High-fiving Has Got to Go

It is about time the NBA starts cracking down on excessive celebrations like this high five shared between Blake Griffin and Reggie Evans.  There is no place for this kind of behavior in sports, congratulating a teammate for a job well done with an obscene gesture.  A cordial handshake is the appropriate form of congratulations, and I applaud Marc Davis’s efforts to rid high-fiving behavior from basketball games by assessing a technical foul in this situation.

High Five

Now that the league is beginning its effort to crack down on high fives, it should not stop there.  High fiving is a societal illness that manifests itself in many arenas.  I am a hardcore conservative when it comes to this matter.  Did our founding fathers high five?  Can you imagine John Hancock signing his name then trotting over to Jefferson to slap hands?  After crossing the Delaware, would George Washington have jogged down the infantry line high-fiving his soldiers?  Of course not.

Yet this has become, dare I say it, acceptable by our immoral society’s standards.  Those of us like Marc Davis and me who are disgusted by this crude form of celebration have been pressured to look away for too long as our leaders try to convince us through their actions that this is acceptable.  What does it say about who we are when our president uses the high five to celebrate the passage of the health care bill?

Somebody, please think of the children!

It is appropriate that it all ends in Los Angeles where the crude gesture began back in 1977 at Dodgers Stadium when Dusty Baker smacked a homer and arrived at home plate where his teammate, Glenn Burke, had his hand extended high in the air in celebration.  Not knowing what to do, Baker slapped it.  And it hasn’t stopped since.  Think of how we’ve fallen since 1977.  Apple was incorporated that year and now is poised to take over the world with high-fiving geeks who have closer relationships with their phones than their girlfriends and want to ensure that it’s the same for everyone else as well.  It was the year Carter pardoned Vietnam draft evaders thereby excusing individual selfishness.  It was the year I was born, and there’s this horrible hospital picture with me on my mom’s chest.  My dad is at the foot of her bed, his open hand extended in her direction.  I don’t remember that day, but if post-photo she slapped that hand in celebration, I don’t ever want her to tell me.