I Ain't Scared of You (12 page)

Being successful has opened up all kinds of stuff for me. I'm doing things I never used to do.

Like I play golf a lot. I play as much as I possibly can. I got into golf about six years ago. I started watching it at first. Tiger Woods wasn't even a pro yet.

Before, an old agent of mine used to try to get me to play. I'd be like, “Man, I ain't playin' that sissy shit! I'm used to runnin' and jumpin', hoppin' the fence to chase a motherfucker and shit. That's my kind of sport!”

Man, the first time I played golf, I was tired as a muh'fucka! I
was walkin' all bent down, my back hurtin', ball wasn't goin' nowhere. I'm just out there hurtin' the earth. I mean, I'm beating the ground the fuck up!

Then I got one or two good hits. That juiced me up. I started taking lessons. I started to really learn the game, what putting means, what a chip shot is. Golf ain't no chump game. It's strategic. And I ain't just playing the course. I'm also playing the elements.

Then you out there, the breeze blowing, the sun shining, the grass is nice and green. It's something a nigga ain't accustomed to.

Shit, they out there talkin' about “caddy.” I ain't know what a caddy was. I said, “Man, we gon' drive a Cadillac out on this muh'-fucka?”

I've been hunting for the past few years, too. But when I hunt, I don't go for the kill. I go for the skill.

They call me “the peaceful hunter.” 'Cause I ain't killed nothin' yet.

The first time I went huntin', I ain't know what the fuck I was doing. My pants were pressed. My boots were shined. I had cologne on. My pager was on my hip. I think I had a sharp hat on.

This old man who I was goin' with looked at me and said, “Where the fuck you goin'?”

He was like, “The motherfuckin' animals gon' smell your ass a mile away! We ain't gon' catch shit! You ain't onstage, muh'fucka!”

So we got to the grounds and, on the outside, there was all kinds of animals out. It was quail, raccoon, squirrel. They were runnin' around all past us.

You are entitled to three squirrels, two rabbits, two quail. And if it's quail season, then you can't shoot rabbit. You can't even load up until you get 500 feet inside the gate around the grounds.

The animals know the rules. So they runnin' past, lickin' their tongue out at you and shit.
“Nyaaah,
muh'fucka.”

So we go 500 yards inside, somebody said, “Load up.” We
loaded up—and you ain't see nobody. Those muh'fuckin' animals was
gone!
We walkin', stalkin'. You couldn't find them muh'fuckas. We walked for three, four hours. Muh'fuckas vanished.

This one guy out of all of us caught one quail. We were out there five, six hours. We came back, had to unload. We got from behind the gate, them deers, rabbits and shit started coming out, flying around.

I said, “Ain't this a bitch!” Them muh'fuckas was playing like it wasn't shit!

When you go hunting, the dogs are a trip. You see how those dogs hunt those game? Tails stick up. Nose stuck out. They'll go flush the rabbit. You'll hear the dogs barking. That means he run-nin' him toward you.

So I'm out there, and I ain't shot shit, right? My friends say, “Okay, Bernie, this next one is your rabbit.” They all beatin' my balls and shit. Then they said, “Get ready!” The dog was howling. The rabbit came out the bushes. He looked at me.

Michael Jordan and wife Juanita Jordan attend Bernie Mac's weekly Tuesday night show in Chicago in 1995.

Everybody's screaming, “Shoot it! Shoot it!”

I raised up. The rabbit started running. I ain't do nothin'.

The dog came out the bushes and snapped at my ass: “Muh'-fucka! All that work I'm doin' and you ain't shootin' shit!”

Man, niggas was so mad at me, on the way home, they put me in the back with the dog.

The dog was in my ear growling all the way: “Black ass mother-fucka! Christian-ass muh'fuckin' hunter, lettin' rabbits and squirrels go by like they payin' a toll!”

'Round here, muh'fuckas come all in your house, walk around your shit like Bro'man on
Martin.
You havin' a cookout, and he just show up. A muh'fucka will be sittin' in your backyard smokin' cigarettes. He don't be a neighbor or nothin'.

He just smelled barbecue and came on in.

I don't know this motherfucka! And he ain't bringin' nothing either? Fuck him!

You don't even know the muh'fucka, but he walk in and grab a drink. Start dancing with your mother-in-law. He grindin' all on her. Your father-in-law's mad: “You know that muh'fucka? Well, you better get his ass.” The nigga just be in ya house, slow dancing with your daughter and shit.

Now, you can't just shoot a muh'fucka for no reason. You only shoot people for certain things:

1) for fucking with your daughter

2) for comin' into your barbecue, and

3) for being in your garage fuckin' with your tools.

You need good reasons. A muh'fucka fuckin' your daughter? He supposed to get shot.

*  *  * 

You only tell certain muh'fuckas that you gon' shoot 'em.

You drinkin' and arguing with a nigga. He's bigger than you. You like, “What? Man, you fuck around, get shot fuckin' with me.”

You scared. You ain't gon' shoot nobody.

You know, some niggas just gotta tell you they gon' shoot you so they won't look like a coward and shit.

“Man, move your car!”

“What? Nigga, don't . . . Man, I'm gon' move it so I won't have to shoot yo' ass!”

A nigga dancin' with your woman: “That's my woman, nigga!”

“Man, you better get the fuck outta here before I beat your ass.”

(Sigh.) “Man, let me go on before I have to shoot me a mother-fucka up in here!”

Naw, you ain't gon' shoot nobody. You just scared.

And I'm not sayin' you should shoot anybody. But you should be able to protect yourself.

Another good thing I've been doing is working out more. I was always athletic, but I got older and just kinda got distracted. So now, I got a personal trainer, and I'm getting myself in good shape, physically and mentally.

I go to the gym, but I hate to work out with other people. I like to exercise by myself. I'm focused. I like to get in and get out. Too many other muh'fuckas like to talk.

I'm liftin' 200 pounds and a muh'fucka wan' ask me a damn question. “Hey, man, how's Eddie Murphy?”

I'm on my fifth rep and shit, and a muh'fucka come over: “Can you sign this?”

Muh'fuckas be watching you and shit, too, man. I hear 'em: “He can't lift 15 pounds, that weak muh'fucka.” “How much weight was on there? 125? He took it all off.” “How much on there now?” “Sixteen pounds.” “Talkin' 'bout he goin' for
reps.”

*  *  * 

I love comedy—but it's gonna be a day when I say, “You know what? Gotta move on.” There's only so much you can talk about. I think you reach your peak. It's no different than Ali. It's no different than Bill Cosby. They don't sell tickets like they used to.

Man, in 10, 15 years, the world gonna be so different. They already got that virtual reality. I'll be 55, 60 years old, “W-w-w . . . I ain't scared of you, muthafuckas.” Niggas'll be saying, “Look at that bald head muthafucka. Man, he's through!”

I don't wanna go out like that. I want you to always remember me as being one of the best. Not as some old nigga who can't quit: “I'm coming back! Gimme my cane over there, Jordan! I'm coming back like a muthafucka. I might not be able to play power forward, but I'll play the two.”

I'm not being foolish. When that time comes, I can ride off into the sunset, me and Rhonda. And feel good about myself, knowing I gave 150%. I'm going out on top.

It's funny: People always want what you got. They look at me now and say they don't see me having any pressure. That's because I went through all of it. They don't think me and Rhonda ever had our differences. We don't have any differences—now. Now, we're beyond all of that.

But, man, we had some humbugs. Physical.

That muh'fucka would come at you like Joe Frazier—head down, just swinging.

One time we had a humbug, she had said, “You ain't going out.” I had went out two days in a row, coming in four, five o'clock. She gon' say, “I done told you about daylight hitting you, didn't I?”

You don't tell me what to do. I'm grown. So I said, “I'm gonna show you how grown I am.”

She said, “You ain't going nowhere today.”

“Who you talking to? Yeah, OK.”

I tried to go to bed. My head was sore! Beating like a heart! I was out drinking with the boys. So I get in the bed. And she turn the
radio on real loud! Then she let the blinds up, gon' open the drapes. The sun was beaming in on me, my head was hurting.

She said, “You won't get no muthafucking rest tonight, I bet you that. I bet you won't get no rest today. You should've got some rest where you was.”

My daughter, her nickname is Boots, she gets up out of the bed. So I got to cool out.

Meanwhile, Rhonda making breakfast for everybody—except me. The house smell all good. I walk in the kitchen and ain't shit for me to eat.

How the fuck you cook just
two
chicken wings? Everybody eating
but
you.

I ask my daughter, “Boots, can I have some?”

She like, “Daddy, this all she cooked!”

So anyway, 'round five or six o'clock, I got a call. My buddy's like,
“Blaseblah,
c'mon, man, we goin' out.”

I said, “Uh, I'm in. Shit, I'm in!”

My wife heard me on the phone. She said, “Didn't I tell you, I say you ain't going nowhere tonight?”

I told her, “Man, you don't tell me what to do. Watch and see!”

I put my clothes out, laid them across the bed and everything. I had my draws on the side, my “go-out” draws. You know, those the ones that be in the crack of your ass. Where you take them off at night and they got a little brown stain on the rim. Little doo-doo on the rim. You can't help it with all that sweating and dancing. I don't care how much you wash and scrub, you still gon' end up with a brown line in your draws. A number “1.” A “1” or an “11.” You got a “111” in your draws you done shitted.

So I'm sitting up there, she walked in, and she said, “You got your good draws out!”

I got my cologne, I'm spraying my draws down and everything, you know. I'm clean shaven, hair all even.

She said, “You come back up in here, it's gon' be some shit. I'm telling you now.”

I said, “Well, I'm not worried about it. You got to bring it.”

So I ain't sweating nothing, right? I come in the house six o'clock in the morning.

Man, that sister met me at the door with a slip on and had a scarf on her head with a knot like Aunt Jemima—like she was making some pancakes.

I walked in. Then, all of sudden, she was
behind
the door.

And she pushed the door back. She had her hand behind her back. She said, “You think I'm bullshitting, don't you?”

I said, “Look . . .”

Meanwhile, I'm lookin' all behind her back trying to find her hand. I had to look to find her hand.

I said, “Look here. L-l-look.”

See, you know when you're nervous, when you say shit like, “Hey, hey,
hey! Hey!”

She said, “Muthafucka, I done told you.”

“Looka here,” I said. “Look here.”

She said, “No, I'mma cut your ass in two.”

“Lemme tell ya something—not if you're hurt first!”

Next thing you know . . .

Aaagghghh . . . Boom . . . Crash . . . Agggh . . . Huaahhh . . . Aaaahhh. . . .

My daughter come out: “They fighting! They fighting!”

“Go back in the room, baby!”

My wife biting me on the side. I gotta announce it: “Ah, this muthafucka biting me!”

Man, we scrapping. Scrapping! I'm elbowing her in the neck. She hollering. I got that cranium. That 'bow hit that cranium—
pow!

She hollerin':
“Ahhh-oh,
you done fucked up now! You done fucked up
now!”

She went and got a hammer.

Oh, man, she hit me on the side of the head with that hammer. And she said, “Thor! Thor! I'mma Thor your ass!”

Man, I had a speed knot on the side of my muthafucking head so big, it was sticking out like a sprung thumb.

The neighbors called the police. Now I heard a knock on the door
—bam bam bam.

Aw, we done tore the house up. Everybody hair is all wild. My clothes, buttons all tore off, shoes scratched. I had blood dripping off my head where she hit me with the hammer.