Earlier in the NBA season, there was a report that JJ Redick was forming a rap super group, and it seemed like he was completely serious. As a Magic season ticket holder and the team’s only celebrity fan, I was mortified. The only thing worse than the thought of JJ Redick rapping is JJ Redick rapping with another equally goofy white guy. Thankfully, it turns out his rap “super group” partner is his teammate Ryan Anderson. Oh sh*t.
That’s right, Rhythm and Rhino is the name of this outfit. And I thank Moses on the teacup ride with Brahma that they were only joking. But for far too long, athletes have had aspirations of being musicians and actors, while musicians and actors have held onto dreams of being athletes. And I have a secret for entertainers everywhere – If a turtle had hooves, it wouldn’t be a horse, it would be a retarded turtle. Just because you can throw a baseball or catch a football, it doesn’t qualify you to get all up in my grill with some hot fire. And just because you can get a teenage girl’s panties moist with a power chord rock ballad, it doesn’t mean you’re up to swinging at high heat, or in some cases even talking about it.
Music and sports are intertwined in that so many athletes turn to powerful songs as inspiration, and some of the greatest songs across the world have been written about sports. It’s a partnership for the better of two industries. The problem, though, arises when sex complicates the partnership. In this case sex is a metaphor, like, “I can’t believe Chris Webber is f*cking my ears right now.” Thanks to YouTube, there is way too much evidence of the need for music and sports abstinence.
Marlins Receive a Stapp Infection
James K. Polk once wrote: “Show me the man who likes Creed, and I shall show you injustice.” At least I think he said that, I was usually pretty high in history class. This baseball season, the Florida Marlins tried to alienate the team’s remaining 600 fans by recruiting Creed frontman Scott Stapp to record a Fish-friendly version of his song “You Will Soar.” The result is a cross between a beginner’s guide to baseball and the guttural moans of a dying walrus.
Bronson Arroyo Might Be a Commie
In much that Scott Stapp showed us why some musicians aren’t even qualified to talk about baseball, Cincinnati Reds pitcher and mullet enthusiast Bronson Arroyo proves that a pitcher’s arm is only good for throwing meatballs in the second half of the season. Arroyo has actually released an album of cover songs from bands like Matchbox 20, Dave Matthew’s Band, and the Hitler Youth Choir, but I chose this rendition of “God Bless America” because it offends me as both a baseball fan and an American.
Deion Sanders Must Need the Money
Football has a long list of offenders, but Primetime is the biggest culprit of soggy ear turds by far. While his claim to fame was the narcissistic dance song “Must Be the Money,” Deion Sanders kept making music while the world laughed at him and his neverending collection of feathered hats. Long after M.C. Hammer was stripped of his master of ceremony duties, the untouchable rapper recruited Neon Deion to add some street cred to one last ditch effort at fame, “Straight to My Feet.”
A Pirate Looks at Crappy Music
I’ve been to one Jimmy Buffett concert and I had a blast. The people were great, the booze was mostly free, and by the time Grandpa Pothead took the stage I couldn’t remember my own name, let alone my distaste for boat songs. While I don’t necessarily mind the Buffett lore, I have a problem with it being mixed with my football. Especially my Miami Dolphins football. In fact, I’ll be blunt – I don’t want anything so focused on weed anywhere near Ricky Williams. Hell, I’m upset I just used “blunt.”
Autotune Into Another Genre
If you grew up in South Florida like I did – Dolphins fan or not – you couldn’t escape the Miami Dolphins fight song. “They’re in the air, they’re on the ground, they’re always in control,” songwriter Lee Ofman sings in the classic reminder of the fateful 1972 season. And last season, T-Pain, Jimmy Buffett and somebody named Pitbull decided they had to remake the song. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to be a Dolphins fan.
Run Far, Run Fast When Carl Lewis is Near
I suppose an Olympic sprinter’s career is over rather quickly, despite my eternal curiosity as to why they can’t just learn to catch a football. However, Carl Lewis is an example of someone who should have taken an aptitude test. A counselor would have asked, “Carl, can you sing a note for me?” And Carl would drop a little flavor. The counselor would respond, “Holy sh*t that filled me with the devil’s seed.” That simple, Carl would have known to never make this music video.
Roy Jones Jr. Gonna Knock Your Hearing Out
I want to forgive boxers who try to become entertainers because their brains are figgy pudding by the time they hang up their gloves. But Roy Jones Jr. only went into music because he’s arrogant and he thought it would be universally relevant to rap about beating Bernard Hopkins. The problem is that he sucks at rapping and nobody gives a turtle’s squirt who Bernard Hopkins is.
Kobe Bryant Bends Music Over a Chair
When it comes to basketball, Shaquille O’Neal is the first name mentioned in regard to failed music attempts. That is so unfair to the other guys in the NBA who have made great strides in destroying hip hop’s association with basketball. While they’ve been friends and enemies, Shaq could have taught Kobe Bryant not to record an album, and certainly not to rap on live television. Wait, hold on – Kobe rapping, Tyra Banks singing, and Kenan Thompson making jokes? Jesus Christ on a snowmobile, it’s the apocalypse.
And Directly Across the Lakers Locker Room…
The biggest problem with the infamous Throwdown in Motown (AKA The Melee in Motown, AKA Pistons vs. Pacers) wasn’t that Ron Artest and Stephen Jackson broke down the barrier between fans and players by going into the stands and fighting Pistons faithful, it was that Artest’s ensuing suspension gave him the bright idea to record his own album, My World. While it certainly wasn’t as terrible as Chris Webber’s attempt at rap (see: C-Webb’s “Gangsta, Gangsta”), it still reminded us that some people have way too much money.
At Least They Weren’t Rapping in French
Listen here, Tony Parker. I like my rap music like I like my women – American and full of violent threats. By rapping in French, you have completely undermined everything I stand for. None of us even know what you’re saying. You could be talking about berets and child smokers or you could be making fun of Corvettes and big-breasted Texas girls, how am I supposed to know? You want to rap in French? Go to France. And take Bronson Arroyo with you.
Not So Fast, Shaquille O’Neal
I could have selected Shaq’s collaboration on the Fu Schnickens jam, “Can We Rock?” I could have chosen Shaq’s improbable teamwork with the Notorious B.I.G. And Jay Z on his “Can’t Stop the Reign” album. But David D. already handled that wonderfully in his feature, “5 Logic-Defying Facts About Shaq’s Rap Career.” Instead, I had to go to a video that features Shaq in a non-rapping role, but reveals just how much he crapped on hip hop.
Entire Teams Will Kill You With Awful
As terrible as the 80s were, we’ve embraced that decade like a hot, adopted Asian sister that showers with the door open, and one of the things we loved the most were our goofy team music videos. Of course the most famous of these celebrations of talentless musical dry heavings is the Super Bowl Shuffle, performed by the 1986 Chicago Bears. But far be it for Jim McMahon and Walter Payton to overshadow the loser teams. For instance, the 1986 Los Angeles Raiders come straight outta Compton’s closet with “Silver and Black Attack”…
But the 90s don’t ever get the credit they deserve for unintentionally hilarious fashion and white people behavior. So the Miami Dolphins, a three-time offender on this list (is it because I love them… or perhaps because I hate you?) stepped up their game yet again and produced their own version of M.C. Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This” with “Can’t Touch Us.” And you couldn’t touch the Dolphins during the 90s, mainly because they were terrible and teams were afraid the suck was contagious.
What’s That, NBA Teams? You’ve Got More?
This is more an example of a terrible song written about a sports team to provide community excitement. An unknown gem, this song was recorded for the Orlando Magic in the 90s, presumably before the franchise gave free paychecks to Grant Hill and Tracy McGrady. The song has had a vintage resurgence in Orlando, but then again so has crystal meth, so pick your poison.
The Atlanta Hawks Won’t Be Swept Completely
The Hawks have had two great moments in franchise history – a championship in 1958 and when Zelmo Beaty was named to the NBA rookie first team in 1963. Other than that, the history of Atlanta’s professional basketball franchise is as painful and unnecessary as this performance by T. Grose and the Varsity, entitled “Nothing Can Stop Us.” Sadly, T. Grose was eventually stopped by unemployment.
Friends In No Places
There’s plenty ridiculous about Garth Brooks. Forget that he’s a country singer, because his songs probably helped me get laid a few times in college. The video isn’t sports-related but it’s a window into his batsh*t soul. Garth famously released a rock album under the name Chris Gaines, which featured a roster of dutch oven classics that gained him no fans in either genre. Here’s an example:
Awful, right? Well, the reference is all about timing. In 1999, Garth adopted the Gaines persona, dumped his wife, and decided he wanted to play baseball for the San Diego Padres. While the whole thing was really just a glorified PR stunt, it was a relief for Tony Gwynn, who for one day was no longer the largest waist to ever punish a Padres uniform. Garth got to pinch run for Wally “Kill Me” Joyner, and was called out in a double play. Of the experience, the country singer said, “It was great. It was a piece of Americana going right down my throat.” Replied everyone on the planet, “Too easy.”
Hopefully this will serve as a warning to athletes and musicians alike out there. Because there’s an end of the road out there for them all. Just ask former MLB pitcher Jose Lima, forever damned to sing the wrong words to “Sweet Home Alabama” in airport bars.