JP Money Ain't No Punk Bitch

From time to time, WRNL allows esteemed figures to clarify their position through editorial. In this edition, Iowa State athletic director Jamie Pollard discusses an incident he was involved in at a Gilbert high school basketball game earlier this week.

Yo, this is a message from the top brass, Jamie Pollard, AKA James RollHard, AKA JP Money. It's been a minute, but I been caught up with business. Runnin' an entire athletic department is a grind, you know? I delegate the little shit to the soldiers on the street, ya heard? I can't be poppin' my head up every time a volleyball court needs resurfacing or the basketball team needs to order more balls. Trust me, H-Boi's got plenty of balls. He can handle his own business. But this week, I heard my name in the mouth of some wack-ass mothafuckas, and you know I ain't letting that slide.

Now some of you may have heard about some shit that went down at a certain high school basketball game the other night. You may have heard JP fucked around and caught himself a charge. I'm here to tell you y'all don't know SHIT.

Yeah, I was at that game Tuesday. The boys from Gilbert taking on those chumps from Colfax-Mingo. I was there to support my shorty, tearin' it up for Gilbert. Blood thicker than water, ya heard?

So I'm sittin' in the stands, mindin' my business. You know I'm lookin' fly, sporting my illest sweater vest, some sick pleated Dockers and those fresh new '13 Hush Puppies. Yeah, I'm cheering, but what father ain't gonna cheer his boy on? This is family! This ain't no game, son! Well, technically it is a game. A high school basketball game. But y'all know what I mean.

Now lil' P is ripping shit UP on the court. Word is bond, the 5'8" freak is just posterizin' fools. But the zebras ain't givin' Gilbert NO love, and the game is tight. So this game is comin' down to the wire (dopest show ever, much love David Simon) and I'm thinkin' these refs must be on the take. How they gonna make some of these calls?

But then a zebra just straight up loses the plot and calls a foul on Gilbert when no shit went down. Yeah, I get where you comin' from ref, you gotta family to feed, you tryin' to get your high school hustle on. But you can't just call a foul when there ain't no foul! It's unseemly.

So now you got a couple hundred angry Gilbert fans breathin' down yo' neck. Just screamin' for your head. But I'm just sittin' there like the stone-cold mothafucka that I am. I ain't about to raise my voice to some sucka that's workin' night games for spare change. I ain't even put my reading glasses on.

But I AM gonna let that court jockey know he fucked up. So when Colfax-Mingo starts shootin' they free throws, blue walks past my front row seat. Boss, bold, and bladed; I look him straight in the eye and drop some science on him. I tell him some shit that would turn your blood to ice-water. Some shit to make most fools drop a load in they drawers. I tell him, "That was a horrible call."

BOOM. That. Just. Fucking. Happened. That's right, JP Money straight up told a ref to his face that he made a bad call. Pure gangsta.

Now you KNOW that kind of real talk is gonna have repercussions. You can't just tell a ref politely that he made a mistake. The ref is the law, and the law don't like being punked.

But here's the thing; this ch-UMP doesn't even come to me like a man. No, word is bond, he goes straight to the principal like a BITCH. Like a lil' shorty running to his moms. Tells the head man to have me ejected.

Oh, HELL no! You ain't takin' Pollard out like that! And by that, I mean asked to leave, which I did without making a scene. Because I'm a classy baller. An OG (original gentleman), you feel me? I ain't sweatin' some clown who makes less in a week than I do in a day, especially if that fool is too scared to say something to my face.

So let's get this straight: Some ref has beef with me, cries like a bitch to his boss and has me tossed from a game. I'm just tryin' to watch my son, I didn't come to start no feud. Don't start no shit, won't be no shit, right? Well, blue, you done started some shit now.

Next morning, first thing I do is call the head man at Gilbert. Not callin' for that ref's job. That'd be triflin', and I'm the bigger man. Naw, I just call to apologize to the principal for having to put up with that zebra's shit. Working with a fool like that has to try a man's last nerve. Also, I don't think my authority as Iowa State's athletic director really extends to Class 3A boys basketball.

So yeah, that ref don't have to worry about his job. Because what can I take from a man that ain't got nothing? This sucka is already scrapin' the bottom rung of society, pullin' petty power trips on real g's who made something of theyselves. So I'm washin' my hands of this affair. JP Money is a magnanimous boss, and I gotta sports department to run. Shit, that fool's probably gonna go out from diabetes or a heart attack in a few years anyway. I'ma let this one slide.

Pollard out.

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