For one night back in the West End in Dallas, I was the baddest man on the planet.  Despite my 5′ 8″, 160 pound stature and charming boyish good looks, I stared down guys twice my size only to have them balk in terror.  I walked with my chest puffed out, a swagger to my step, and a snear on my face.  I was Bruce Lee in baggy pants.  I was Super Mario with the Fire Flower.  I had Black Up.

I know that the average white person fears the angry black man.  And at the very least, we’re terrified about being called racist in public.  Case in point, Michael Bolton from Office Space (1999) locking the doors on the LBJ Freeway when a black squeegee guy walks past his car.  Or the hotel staff comping Axel Foley a free room in Beverly Hills Cop (1984) when he pretended to be a Rolling Stone writer for Michael Jackson.

There are certain stereotypes about black men.

1. Black Men have huge wangers. To best illustrate this myth, let’s look at a clip from Full Metal Jacket.

“No boom boom with soul brother.  Too beau coup.”  I can’t say if this is true or not.  And I refuse to do a second of research.  I guess you’ll have to ask an NFL cheerleader or Lisa Lampanelli for the veracity of that myth.

I do know that out of all racial misconceptions, this is the one that I would actively promote as the affected minority.  Yep, I’m hung like a horse and I leave a trail of bowlegged women.

By the way, if my wife (Lucky Girl) adds a comment to this article, I’m immediately deleting it.  It’s all lies.

2. Black Men are better at Sports. It’s easy to point at the Boston Celtics and say that this stereotype is obvious.  But I think this is cultural rather than genetic.  Sure, there are plenty of black guys in the NBA and NFL, but not so many in MLB, MLS, PGA, NHL, or NASCAR.  If you only looked at soccer, you’d think that Latinos were genetically favored.  Also, I can assure you there are plenty of no-talent fat asses in every race, religion, creed, and culture.

Clearly, people of African descent have an advantage with fast-twitch muscle fiber.  Just look at the finals of the 100m and 200m in the Olympics.  I didn’t know there were black Chinese?

and finally …

3. Black Men are better at fighting than anyone else. I guess you could offer an alternative stereotype that Black Men have a greater propensity for violence.  In effect, that’s saying that their punches don’t hurt more or whatever, but they’re more likely to knock your block off without warning.  Regardless, white people are scared of being punched in the mouth.

Maybe white people are so afraid because of videos like this (watch til the end):

Now remember, this is a generalization.  I’m not saying that every white person is scared of black people.  And I’m not saying that black men are scary.  I’m talking about stereotypes.  And stereotypes are a powerful thing.

Which is why I decided to use it for evil …

Since I was 18 years old, I’ve been essentially adopted by a loving, black family just like Steve Martin in The Jerk (1979).   Unlike him though, I have rhythm.  This is a family with a plethora of young men that play football and lift weights.  Counting them all up, there are seven guys in this family that are between 20 and 30 and the range in size from NFL linebackers to NFL runningbacks.  Should there ever be an Amazing Race that requires a family team challenge in rugby or tlachtli, I’m signing them up.

The two oldest of the lot, Johnnie (27) and Trammel (26), were with me when we visited the West End, which is a place for middle-aged white guys to listen to guitar rock by local bands and eat fajitas outdoors.  Not at all like Deep Ellum or … God help you … South Dallas. At the time, the West End had more of a Ft. Worth feel with 40 year old men in leather sandals, jean shorts, and Banana Republic button up shirts.

So we walked in our little group.  And as is the case with a trio, you either walk in a normal or inverted triangular pattern when you hit a crowded area, so everyone can talk to each other and not get bumped.  We were in the triangle formation with me as the single, lead point and Trammel and Johnnie walking behind me.

While I was walking out in front, I noticed that people were staying out our path and avoiding eye contact.  At first, I was confused.  Why were people acting this way?  I’d never received this type of treatment before … like I had scorpions crawling out of my eyes or I was wearing a severed goat’s head around my neck.  Then it dawned on me …

Let me explain what those people were looking at.

• Johnnie is a champion amateur body builder at 5′ 9″ and 210.lbs.  His consulting firm (Accenture) had access to the Redskins mini-camp as an employee incentive, including the 40 yard dash.  I’m not kidding you when I report that Johnnie ran a 4.6 in wing tips.  More importantly to this column, he has a bald head and goatee and was wearing a muscle shirt.

• Trammel is a former cornerback at Kansas State and Chicago-area rapper, known as Gator.  He’s 6′ 2″ at 220.lbs with 4.4 speed.   He was in a sports jersey, braids, and wave-cap.  Both of these guys can lift 400+ pounds in bench press.

These white people were afraid of Trammel and Johnnie behind me.  Or maybe the crowd was just worried that they might start busting caps or grabbing purses or something.  It had nothing to do with me.  Whatever their reason was, it occured to me that I had a once in a lifetime opportunity.

I started immediatley mean mugging every person that looked our way.  I added a bounce in my step like I was ready to scrap.  And I even occassionally grabbed my balls … because I have a big wanger.

I know its an asshole thing to do … but you know what?

It worked.  I know what those white folks were thinking.  Look at those two big Negroes … just imagine what that little white guy with them had to do to earn their respect!  He must be a REAL badass. I don’t care that I played the Eminem to their 50 Cent and Dr. Dre.

For about 30 minutes, I was a rabid pit bull.  I was Mike Tyson pre-Robbin Givens.  I was Frank Shamrock.  Again, I’m Lucky, not big.  Most of my memorable showdown moments come from my rapier like wit rather than the hardness of my knuckles.  I normally have to weave my way through the crowd to the bar using Remarkable (30) agility and quickness, rather than shouldering and intimidation.

For that moment, I was feared and I LOVED it.  I mentioned it to Johnnie later and apparently neither of them knew that I was doing it, which is probably an indictment on race relations in Texas that they don’t even notice the berth of fear that they get when two black guys walk together.

Moral to the story?  If you’re white … and short … do yourself a favor and make friends with a couple of big black dudes.  Your life will never be the same once you’ve got Black Up.  Or better yet, find a crowd of Asians to hang with … they all know martial arts after all.

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