dream? You might think to first answer such questions with the words uttered by Martin Luther King or to remember the moment that brought many to tears of joy as they witnessed the first black man, Barack Obama, elected as the forty-fourth president of the United States. One might say they know this dream because they were the first in their family to enter and graduate from college. Maybe you might say that you are the first in your family’s history to be born black in the United States with all your rights. Another might say they are familiar with this dream because they are able to provide for their family with means their parents and grandparents simply were not afforded. No matter how you may answer these questions, it is very likely your answer is an indicator of dreams past and the environment for which you live and dream. While all are honest answers, do such answers paint a complete picture?
Realizing the paradox of the dream is not only essential to situating its definition but central to understanding the scope and magnitude of what the dream is capable of. I was often taught to think of the dream as my motivation and the aspiration of that which I did not presently possess. Growing up, I was always made to feel that the dream comes to us in time and, most certainly, only to those that demonstrate patience. Despite such teachings, the dream always seemed to appear to me as a mysterious contradiction between what I was taught, the life for which I lived and how the dream manifested in white lives. As a young black kid, I was constantly being told to take notice of and being reminded of the opportunities that will lead me to the American dream as if it were a sacred ground that I had to earn my way through its lustrous gates. However, others kids, who often shared the similar economic conditions of the neighborhood and schools, but not the badge of my black skin, were told differently of the dream. For them, they were born into the American dream. They were to find honor