By Odeisel

Fame is the most beautiful and deadly of all the Devil’s wives. She is the illusion of love wearing the fresh façade of the adoring masses. No one is immune to her touch, for we all are allotted our 15 minutes. She is a whore who sleeps with everyone, but we don’t care, because it feels so good. Some of us are lucky, or unlucky enough to get all of her attention. We feel her touch and want her touch and try to handcuff her, but she only does the Devil’s will.

She’s the perfect woman. She sucks your dick. She cooks for you. She rubs your back. She allows you to step out, and when you come back home she f**ks you real good. She does all of that until you feel you can’t live without her.  Then she flips it, grabs you by your balls and makes you beg her to keep it going. Only now, it’s on her terms and you’re reduced to an addict; fiending for more of her “love.”

Some of us have the will to resist, but emancipation is never free. Fame will leave you alone and broken, and you are strong enough to hold up, you’ll simply be locked out of your own house like Fred Flintstone, begging her to let you back in after you discover the locks are changed. The people still in the building are looking outside laughing at you, wondering what happened, because they can’t figure out their former neighbor got locked out. What’s really wild though is that they are still trapped in the building, locked in a fortress of flashing lights and the absence of privacy; toiling under tabloid oppression while you’re free out in the world.

Stephon Marbury presently is trying the unthinkable. He’s trying to tame the beast of fame and bend her to his will. To those of us on the outside, it looks like “Wilma, Leeet Meee In!!!”  Those purveyors of fame, shake their heads in disbelief, undoubtedly aware of the enormity of that task. What’s amazing is how this has unfolded before such a vast audience and how it is being framed.

Marbury, believe it or not leads a relatively simple life. His whole existence has been predicated on being the chosen one out of a long line of near misses to finally get over that NBA hump.  He succeeded and most of his time is spent training or playing basketball. He’s not very extravagant, and he’s married with children.  While he is guilty of the occasional admitted dalliance, that’s between him and his family. Unlike most NBA players, he’s not living check to check, and his various business interests have allowed him the freedom to not be enslaved by that NBA check. He sat out a year unflinchingly over a million dollars and didn’t break a sweat. It was the principle of the matter, whether you agree with him or not.

Over the last few years, however, weird outbursts have been coming with increased frequency, generally defying logic and common sense, from claiming to be the best point guard in the league despite not making the playoffs in years.  Getting a Starbury symbol tattooed on his head (head tattoos are rarely signs of convention or mental stability), and talking about playing ball overseas years before it was a viable option, along with other events have caused us to raise eyebrows and question his sanity on a Ron Artestian level.  But is he REALLY the one that is crazy?

Marbury is trying to manage Fame.  Trying to break her. If you stop to think, you really only see him under his own volition.  HIS webcam.  HIS appearance courtside at a game, with a paid ticket once he was barred from the team.  The Starbury symbol, an omnipresent advertisement for a brand of sneaker he sells which is not only good quality, but is extremely affordable for poor people and won’t get your kid embarrassed or teased in school. That’s marketing not insanity.  You never see him in handcuffs, and the only lawsuit you saw him in involved the Knicks as an organization, not him as principal. But he HAS to be crazy…right?  He has to be a slave to the fame. We just mourned the loss of Michael Jackson who was her greatest lover this side of Satan and we watched a decade-long flameout. Our antennae are alert. But Marbury is actually trying to control his flameout. Aware of the build you up/break you down process, Stephon is attempting to actually take the wheel in a way that we really haven’t seen.

Who hasn’t cried to church music? Does it make it any different if it’s televised? We watch people testify in court with regularity, but when they testify for God, it’s lunacy? Perhaps Marbury’s public outbursts make him appear so devilish that Fame got it twisted. Upon watching his recent one on one with HipHollywood.com, I’m just about convinced that Marbury is gaming her; the ultimate player move on the hottest chick in the streets. Watch.

The seduction of Fame is all but inescapable. The sweet nectar of adoration. The caress of attention.  The sweet smell of it all. Stephon Marbury may have finally figured it out. Give the devil his due. Maybe he’s the one free and everyone else  is caged in the tabloid tower.  Maybe as more people get hip to the fake love of fame, they’ll be begging Wilma to let them out. Word to Mike. 

Peace.

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