June 14, 2026
The WOKE world needs a long nap. The cancel culture should cancel itself. Political Correctness has never been more incorrect.
Last week, Charles Barkley pointed out – accurately, by the way – that the name of rapper Cardi B may be a misnomer.
“I don’t know if those are B’s,” Barkley said on ABC after Game 3 of the NBA Finals. “They might be Cardi D’s. I’m pretty sure those aren’t B’s. . . . . She got the wrong initials.”
Unfamiliar with the concept of humor, every loony hypocrite in the country sounded the false alarms.
Did that just happen?
Did Barkley just reference Cardi B’s breasts?
Fresh meat! Let’s get him!
“Damn he couldn’t control himself,” one fan said on X.
“We’re always commenting on each other’s body. That man is old enough to be her daddy!” chirped another.
“Careful. That’ll get you fired! Ha ha,” offered someone who understands how these social-media assaults unfold.
Immediately after Barkley proved he was a master of the obvious, a national debate erupted about how far a media person can go with opinions about the physiques of famous people. I would hazard an educated guess that a majority of the viewers that night found the remark refreshing. Among them was me, anyone who has followed the undeniably brilliant broadcast career of Barkley, anyone with a functioning brain and – oh, yes – Cardi B herself.
You see, Miss B has never been shy about emphasizing her attributes. In fact, solely in the interest of research, I Googled Cardi B and breasts. The first 46 photos under Images all showcase her bosoms. (That’s a total of 92, if you’re keeping score at home.)
When Cardi B heard about the phony furor, immediately she saw it for what it was, No, it wasn’t an insult; it was good for business. She retweeted his comment and then shared a screenshot of her trending on social media.
Clicks, people. It’s all about clicks.
Look, I come from a time before clicks, before social media – hell, before computers. I’m old. But even my shopworn brain knows the difference between what’s offensive and what’s just benign humor.
Back in my day – here he goes – that remark about Cardi B’s breasts would have been the least offensive thing in our entire WIP show. Back then, very little was off-limits. Breasts, penises, asses, taints, fat, thin, gay, stupid. Joe Conklin had a running joke about anal fissures. We covered it all, with aplomb.
I had a caller named Kim the Lesbian who would check in regularly to correct all of my recent homophobic comments. Others would eagerly set me straight on all of my other politically-incorrect offerings. I took it all in without offering any defense. You are who you are. I am a product of my times, good and/or bad.
Now there is room for no such disclaimer. The last few years I was doing a show on WIP, I constantly tried to edit myself on the fly when I was approaching danger. Rhea Hughes was brilliant at saving me from myself. It’s a miracle I left on my own terms after 33 years.
The closest I ever came to getting the boot happened in 2003, when I lost my mind on the air after Eagles president Joe Banner – whom I despised – announced that Eagles fans would not be allowed to bring their own food into the brand-new Lincoln Financial Field.
Banner, one of them most miserable people I ever met in half a century covering sports, hid behind “security experts” who recommended the ban. It had absolutely nothing to do with the Eagles forcing patrons to buy the overpriced food in the new stadium. No, it was strictly about security. Oh, please.
“If the Eagles are given the opportunity to choose security (to enforce the new food policy),” I ranted, “I totally expect them to wear swastikas on their arms.”
Of course, if I said anything like that today, I would be cancelled immediately, especially because Banner happened to be Jewish. It was a truly inappropriate remark.
Lost in translation was the simple fact that my cause was noble; I was defending the rights of my listeners, the fans. I would do it all over again, though I would choose less inflammatory words.
I made that argument before I was suspended for two days, and I actually prevailed in the debate when my labor union won an appeal of the decision. The suspension ended up being a two-day vacation.
Still, it was a lesson learned for me. I needed to choose my words more carefully, while still provoking and entertaining my audience. It was a balancing act that only got more difficult the longer I stayed behind the mic.
On many other occasions, I was invited into the program director’s office to defend what I said – though I must admit often I couldn’t even remember the offending comment. Hey, I ran my mouth non-stop four hours every day. It was impossible to keep track of every offensive word that escaped my lips.
When my lame defense didn’t sit well with my bosses, inevitably I would play my trump card.
“OK, then,” I would say while storming off. “Fire me!”
Obviously, they never did, though I can assure you it was not because the suits had any affection toward me. I (and my terrific teammates) got good ratings. We paid the bills. We had a loud and loyal following.
My challenge always worked. I never got fired.
I had to laugh when Charles Barkley used the same tactic last week. He knew he said nothing wrong. He also knew he is the most iconic name in sports broadcasting right now. He pays the bills.
“I hope they fire me,” Barkley said on The Dan Patrick Show. “I’ve got six or seven years on my contract that they know I‘ve got no chance of doing. I would love for them to fire me and have them pay me for the next six or seven years.”
Barkley also said something that bears repeating. He said about his gutless social-media critics: “If people don’t like me or don’t have a sense of humor, they can kiss my ass.”
Exactly. The only way to fight this absurd new standard of proper behavior is to provide an aggressive response and then do the job you’re being paid to do. Unfortunately, the cancel culture has already intimidated media people to a point where they say much less, and with far less impact.
As for humor, it’s best not to venture there at all right now. The people judging you – stirring the social-media storm – haven’t enjoyed a hearty laugh since the advent of computers.
So, inspired by Charles Barkley, I would like to send a message out there to all of the anonymous cowards hiding behind their cellphones, lying in wait for the next remark they can turn into a firestorm.
You can kiss my ass, too.
Now go get a life.
A few more questions to consider. . . .
- Our long wait is over. Nick Sirianni finally addressed the trade of A.J. Brown to New England on the first day of mandatory minicamps last week. The Eagles head coach said he wished the wide receiver well, he was excited about the receiver corps (sans Brown) this season and that A.J. “had a great run” in Philly. How did we ever survive two weeks without all that essential info? Is it time yet to ask if there is any logical reason for Sirianni to hold news conferences?
- When a franchise hasn’t won a championship in 43 years, I am not impressed by a new GM who has no rings himself. That was my reaction when the 76ers introduced Mike Gansey last week. Seated next to him was owner’s new corporate assistant Bob Myers, who has four. Myers said he was there to support Gansey. It should be the other way around, no?
- At the same time, did you feel that cool breeze blowing through the Sixers news conference last week when the topic of Joel Embiid came up. Gansey: “With him and the roster we have, that’s who we have.” Owens: “The good news is this: There’s no surgeries planned this summer.” Those are not exactly the kind of gushing testimonials Embiid is accustomed to getting from his bosses, are they? Is there even a ghost of a chance the new guys are finally going to find a sucker to take on this albatross?
- Is it fair to ask whether maybe, just maybe, the 1964 Phillies are not the biggest choke team in American sports history anymore? The heavily favored San Antonio Spurs lost the NBA Finals to the New York Knicks on Saturday night, blowing double-figure leads in all four of their losses, including the epic 29-point collapse in Game 4. Maybe the sports historians can finally let our 64’ Phillies rest in peace.
- I’m having a very hard time watching Phillies games these days. Last Wednesday, they managed to swing and miss 29 times in six innings, a record so far this season, against Toronto starter Dylan Cease. Then, two nights later, they struck out 15 times in a rare complete-game one-hitter by amazing Milwaukee pitcher Jacob Misiorowski. Is it OK yet to make a simple suggestion that the Phillies worry less about exit velocities and launch angles, and more about actually hitting the baseball?