My favorite civil rights figure is definitely Jackie Robinson. In fact, my favorite holiday is Jackie Robinson Day. It's not an official holiday--but I'm really into it.
Jackie Robinson was a baseball player who broke the color line back in the 1940s. For a few months, he was the only black player in Major League baseball--and people weren't too friendly towards him. Even his own teammates were pretty hostile:
[Teammate 1:] "Well. Lookie what we have here. If it isn't a negro baseball player. I'll bet you're real eager to hit those white baseballs with your bat. Hey Tommy! I don't want this guy hitting anything that's white. Pitch him black baseballs." [Teammate 2/ Tommy:] "We don't have any black baseballs." [Teammate 1:] "Hey--I don't care. Take some white baseballs and spray paint them black. If this guy's gonna hit something, it better be blacker than Wesley Snipes coming out of a tanning salon!"
I think that's historically accurate. Maybe not the Wesley Snipes part. Just replace Wesley Snipes with someone from the 1940s who matched his blackness. I'm not going to do research on that.
Anyways, Jackie made his Major League Baseball debut--as did the black baseball--and everything worked out. He became a Hall of Famer, and the sport became completely integrated. As did America. And the world.
On Jackie Robinson Day, I try to experience what Jackie did. I try to put myself in Jackie's shoes. Just like the Jews do on Passover. They eat matzah and bitter herbs, because they want to go through what the Israelites went through. That's what I do on Jackie Robinson Day.
Now, I'm not black. But I try to make it so I'm the only person of my kind somewehere. I try to make it so that I'm the only white person in an all-black environment.
So... I go to a Tyler Perry movie. In Harlem.
And when I walk in there, I mean business. I don't just sneek in, keep to myself, try to cover my white face, sneek out to my car while it's dark, and head out of there. No, no, no. I'm not going to do that. Jackie Robinson didn't do that. When white people booed him and said something like, "Go back th the Negroe Leagues, Blackie!," he turned around to them and said, "Kiss my black ass, whitey!" Or, no. He didn't to that. But he should've done that. I would've done that. I would've sewn "Kiss My Black Ass" onto the back of my pants. That seems like a very appropriate use of that expression. Ordinarily, saying or wearing "kiss my black ass" is not too appropriate. But if you're Jackie Robinson in that situation, it's more than aproppriate. You have a dity to say it. Even Bill Cosby would have to agree with that. Sometimes you should tell people to kiss your black ass. That should be the title of Bill Cosby's next album. Bill--if you need some material, let me know.
Anyways, let's get back to my Jackie Robinson Day festivities. I walk into the theater about two minutes before it's about to go dark. And I let everyone know that I'm there. By being loud. Now, I don't want to sound racist or anything, but a black theater is pretty loud on its own. So if you want to be noticed, you have to be like a jet engine. So I just march in there talking to an imaginary person on my cell phone. About white things. Like Rush Limbagh or mayonnaise. "Yeah--we're out of mayonnaise. Go get a few jars. Go get a case!" And I'm just yelling at the top of my lungs.
And there are 200 seats in that house. And 199 black people are looking right at me. And I can feel Jackie Robinson's blood flowing right through my veins. I think to myself, "Yes! This is what I came here for! Jackie Robinson Day! Jackie Robinson's a hero!" I'm pretty sure that's the point of Jackie Robinson Day. To put yourself in a situation like that.
So 199 black people--all of whom came to see a Tyler Perry movie--are looking at me. And some of them aren't too happy with me.
Now, I'm not trying to say that black people are racist. But, you know. Some black people are racist. As in, "We don't take too kindly to strangers around here." There's a black version of that.
So some guy walks up to me and says, "Let me see your documentation."
Now, for those of you who don't know, in a rough black neighborhood, if you go somehwere that's off limits to whites, and you look white, you have to show some documentation to prove that you're at least 25% black. Because they don't want to just assume that someone's white.
So he says, "Let me see your documentaion." And I just look at him and say, "I don't have any documentation. I'm not black." And he looks at me. I look at him. Everyone's looking at us. And that's when I say... " [Singing] We shall overcome. / We shall overcome."
I love Jackie Robinson Day. I think we should make it an official holiday. And if you don't agree with me, let me just say this. Kiss my black ass.
Bill Cosby--do you approve of that? No? Well then you can kiss my black ass, too.
Yeah--I think I went too far with that one. Right now, Bill Burr is telling me to go with an "I'm Not Racist" follow up. And Don Rickles is telling me to kiss his black ass. (Click here if you have no idea what I'm talking about) The two of them are like the angel and devil that appear on your shoulders. But Don Rickles didn't even bother giving me advice. I figred he'd tell me to say something inappropriate. OK--now he's telling me to talk about how loud black people are in theaters. Bill Burr's telling me to go with the I'm Not Racist angle, and Don Rickles is urging me to talk about black theaters.
OK.