A Kick in the Jockstrap

In Shreveport and Bossier city, we know what we are. When vistors arrive, we usually treat them with hospitality and kindness, but the favor isn't always returned. Over the years, we have endured our share of potshots and criticism from Independence Bowl travelers and others who have been compelled to come here. Sure, it stings a little because we would like people to think nice things about us. I remember well when columnist Woody Paige of the Denver Post wrote that Shreveport is a "dingy, dismal southern city." That may have been the most unkind description I've read from an outside media person. Until now.
A writer from the weekly tabloid "The Dallas Observer" came to town to craft something about Battle Wings quarterback Quincy Carter, who used to play for the Cowboys. The things he wrote about Carter's fall from grace speak for themselves, but this passage made me see red:
Since getting dismissed by the Cowboys in the summer of 2004, Lavonya Quintelle Carter's life has gone to shit. And, arguably worse, Shreveport.
Dude's name is Richie Whitt and don't ask me what we ever did to him. He took his share of unfair shots in his piece, including making the ridiculous comparison of our nice little arena on the river to the stadium being built for the Cowboys:
Fittingly, on an Easter Eve sprinkled with snow, Carter looks ridiculously out of place in the quaint building about the size of a concession stand in the Cowboys' new $1 billion baby. The joint is sponsored by Shoney's, has all the ambience of a nursing home knitting hour and boasts a grainy black-and-white scoreboard video screen not unlike the set your old man used to watch The Honeymooners. The game is 8 on 8, the 50-yard field is surrounded by padded walls and the referee constantly stops play to yell "Please turn down the music!"
I was sitting two seats away from this man, and I can tell you that his demeanor the entire evening should have been a barometer for the turd storm he was about to unleash on us. I'll give him this: the video screens do need work, and the referee that night did announce twice that music was being played improperly. Making two announcements is a long way from "constantly" stopping play.
The story Whitt wrote actually has some facts in it and had the potential to be a legitimate piece of reporting. To allude to some of his own language, it turned out instead to be a piece of something else. The biggest problem, from our perspective, is that some of his stink lingers and is now associated with us.

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