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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>As a young, unknown junior faculty

member at Washington University, Gerald Early taught introductory

black studies to countless undergraduates. I enrolled in one of

these courses in the mid-‘80s and recall Early facilitating a

discussion about young African-American males’ fixation on playing

sports. The consensus among the white students was that young

blacks made a mistake in pursuing careers in sports when the odds

of success were so slim.

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>Early disagreed. The mistake, he

said, was not preparing a back-up plan by getting a decent

education while working towards a career in sports. That was a good

but forgettable point, and I probably would have forgotten it, had

Early not gone on to say, “What am I going to tell these guys? ‘Be

me’? I’m not going to tell them to ‘be me.’” He went on to discuss

candidly how long it had taken him to become a humanities

professor, how uncertain his future was and how little he was

paid.

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>I have been listening to Gerald

Early, closely and with admiration, ever since.

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>Now a highly successful author,

scholar, academic and administrator – arguably the most

distinguished professor of humanities at Washington University –

Early is still opening eyes with unexpected, edgy insights about

race and sports. This happens on every page of his new collection

of essays, A Level Playing

Field: African-American Athletes and the Republic of Sports

(Harvard University Press).

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>A Level Playing Field

is really two

collections spliced together. The first half is a series of

scholarly lectures Early gave at Harvard University, the second

half a group of essays commissioned by less academic venues. He

adds an introduction that presents the collection as a unified

whole, though they read as stand-alone essays with overlapping

subject matter. What really unifies them is Early’s piercing,

unpredictable intelligence. As he did in a striking essay about

Barack Obama he crafted for a volume of essays he edited last year

for Daedalus, Early

writes with the sublime confidence and raw candor of a man – very

specifically, a black man – who has paid his dues.

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>Half the book meditates on Jackie

Robinson, yet the jacket was designed around its single essay on

professional football. This image presents Philadelphia Eagles

quarterback Donovan McNabb and conservative

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pundit Rush Limbaugh as a sort of

two-headed hydra, a striking visual counterpart to Early’s probing

essay about the 2003 incident when Limbaugh lost his new job as

ESPN football commentator after making a comment about McNabb and

his race. Limbaugh said McNabb was overrated because the liberal

media wanted to see a black quarterback succeed – a statement that

stirred no on-air rebuttals from his fellow panelists (two of them

black), but sparked a controversy that soon had everyone

apologizing and ESPN sending Limbaugh back home to Cape

Girardeau.

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>Like the classroom discussion I

recall from 25 years ago, this was a forgettable incident that is

made memorable by the fact that Gerald Early had something to say

about it. Typical of his mature voice – and Early has evolved as a

writer, growing more comfortable in a conversational tone, more in

control of his erudition – he weighs the event from all sides,

finding something surprising from every vantage point. He points

out that the black co-hosts came under fire for not calling out

Limbaugh on the spot, though Limbaugh had indicted the liberal

white media, and so

really the white commentators, if anyone, dropped the ball of

rebuttal. Even Limbaugh comes off as a human being with a point of

view that can be defended, at least in this case, though Early

seems to disclose how he really feels about the matter, and the

man, in a wicked closing line about the pundit’s dismissal: “Let

the fat man swing.”

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>Lest anyone think they don’t need to

read a book of essays that rehashes familiar incidents like that,

trust me. Whether Early is writing about a recent racial flap,

Jackie Robinson’s testimony about Communism before Congress or the

myths of the black quarterback, he offers up a neglected or

forgotten fact – and an insightful way of conceptualizing race,

sports and how they intersect that will leave you rethinking

things. This book stretches the mind of a sports fan the way a

brilliant coach expands the game of an athlete. One example among

hundreds: “High-performance athletics is perhaps the most

theatrical and emotional form of ritualized honor that we have left

in the world.”

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>A few complaints, to keep it

real.

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“font-size: 9pt; font-family:”>For a book written by a noted editor

and published by a distinguished university press, it has a number

of typos and infelicities. We are told Eagles coach Ray Rhodes was

fired after “the 1998 game when the Eagles went 3 and 13” (make

that “season”). We learn something else about “Eagles offensive Ted

Marchibroda” (make that “offensive coordinator”). Early closes an

essay on Curt Flood by observing that, thanks to his legal case,

“the situation in baseball significantly changed for the better for

the players” – a clunky line Early would mark as “awkward” in an

undergraduate’s essay. As he would this line, which sounds

translated badly from another language: “Flood’s case carried not

any of this resonance.” Even good editors need good

editors.

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