Gold Medalist B-Boy Phil Wizard in the Olympics 

Man, when I first saw that breakdancing was in the Olympics, I was excited AF! I mean, that’s the stuff I grew up actually doing in the streets and even in comedy tests when I was in highschool. But then I saw who was actually breakdancing, and I was like, “Wait a minute, why do these kids from places like Framce and Japan have more ‘real nigga’ in them than I do?” I spent my childhood trying to live up to my culture, but apparently, I should’ve been practicing my headspins in a posh European prep school!

The craziest part? These kids were fucking amazing! They were spinning, popping, and Top-Rocking like their lives depended on it. I’m sitting there, a black man, on paper, wondering how someone from South Korea or Poland can hit moves with more soul than me. It’s like they imported the funk, and I got left with the receipt. They’re out here dancing like they just dodged a bullet in the Bronx, and I’m sitting here with my Catholic school upbringing, feeling as rhythmically gifted as a metronome with a bent needle. 

You ever watch something and feel like you’ve been robbed? That’s me watching these kids dance. They’re out here breaking it down with so much ghetto energy, I’m starting to wonder if I even deserve to call myself black. I used to think I had rhythm until I saw a kid from Brazil out-funk me on the world stage. They got me questioning my whole identity, like, “Did I really grow up on the same streets that invented breakdancing, or was that just a myth my parents told me to keep me from feeling too white?”

These kids were so good, it made me feel like my black card should come with a tutorial on how to actually be black! I mean,  I’m sitting there, mad as hell, because not only are they better than  I ever was, but they’re also out here showing off moves I didn’t even know existed! I spent my childhood thinking I was smooth with my swipes and popping ability, with a dash if locking that carried o er from the 70's, but these kids are out here reinventing the artform. It’s like I missed the memo on how to be black with real flavor, and now I’m just here, stuck with vanilla.

The commentators didn’t help either. I’m listening to them talk about breakdancing like they’re at a golf tournament, and I’m thinking, “Man, they know more about this culture than I do!” These commentators sound like they’re from Martha’s Vineyard, but they’re dropping knowledge about headspins and flares like they invented the damn moves. How am I supposed to compete with that? It’s like they took breakdancing, polished it up, and sent it back to the ghetto with a trust fund attached.

It’s bad enough when a kid from Japan breakdances better than you, but when a commentator from Greenwich knows more about the moves than you do, that’s when you start questioning everything. I’m watching these kids, and they’re dancing like their ancestors invented rhythm. Meanwhile, my ancestors are probably looking down, shaking their heads like, “Damn, we sent you to private school for this?”

How is it that these kids got more ‘ghetto’ in them than I do? I’m here, living in the real world, while these kids from Switzerland are out here spinning like they just escaped a drive-by. It’s like the streets didn’t just give them rhythm—they gave them the whole damn playbook, and I’m just here, fumbling through the introduction. I grew up trying to be a good kid, and now I’m paying for it by having less soul than a pair of Crocs at a hip-hop concert.

I used to think I could dance until I saw these Olympic breakdancers. They’re so good, they got me feeling like I was breakdancing in slow motion my whole life. Only thing I ever broke was my mother’s hope that I’d grow up to be cool. And now, I’m watching these kids, realizing that I never really had the juice. They’re out here breaking ankles, and I’m just here, breaking down in front of my TV, wondering what went wrong.

So yeah, these Olympic breakdancers? They’re the real deal. They got more soul, more rhythm, and more ‘real nigga’ energy than I ever had. It’s like the universe decided to show me just how absoluty corny I’ve become, one headspin at a time. But hey, at least I can laugh about it, right? Because at the end of the day, if you can’t breakdance, you might as well break jokes.