But for the quarterback with the career that has defined the term ‘mercurial’ since his booed beginnings in the NFL, the Washington Redskins’ loss to the Dallas Cowboys narrows the view on McNabb’s greatness as a quarterback, and expands the doubt on his value in however many years remain in his career.

In a perfect world, Rex Grossman doesn’t throw for 300-plus yards and four touchdowns in a 20-point, fourth-quarter comeback on the road against the Redskins’ biggest rival. But would McNabb’s fate have it any other way? Would the man whose pro career has been a duality of his talent against a lack of support, statistics against an inability to win it all, a likeable nature against injuries and inconsistency, suddenly have an easier way to go publicly or privately?

It was one thing for Philadelphia Eagles’ head coach Andy Reid to release McNabb. Franchise quarterbacks that start and finish a career with one team are a rarity in the NFL, and after falling short of the Super Bowl expectations he helped to build along with McNabb, his eminent payday and talent of his back-ups Kevin Kolb and Michael Vick were too much for Reid to deny for sentimental reasons.

It was one thing for Redskins’ head coach Mike Shanahan, in the glory of his own arrogance and green-lit autonomy from Daniel Snyder to bench McNabb for the rest of the season. His history with quarterbacks is fickle, his success rate with passers not named John Elway is a failure when put mildly. To have expected tolerance for McNabb, a fast-aging QB who still has more talent than two-thirds of starting QB’s in the league, was a fool’s endeavor.

McNabb arrived in Washington on a short timetable for success, and the culture of coaching and ownership made it even shorter, as expected.

But these people didn’t spell the end for Donovan McNabb in Washington and the career twilight that is soon coming. Grossman’s exploits confirmed that a career backup impacted the performance of his teammates more than could McNabb, who signed a puzzling contract extension that allows the Redskins to sever ties without additional payment after this season. In the sample size that was Dallas week, Grossman proved a better quarterback.

And regrettably, Grossman proved the decisions of Shanahan and Reed legitimate.

McNabb has never been the loudest advocate against his critics. He has rarely introduced race, comparative analysis to other quarterbacks or a lack of talent around him as justifications for what went wrong, or as commodities for what went right. Maybe one day, when removed from the game and 24-hour news cycle, his opinions will allow greater perspective on the forces that affected so much of his career. The media coverage, the fan vitriol, the coaching maneuvers, all of it.

But the clearer perspective will wait for twilight, and thanks to Grossman, nightfall comes sooner than expected for Donovan McNabb.

And that’s not a diss to Zeta Tau, or a jab at the runner up Alpha Kappa Alpha; its a reality that has been bored into the conscience of Americans in all aspects of achievement, large and small. What white folks can afford to be good at, black folks have to be breathtaking at.

I’m not a stepping aficionado, but I do know that quite a few people who claim to be claim that the AKAs wuz robbed at the big show in Atlanta. There’s video tape that may or may not substantiate these claims. And the bigger point is not of which group was the more entertaining or precise unit, but the culture of why judges were primed to look at the only white entrants to make the finals as the most entertaining or precise unit.

Zeta Tau should have nothing taken away from them or their performance, and neither should the AKAs. But this outcome for Zeta Tau is not unlike the attention and expectations we heap upon tremendous white singers, athletes, and entertainers. When it comes to the few things in which black people have been granted the clemency of excellency, when white people infiltrate these areas, they are celebrated by both sides alike.

These soulful white folks are champions for the fences. Blacks and whites can agree, Celine Dion can sing her behind off. Both sides can agree that Steve Nash is a pretty good point guard. And both sides can agree that Vince Vaughn is pretty funny.

And when the time comes to gauge achievement among these subcultures, we tend to side with the underdog white guy or gal. Not because they are or aren’t better, and not because we are condition to elevate them above us in the way history has elevated them above us in everything else. It’s because black folks and white folks can all identify with a feel good, underdog story.

And that’s what happened with Zeta Tau at the Sprite Stepoff. Whether they were better at stepping or not, the story line for the competition is that they never were supposed to be there. White girls aren’t supposed to have that kind of rhythm in a art form that black folks perfected. So the judges went with the best storyline.

And don’t get it twisted. In like circumstances, white folks would’ve given us the gold for being that capable in and obdurate, stacked-against-us scenario. Barack Obama in the White House and Jay-Z in Yankee Stadium can vouch for it.

I’m not saying its fair or insurmountable, it’s just history. Zeta Tau Alpha made it yesterday in Atlanta, and there will be others on both sides to make the same kind of history going forward. It matches up perfectly for the only American story line greater than oppression and capitalism put together.

The story of the underdog.

But like most celebrities, Mayer confused his unique level of exposure with a unique insight on complex topics like relationships and race; topics that people with far more degrees and far less dexterity on acoustic guitar have yet to master.

I understood what he was saying. Most people who read John Mayer’s interview snippets understood what he was saying. And neither his intended thoughts nor his verbalized jive flew with anyone. But, on the general principle of lamenting and social networking all cultural slights real and perceived, he was lambasted across the web.

And that same general principle revealed a lot about our current state of social affairs. For as much as social networking and instant communication has bridged race and class closer than ever before, when it comes down to an All-American white boy rockstar making sexist and pseudo-racist comments, the bigger deal was his sexism in describing a previous sexual relationship with Jessica Simpson.

Maybe its because of her celebrity status, or maybe its because their relationship was more headline worthy than the fact that black people enjoy Mayer’s music. And far be it from me to say calling a chick “sexual napalm” isn’t as caustic as using the word “nigger.”

But don’t think its that far from me. Granted, sexism and racism have gone hand-in-hand in American culture and music for as long as most folks can remember. And both have reached far and deep into the generational development of millions of Americans. But the last time I checked, sexism hadn’t gapped academic achievement, or created disparities in the penal system. At least not at the rate racism has.

What shocks most people is that a songwriter clever enough to woo millions of fans and appeal to a diverse audience is a bumbling, drug abusing, skirt-chasing, racist. And I don’t think Mayer is a racist in the sense that he would not like his food touched by a black person, or thinks that black people are subservient. I mean a racist in the sense that there’s nothing physically appealing about black women to him.

Just as many people find certain races physically unattractive for one reason or another. It’s racism, but because it’s not of the public variety, because it comes down to where you go, what you say and who you say it to, it’s only as racist as people choose to make it.

And John Mayer, in his affluence and influence, thought it smart to make his known.

I don’t think black people should boycott John Mayer, or think much more into his statements than the release of his inner douchebag. He’s only on record with the way most of us think and feel about sex and race. And if we can responsibly parse his comments and have the courage to draw out of it a different approach to ending the scourges of racism and sexism, wouldn’t America be the wonderland its history makes it out to be?

No, I won’t forget the color of death by which you were painted just a few years ago. Starving children, helpless mothers and desperate fathers aren’t easily sang and trumpeted out of your mind, no matter how many touchdowns you score. I won’t forget the onlooking world wondering about you, about how you became the symbol of good old fashioned American racism.

But I forgive you. Because your neighbors have forgiven you.

No greater dichotomy exists, not even a black man in a White House, to surpass the death and the resurrection that you have wrought. A storm came, and you were a less than a gracious host. A glimmer of hope arrived in the form of a football team, and now you’ve invited yourself into every living room in America for a season.

And for some reason, in spite of your flaws, we welcome you with open arms.

Perhaps its not you at all. Maybe its the people of New Orleans. The forgiving, unyielding souls who took the worst – your worst – and resigned themselves to rebuilding. They dug in deep where you crumbled. They held their heads high, when your roof was buckled and collapsed. And while the work remains unfinished, the spirits yet restored, its you who is their closest link to normalcy.

100 yards of salvation. And they more than deserve your best.

And by God, you’ve delivered. I’ll give you credit for reinventing yourself from house of shameful melancholy, to a vibrant arena of hope. The people went from saying “What Now,” to “Who Dat.” You had a great deal to do with it.

So I can forgive you. Just as generations of New Orleans’ families and loyalists have. Forgetting is something else, but I’m convinced that you have enough in you to turn this relationship bittersweet enough for my everlasting taste.

General Larry Platt? Given the social commentary about pants being on the ground, the buffoonery can be excused.

How many rappers have to be on his campaign trail?

How many times does he have to reach out to Muslims – in their own country?

And how many times does his wife have to come out of the house sans perm for us to get it?

Even if President Obama was Carlton Banks-esque in his public presentation; even if he was more in step with Michael Steele or Armstrong Williams, those laughable pundits on a personal pilgrimage to purge themselves of cultural pride and association, would it matter at this point? He was obviously black enough for black people to trust him, and obviously not black enough for everybody else to believe that black folks are trustworthy.

Obviously, there is such thing as talking black. There is such thing as acting black. Just as there is such thing as talking white, or Latino, or any other ethnicity. But in our media-spun ignorance, we choose to view differences in language, logic and life as negative stereotypes. So instead of embracing different sounds, looks and lifestyle, we’d rather use it against each other.

And its the human condition; there’s very little you can do to change it. But at least acknowledge that its real. And that we’re better off without it than with it.

Is that what trips people up about President Obama? That he doesn’t race bait? That he seeks to bridge cultural chasms across America? Are we that hard up for drama and a reason to complain that when you can do better, we choose to do otherwise and blame it on ethnic presentation?

Well, I’m glad we don’t have Cris Carter or Madea running the show. For as much as American history owes it to us, truthfully, we don’t need divisional thinking any more. At this point, we have to accept that what we can’t or won’t do for ourselves, the grand design of government won’t lay out for us.

And if we have to grasp at ethnic straws surrounding President Obama and Black America’s first drink from the fountain of international influence, then we might want to reconsider the kind of Kool-Aid we’re choosing to drink.

Outstanding Reality Series

• “American Idol 8″ (FOX)
• “America’s Next Top Model” (CW)
• “Dancing With the Stars” (ABC)
• “Extreme Makeover” (ABC)
• “Real Housewives of Atlanta” (Bravo)

Outstanding Variety – (Series or Special)

• “BET Awards 2009″ (BET)
• “Bill Cosby: The Kennedy Center Mark Twain Prize for American Humor” (PBS)
• “Michael Jackson Memorial Service” (ABC, BET, CNN, MTV, NBC)
• “Wanda Sykes: I’ma Be Me” (HBO)
• “We Are One: The Obama Inaugural Celebration at the Lincoln Memorial” (HBO)

As you can guess, the above highlighted are a bunch of bull. And probably will take the awards in their respective categories. There’s nothing outstanding about the ‘Real Housewives of Atlanta’ with the exception of credit card balances and time to be paid back by drama-seeking viewers.

And a funeral and a haphazard awards show are up for best variety programming? Really? Why not throw the inauguration in there just to make it interesting. The sorrow and soul of Michael Jackson’s funeral clearly is the runaway favorite. Just hand it out now.

At a certain point, people in charge have to step back and consider, “will this really make sense when someone puts it on Twitter and Facebook? Do we really want this on CNN?”

Sad part is, many people have been doing his kind of work far longer and far better than he, and his money is just now allowing it.

Tavis’ opportunistic greed and self-aggrandizing aside, it’s high time for this and all other Black America forums to end. Nothing anyone can do can fully encompass the problems and possible solutions for Black America, because Black America’s membership is too diverse to attack these problems from a series of sermons every year.

Tavis always envisioned a 1960′s approach to problems plaguing black people; he longed for mobilization and mass buy-in on issues like public health, disparate resources, the education gap, economic empowerment, and a multitude of other problems that keep Black folks from living normal lives. His only problem was that he always managed to attract educated, employed, home owners whose closest contact with a police officer’s billy club was a slow Saturday night watching ‘Cops’ on location in Dade County.

There was always this inefficiency attached to this programming, an inefficiency that rendered Smiley’s presentation unattractive to down-to-Earth Black folks, and untenable and foreign to those that genuinely would’ve benefited from the forum. He would’ve been better off naming 12 Kappa disciples and traveling to Boulet bullroasts every summer.

What no one ever figured out, and its admittedly difficult to do so, is how to get the disenfranchised and lethargic members of our culture to care about doing better. It’s not enough for Smiley to bluster and have Hillary Clinton and Louis Farrakhan on stage backing the plight of the American Negro, a plight that has made the country more money through entertainment, education and social programming than it ever has through slavery. It has to go straight to the people.

It has to be identified as American problems, not just those of Black people living in America. It can be more than an annual convention to justify the secession of Black America from the USA.

Just like this blog – I would hope that brothers and sisters in dire straits would be inspired by a message or two on this site, but they aren’t the intended audience. Most of the people who read this do so to ease their cultural conscience, to add provocative commentary to what they hope, internally, is an effort to make themselves more available to social progress.

At least, that’s why I write. I volunteer, I tithe, I offer help when I can. But I know fully that its not enough. So I write to ease the burden.

Thank God that between me and Tavis Smiley, his burden was light enough to ease up on the ineffective and honey glazed impact of the State of the Black Union on the people he supposedly intended to help.

Tyler Perry got pissed and called his artwork ‘bait’ for lessons on morality and community.

And so the question is, which audience do we want to be? Because obviously we can’t be in both corners.

Lee and Perry are both armed with the same mission in mind. To focus Black America under a lens and allow it to see themselves true and whole; and if other folks are interested, for them to get a sense of our hearts and our cultural triumphs. Both men want black people to see more of themselves and be happy with the portrait; I can imagine that they’ve felt in some small way, that their art has changed the world. If only through one changed life.

But like most art forms practiced and mastered by black artists, the pretext of giving your art to the world is that the world will be divided into two distinct and neat audiences for it. Those who hate it, those who love it. Those who get it, those who don’t.

And then you break down to the sub-cultures of those two groups, understanding that even the lovers and the haters are at odds with their distinguishing tastesf. A perfect example of the dichotomy of black artistry is ‘The Wire;’  which ironically, was created and written by a white man to slap dramatic theory into the cop and crime culture of Baltimore City.

Viewers of a certain background and circumstance appreciate the artistry of the series. They marvel over the dialog. They are tantalized by intricately-woven story lines and arcs. They are intrigued by the machinations of men and women who enforce and break the law, and the stark similarities and motivations of both.

And then there are folks who enjoy the show because the characters breed familiarity. Because they look, sound and react like they would on either side of the gun barrel or the arrest. They aren’t impressed by the literary or cinematic value of the work, as much as its raw emotional worth.

Never the two sides shall meet. Socio-ecnomic status, religion, education – a whole bunch of things work in harmony to make sure that certain sides of the tracks don’t get crossed in either direction. The more you toe these tracks, the more you disgusted become with the other perspective of consuming the art and using the art. You can’t watch ‘House of Pain’ because you find that the plot points jumped the shark midway through the third episode of the series. You can’t watch Madea because you are personally and culturally offended by a black man in drag.

You can’t watch ‘Black Magic’ because it’s too long, and too boring. You’re so glad you haven’t seen ‘Eyes on the Prize’ in years because it’s too sad.

The excuses and stubbornness find a quiet place in all of our hearts for all of our art forms. Hip-hop and jazz are two of the longest suffering art forms in the black community, for reasons that are closer than we might think at face value. Black literature has been divested of one all-encompassing covering and split into ‘Street Lit’ and ‘African-American Interest.’ And all of the division is a ruse to protect the community brands that we represent; either you are ‘real’ or you have ‘the common sense the Lord gave you.’ You either act black or act white.

There is no easy solution to the matter because the artists have fallen under the same spell that entrances consumers. And maybe that’s for the best; choirs from both congregations may be better suited not being preached at about what they like to hear on the radio and watch in the movies, just for the satisfaction of a few “educated” minds about the business of inquiry. The truth is that black entertainment is as tied to what we hope to represent, as what the entertainment itself wants to represent us to be. We are what we consume; and if other social factors influence those consumption habits, we ought to recognize that those were choices too; totally within our control and shaped by our willingness to accept new and present ideas.

We should accept that not all black themes are culture-advancing mechanisms, but at origin, they are all dreamed up to improve our lives and minds. What the studio does after that is anyone’s guess, but no project starts our with a “Let’s Exploit or Bore Black Folks” launch party. In the end, you do what’s best for you and your family. We’ll soon arrive at a point where everyone can agree on how to African-Americans ought best be represented in pop culture and entertainment; devoid of expectations and labels to hold us back.

And both Claire Huxtable and Florida Evans will be so proud of us.