One of the most enduring lessons in American folklore comes from the Uncle Remus tale of Br’er Rabbit and the tar baby. Br’er Fox crafts a doll of tar and turpentine, dresses it, and places it by the road. When Br’er Rabbit passes and receives no reply to his greetings, his frustration builds until he strikes the silent figure—and becomes stuck, falling into the fox’s trap.
Jaylen Brown, an intelligent and thoughtful player, has now engaged with the tar baby. He has risen to the bait in a public feud with ESPN’s Stephen A. Smith.
To argue with a fool, as the old Daily Picayune of New Orleans once put it, is to make him your equal. Stephen A. Smith is not worth Jaylen Brown’s time—not merely because Brown operates on a higher intellectual plane, but because battling him means wrestling with the very media culture that elevated Smith. His massive platform reaches millions precisely because of his ludicrous, inflammatory takes rather than in spite of them.
Televised sports journalism has shifted dramatically from the smart, nuanced conversations of The Sports Reporters era to today’s dominant style of rage-baiting. Hosts like Stephen A. Smith and Skip Bayless have largely abandoned traditional journalistic ethics, while former players such as Shannon Sharpe and Pat McAfee bring passion but often little formal training in reporting. The result is entertainment-first commentary optimized for virality.
This transformation is best understood through Marshall McLuhan’s framework of hot and cool media. Television is a “hot” medium that demands minimal mental engagement. Programs like First Take function as background noise—played while fans cook, scroll, or multitask. Subtle analysis (“I think Jaylen is giving folks the wrong impression based on how the season ended and Jayson Tatum’s absence”) fades into the ether. Simple, outrageous declarations (“Jaylen Brown needs to stop talking unless he wants to be traded”) cut through like an air horn. They provoke immediate emotional reactions—anger, agreement, or disbelief—that briefly pull the show from background to foreground.
The goal is not truth or responsibility but engagement. Outrage drives clips, social media shares, and sustained attention. In this ecosystem, Stephen A. Smith thrives as an entertainer unbound by journalistic accountability. His outsized social media presence stems directly from his First Take role. If he steps away, another similarly provocative voice will replace him; calmer, more responsible discourse simply does not perform as well in this format.
Once this structural reality is clear, engaging such figures becomes futile. Their platform ensures they will always have the last word, and the incentives reward escalation rather than reflection. Brown’s decision to respond may have felt necessary, but the wiser path—however difficult—remains disengagement.
Yet even amid the noise of modern media, the Boston Celtics continue to embody something deeper and more enduring: a genuine organizational family.
In 1957, Red Auerbach traveled to North Carolina scouting talent. He planned to visit the champion University of North Carolina but was redirected by Wake Forest coach Bones McKinney, who insisted the best player in the state was at North Carolina Central College. That player was Sam Jones. Auerbach listened. Jones would go on to win more championship rings than any player in NBA history except Bill Russell and deliver clutch performances for the Celtics throughout the 1960s. Bones McKinney himself had played briefly for Boston, averaging a modest 5.3 points per game, yet Red maintained relationships with former players. That connection yielded one of the franchise’s great finds.
This “once a Celtic, always a Celtic” ethos defined the organization under Auerbach. Ex-players frequently became coaches—Bill Russell, Tom Heinsohn, and K.C. Jones all won titles from the bench. The culture persists today. Joe Mazzulla extended an open invitation to former Celtics before his second season as head coach, drawing alumni ranging from Leon Powe to Satch Sanders.
Now, IT is back. Isaiah Thomas brings more than nostalgia. As an overlooked underdog who carved out a significant NBA career, he possesses sharp people skills and an intuitive understanding of the mentality required to succeed when no one expects much. Whether scouting prospects or contributing in other capacities, that perspective—spotting and nurturing talent that others overlook—could prove valuable to a franchise long defined by its family ties and ability to find diamonds in the rough.
As the noise of the offseason continues, the Celtics’ deeper identity remains their greatest strength. While external voices chase engagement, the Green maintain their focus on what has always mattered: culture, relationships, and winning.