Every day—nay, every hour—some money hound manages to encapsulate America in one product. Currently, my favorite shirt is a black 3XL t-shirt that is light and roomy. In the winter this will make the top layer in a three shirt frozen food clerk outfit, hopefully of mismatched colors. This particular shirt was a one-week commercial product concerning a sport I care not a lick about. However, it is a shirt that accurately represents the collective American mind than any other.

At top is emblazoned:

REMATCH

The bottom section is lettered:

THE FINAL SHOWDOWN

HEAVYWEIGHT

CONFERENCE

CHAMPIONSHIP

Sunday, January 20, 2013 6:30 PM

Between the headline and the lettering are photo-shopped to the two poster boys for the contesting football teams and for the society at large,

To the right is pictured Tom Brady, quarterback of the New England Patriots, his sissy face contorted in a snarl that was either heavily coached or photo-shopped. Renowned sissy boy of a brutal port, Brady is the athletic personification of the emasculated white man, crying, sulking, throwing toddler-quality temper tantrums, unable to give interviews after a hard loss, etc. He is what the dispossessed white American male fantasizes about being, a man whose specialized skill earns him money, status and a beautiful woman on his arm, and who is able to wrap himself in the rules of whatever game he is engaged in to honorlessly avoid consequences associated with his actions and reap the rewards.

To the left is Ray Lewis screaming like a cartoon lion, demonstrating the lack of impulse control and yearning for ostentatious display and mob approval that are the defining characteristics of the African American man. Ray bought his way out of a felony charge for the death of a man shanked by one of his hangers on early in his career. He has also lived a shorter “game life” than his white counterpart, who is still playing in his prime, reflecting the real life mortality rates of men of his demographic compared to those of his rival.

Ray Lewis and Tom Brady reflect the aspirations and conduct of their America every bit as much as Joe Louis and Babe Ruth represented the common men of their own race and time. Every time I wear this outdated shirt a man of one race or the other will sneer at the nemesis player and ask me where my loyalties lie, and I respond, “I despise them both—wearing this is a protest about what is wrong with American manhood.