![]() Small sample data point, but my wife’s a teacher and had never heard of DaBaby until kids on the playground were arguing over his cancellation. Back in the aughts, celebrities got cancelled on occasion - Janet Jackson and the Dixie Chicks come to mind - but it wasn’t a constant news cycle category and it certainly wasn’t a fate for the relatively obscure. These days, an aspiring famous person’s name recognition likely sees a far bigger bump from cancellation than from literally getting shot. Juxtapose the gothic stakes of “Many Men” against what gains you the outlaw’s publicity today, and it’s just funny what passes for publicly risky. What rip in the time-space continuum made such an absurd play even viable? What’s going on in journalism where it’s theoretically a) trivially easy to get fired for voicing an opinion and b) also easy to gain profitable notoriety from the result. This is insane, both the plan and the world in which the plan makes sense. Play it perfect and reap what I’ll call the Outlaw’s Publicity.īut wait. Give a controversial take, either internally or externally, get booted and disavowed, profit off the attention as an independent creator. It would start off as half-kidding, and then ramp up to, “No, seriously. ![]() “You should get fired,” was the advice I’d get from peers and mentors. ![]() As I mulled the difficult decision of whether to leave The Athletic, more than a few people told me I should become the victim of a metaphorical hit. The path to wounded notoriety is much softer these days, at least physically. ![]() As 50 Cent rapped in “Many Men (Wish Death)” about his since-deceased would-be assassin, “Now it's clear that I'm here, for a real reason, 'cause he got hit like I got hit, but he ain't fucking breathing.” Also, apparently, a newcomer could demonstrate bonafides as a fascinating desperado by suffering real costs in the real world from a real enemy, who was also risking a lot by taking the shot. We weren’t inundated with a constant stream of information, so people retained the ability to be shocked and impressed by a newcomer’s biographical detail. This episode was inspired by the meteoric rise of 50 Cent in the mid-aughts, whose “got shot nine times” biography was part of his path to prominence. In order to gain respect, Marvin, and to a certain extent earnings-desperate Bobby, debase themselves. Marvin pays the cost, both monetary and corporally, screaming, “He shot me in my ass!” after Bacala does the deed. Ace shot Bobby Bacala knows how to fire into the ass, er, “fleshy part of the thigh” if you’re selling it to a status-conscious customer. Baccalieri to shoot him in a relatively harmless way? Done right, Marvin gains credibility while ending up little worse for wear. Marvin feels left behind by the Da Lux fame train, so Bobby makes him an offer: How about Marvin trust a steady Italian gangster like Mr. Marvin’s boss, a rapper named Da Lux, is recovering in style, having significantly grown in fame and stature on account of getting hit by a few shells. While there, Bobby runs into an up-and-coming rapper named Marvin, who’s also at the hospital to visit a wounded superior. Bacala is at the hospital because his boss, Tony Soprano, got shot. There’s this Sopranos episode I love, titled, “The Fleshy Part of the Thigh.” In it, Bobby “Bacala” Baccalieri, an affable soldier for the Soprano family, opportunistically advertises his peculiar services.
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