Above is a picture of Rashad McCants, unofficial poet laureate of the NBA. This moving photograph has captured the essence of McCants, alone, gathering his thoughts and searching for the perfect rhymes for his latest work (“Yo Sebastian! Does ‘gat’ rhyme with ‘crack’?”).
A friend alerted me to this burgeoning genius, and as an amateur limerickist, I simply had to check out his work for myself. You see, as part of his Web site, McCants is kind enough to share his “Writings from Rashad.” This is where you’ll find delicate, soulful, inspiring gems such as “Hustle and Cream.” To wit:
“We Dead inside just a hollow shell, our hearts are so cold look at dave chapelle,
evil is people with greed that shit green. How is there loyalty when friends is switch teams”
So true, Rashad. So motherfucking true.
Who knew that Rashad was as “sensitive” as that delicate flower, Duke’s J.J. Redick, who used to write stanzas that he would softly whisper in Dick Vitale’s ear in the early morning hours that lie just between discretion and passion. One can only dream of a spoken word smackoff between McCants and Redick, emceed by ESPN’s own Jay Bilas.
So here’s a slow clap for you, UNC (or as McCants has referred to it: "jail"), from me and Dave Chappelle. Your J school has produced yet another star (is another waiting in the wings in Quentin "Q Rhymes with 'Boo'" Thomas?). And Rashad even went so far as to get a tattoo of his Chapel Hill degree …
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