Regular readers of this site know that we are no fans of Jason Whitlock, the Star‘s painfully unfunny sports race columnist. His commendable reporting skills have slipped in recent years, replaced by tired rants, pitiable reliance on allegedly hip slang, and odd digressions about the female body. But at long last, Jason has turned his sights to his true passion: explaining street culture to staid white people. Finally! The city has long awaited a professional anthropologist who could delve into the minds of black youth and plumb the depths of their upbringing, bringing shallow and pithy analysis to the pages of a once-great paper. And now Jason has his chance with the little donnybrook over in Lawrence. So prepare yourself, for Dr. Whitlock is about to begin. MORE
Category Archives: Jason Whitlock
Oh, look: the buffoonish Jason Whitlock wrote another column about Serena Williams. Does he insult her weight again? Yup: And everyone knows damn well if Serena dropped 20 pounds and focused on her game, she’d be untouchable. Nice. Jason, you… you realize you’re a big guy, right? Well, at least you managed to avoid the great Stuffed Onion v. Oozing Pumpkin debate.
Hey there, playa! What fresh and dope columnists are you reading these days? Fo shizzle, y’all better be readin’ Jason Whitlock! And why? Because no other mainstream media personality is keepin’ it real the way he does: by steadily deploying every youthful linguistic signifier he can think of. Things are no different in his latest Fox Sports column, in which he again discusses the Pitino controversy. We can always count on Jason for calm, measured analysis devoid of hyperbole and casual talk, right? Ha, no. Time to drop it like it’s hot, yo!
Play on, playa. Play on….
Despite Pimpino opening his press conference declaring his intentions and the audience he would attempt to sway, we missed the utter brilliance of his performance…
He knows most people believe Sypher is bat-spit crazy…
When his six-minute rant concluded, tears trickled down my cheeks, I rose from my seat and found myself clapping my hands and mouthing the words, “Play on, playa. Play on” and wanting to listen to Johnnie Taylor’s classic “Cheaper To Keep Her.”…
That’s straight pimp spit right there…
I suspect Pitino might be listening to my favorite rapper, Tech N9ne’s anthem “I’m a Playa.”
8-1-6! 8-1-6! Keep it real, J-dog! Incidentally, my buffoonish friend, “spit” does not constitute an appropriate substitute for “shit.” It mostly just sounds lame. But hey, I’m not one to criticize a playa — though Jason might want to rethink that last sentence, unless he thinks “rapper” and “song” mean the same thing.
Hey, who is that over there behind the sports desk? You know, that guy behind the plant discussing his posterior preferences? Is it Dr. Phil? Close! It’s Dr. Jason Whitlock, newly minted therapist and former sports columnist for the Star. Today Dr. Whitlock would like to discuss with you a troubling plague in professional sports: the rise of the immature athlete. A legitimate concern, to be sure: as Dr. Whitlock notes, we ask these young men and women to assume the full responsibilities of adulthood at age 18 or so, then dump millions of shekels in their laps. So what’s the solution? Delays on entering professional leagues, or perhaps mandatory financial training? Nope: let’s send them all to Basra instead. Um, yeah.
God, I hate to sound old, but America needs to reinstitute the military draft. Eighteen-year-olds used to spend two to four years in a disciplined, supportive environment before being given the freedom to ruin their lives.
Great basketball players used to spend two to four years in college learning about the real world before being handed wealth and fame.
Yeah, that makes… no sense at all. And have we forgotten, sir, that what you call “a disciplined, supportive environment” often meant, uh, dodging sniper fire in the jungles of Asia? It doesn’t seem quite logical to assert that a lack of immediate maturity requires basic training at Fort Bragg. Fear not, though: Dr. Whitlock’s readers let him have it in the comments section, as Star readers are wont to do.
As a Vietnam veteran, Jason, I have long supported some notion of mandatory national service for young men and women — without deferments — but your context here is suspect and Mr Beasley in particular would be ineligible to serve on at least one ground…
Come on Whitlock, your big ol’ fat badoonka never been to some type of military training ,so STFU…
Jason, I appreciate your message, but I’m not sure how “supportive” the military is…
Where you ever in the Military Fatlock?…
By the way since you endorse compulsory military training…what service did you
join to sort your life out..you must have missed a good opportunity…
Bravo, readers. Comments are always more persuasive when you use “badoonka.”
Sigh. The caption under Jason Whitlock’s photo on the Star‘s web site is as follows: “Jason Whitlock joined The Star as a sports columnist in 1994.” Nice. Now, if we could only get a sports column from the man, that sentence would be correct. Maybe we can give the guy a break today — after all, today and Wednesday are the only two days of the year with no MLB, NFL, NHL, or NBA games, so maybe he’s just plum out of ideas. But that can’t be right: he’s been pretty prolific of late when it comes to writing thinly reasoned screeds about racism and the racist racists of who love it. Today he writes about something the rest of the sports world covered three days ago: the “Black Olympics.” Here’s his pseudo-Fredian opening sentence:
There’s a backup tight end for the Dallas Cowboys who is doing everything he can possibly do to invite self-promotional controversy.
Wait… if we just change “backup tight end for the Dallas Cowboys” to “mediocre columnist for the Star,” then… oh my! Self-loathing, thy name is Whitlock!
Anyway, he’s typically indignant about the hypocrisy still prevalent in an allegedly post-racial America. And he’s typically lazy in his writing, especially when it comes to the totally unsurprising use of self-referential racial stereotypes:
I am not easily offended. Perhaps it’s my size and affinity for food, but I take virtually no offense to good-naturedly delivered jokes about food stereotypes. Everybody I know — black or white — loves properly seasoned fried chicken. Watermelon is extremely healthy and very tasty. And it wasn’t until I was in my 30s that I kicked my Kool-Aid habit.
Hasn’t this become boilerplate in columns about race? You bring up the subject, make a self-mocking comment, and then recite an unimaginative triad of easily mocked stereotypes. Yawn. How about doing something new, Jason? Or — god forbid! — how about writing about, you know, sports? Or at least sports sans racism? Please? Just once?
Jason Whitlock Pens Sprawling Profile Of Rapper You’ve Never Heard Of, Somehow Avoids Subject Of Rump Preference
When last we encountered our pal Jason Whitlock — the buffoonish, self-caricaturizing, painfully untalented Star columnist (and prominent oversharer) — he was offending just about every woman in America with a befuddling column-cum-personal ad that truly spanned the craziness spectrum. In it, he took on everything from tennis to his desired proportions for the backsides of local women. Now, though, Jason has returned to the subject he knows best: sports local rappers. In the new issue of Ink, KC’s sassiest weekly, Jason writes an astonishing 4,000 words (!) about something called “Krizz Kaliko,” who is apparently a local songster of note. Oh, come on — don’t pretend you’ve heard of him. Just listen to Jason’s deeply objective assessment of his new album:
A decade later, after performing alongside Tech N9ne as his sidekick for more than a thousand shows, singing hooks and rapping on more than a half-dozen Strange Music-produced CDs, the genius has unmasked himself.
On July 14, Krizz will nationally release his 18-track sophomore CD, Genius, which is being hailed as the most commercially viable and artistically eclectic album ever produced in Kansas City.
Oh, did I say “objective”? Sorry, I meant “obsequious.” But that’s nothing compared to the simply lovely opinions offered by experts in the thing called “rap”:
“This would make Dr. Dre nut on himself,” said legendary local club DJ Sean “Icy Rock” Raspberry after hearing the CD for the first time. “That’s just incredible, the production, the way he put the vocals together.”
“It’s impossible to have that much talent in one motherfucker,” said Tech N9ne, describing his musical soul mate.
Well, if there’s one thing we can count on “Icy Rock” and Tech Nine (I refuse to follow his subversive alphanumeric bastardization) to provide, it’s a classy endorsement of their colleague.
Other gems from Whitlock include mixed similies(“bought a $120,000 home for himself, his mom and sister in the Huxtable-like 63rd-and-Troost neighborhood known as The Citadel”), dull/faux-dramatic set-ups (“His friends told him to redirect his passion to another area. He turned to music.”), unbelievable misspellings (“Thunder and Lightening would take you there quick,” Krizz said.), and incredibly lazy analogizing (“He can be a Jamie Foxx-like balladeer.”)
How to put this nicely? Jason, you are not what is called “a good writer.” The biggest laugh, though, comes in a comment on the article from Violet Brown, who will yell at you until you purchase the album:
Jason Whitlock, your story is as good as the release. You have really captured the true & very REAL, KRIZZ KALIKO. You have written an AMAZING piece for an AMAZING artist. This is just one more feather in the cap of the NEW, TRUE #1 INDIE LABEL IN THE GAME, “STRANGE MUSIC”.
Actually this profile is really NOT AMAZING and only reveals JASON WHITLOCK as a truly PEDESTRIAN TALENT.