Here’s the title of the article Phil Mushnick wrote for the New York Post: Being a great player doesn’t make Peterson a great guy. I’m supposed to write something witty here, I know it. But seriously, f*ck Phil Muschnick. As a writer I encourage people to read more than just the headline to get the full story, but in this case, the title says it all.
Thus it was unsurprising Peterson’s downside went ignored. In 2009, he was busted for driving 109 mph in a 55 mph zone. He dismissed that as no big deal, which was doubly disturbing — his older, full brother was killed by a reckless driver.
Last summer, Peterson was in a club when he and friends were informed that it was closing time, past 2 a.m. Apparently, Peterson and pals felt they would decide when it was time to close. The police report noted three cops were needed to subdue Peterson.
The club case Mushnick is referring to, is a nightclub incident that merited no charges after a grand jury listened to his side of the story for 25 minutes. Mushnick thinks it validates his anti-Peterson point to suggest he was ready to play too soon after the boy’s death:
Me? I’d be fighting for breath, my knees weak with grief, demanding to know why, who, how. Then, I suspect, I’d seethe with rage, swearing retribution. I even think I’d take off a day or two from work. Maybe a week.
As if players haven’t declared millions of times that playing can help them cope from loss. How the camaraderie of teammates allows them to feel normal again.
With his resources, how could Peterson, the NFL’s MVP, have allowed his son to remain in such an environment? Did he not know, or not care? Or not care to know? Or not know to care?
Peterson couldn’t have provided his son a better life, a longer life?
Either Mushnick doesn’t understand how custody works or he doesn’t give a sh*t and is using whatever he can to run a man who just lost his son through the mud. The child’s mother has custody and she determines where the child goes.
But given Peterson’s father did hard time for drug money laundering, and his half-brother was murdered, maybe we’re both stuck with the values in which we were born, raised.
What in the ever f*ck does this have to do with anything?
Here’s the conclusion:
Maybe Peterson’s son is just one more stands-to-reason murder victim, just another child born to just another “baby mama,” one more kid who never had a shot, anyway. Maybe, by now, even if we can’t accept it, we can expect it.
By now you may have guessed it, but I’ll spell it out: Phil Mushnick is a racist.
He once said this about Stephen A. Smith: “Could it be that Smith’s urban street-hip brotha yak—which he seems able to turn on and off with the drop of a Kangol—is supposed to appeal / pander to young, urban, street-talkin’ sports fans?” and this about Jay Z as a Nets owner: “Why the Brooklyn Nets when they can be the New York N——s? The cheerleaders could be the Brooklyn B—-hes or Hoes. Team logo? A 9 mm with hollow-tip shell casings strewn beneath. Wanna be Jay-Z hip? Then go all the way!”
Two days after Adrian Peterson laid eyes on his son for the first time – in Intensive Care as the boy was fighting for his last breaths – Mushnick saw fit to write about how Peterson somehow contributed to his son’s death. How we shouldn’t feel bad for him because his dad went to jail and his half-brother died and he couldn’t control where the boy’s mother took him. Phil Mushnick is classless, racist and despicable.
I know it’s America so I’m supposed to support free speech and not call for his job. So I won’t.
I’ll just say, f*ck Phil Mushnick.
Previously: On Adrian Peterson And A Father’s Biggest Fear