In the interest of full disclosure, I will acknowledge that I am a fan of former NFL quarterback and homicide victim Steve McNair. Mind you, I can’t tell you his jersey number or tell you much about his play other than the Superbowl, but I’m a fan.
In the interest of full disclosure, I will acknowledge that I am a fan of former NFL quarterback and homicide victim Steve McNair. Mind you, I can’t tell you his jersey number or tell you much about his play other than the Superbowl, but I’m a fan. Because in our new millennium of increasingly powerful African-Americans in entertainment, from record company owners to general managers and producers, the quarterback position in the NFL remains one of the last elusive prizes yet to be held with respect by African-Americans. And in that way, McNair’s death is all the more tragic.
When I received a text from a friend late Saturday saying, “Steve McNair found shot to death in Tennessee home,” I immediately began to run through that familiar series of thoughts that all Black Americans go through when we hear about a famous Black person and some sort of crime: “Please don’t let it have to do with drugs," “Please don’t let it have to do with armed robbery." That whole slew of embarrassing things that Black celebrities might get involved in that are going to force us to suffer through ignorant questions or odd stares from our co-workers all week. When I saw that 36-year-old McNair died with his 20-year-old girlfriend Sahel Kazemi, I was struck with my second equally disturbing bit of racial stereotyping. Given her name (I recognized it as Iranian), her young age and the efficiency of the shots into both of them, I feared it might’ve been an honor killing. When it turned out that Kazemi shot McNair four times in his sleep and then took her own life with a shot to the temple, I was almost relieved before being disgusted and shocked.
While many Americans are still mourning the death of Michael Jackson, or David Carradine, or even Farah Fawcett, I’m more personally moved by McNair’s death than any of the others. Fawcett was a blonde pin-up girl, who honestly was just a few years before my time, and had I been of pubescent age when she was in her prime, I’d likely have preferred Pam Grier or Thelma from “Good Times” to her regardless. David Carradine made a career out of biting off Asian culture a – la how Elvis did for African-Americans so his passing didn’t move me much either. And Jackson, well, his music will always be there. But Steve McNair’s passing is different.
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