Just this morning I turned on my car in the driveway (the car I lent to a 17-year-old African-born youth last night so he could drive with other African-born youths to a Korean take-out chicken place called Mo Betta Wings) and an X-rated hip-hop song blasted with such explosive force from the radio that, for a second, I thought I'd been in an accident.
Whatever the chicken-and-egg arguments for why fewer African-Americans are in the majors, baseball is going to have get things re-started by providing the chickens and the eggs.
Garcia quipped he would have him round every night and serve fried chicken, a remark associated with racial stereo typing when used in reference to African Americans.