In Living Color

Mark Jackson prepares to shoot.

He eyes the hoop. The ball is up.

And it's good.! He does it.! That's 49 consecutive free throws.

Forty-nine in a row. Mark's going for 50 straight.

- Mark, uh, how do you feel? - Get your checkbook ready.

I'm one shot away from payday.

The scene: Clippers's practice. The challenge: Can MarkJackson sink 50 consecutive free throws?

- The wager: $5,000. Mark, how are you feeling? - Loose.

Any truth to the rumor that MichaelJordan has a piece of the action today?

- No. - MichaelJackson?

- No. - Pete Rose?

- No. - M-MagicJohnson?

- No. - Keith Jackson?

- No. - All right.

This one is for all the cash. Here we go, Mark. Take it away.

He looks at the bucket and... Oh, my goodness!

Out of nowhere, Tonya Harding, cranked up on doughnuts and cheap liquor...

has clubbed MarkJackson!

Why? Why? Ow!

That's all the way to the airport. Come on. Time's a-wastin, Josh.

Let's move it. Come on. That stuff... All right. No, no...

Wait. No. That stuff stays here till Mr. Ewing's done with the interview.

- Geez, get it together, will ya? - Man, it smells like...

Hey, brother, what's up? Excuse me, home plate.

Now, did I hear you mention Patrick Ewing?

- Yes, the NBA is bam-tastic. - Who-Who-Who the heck are you guys?

That's so nice of you to ask, Home Depot.

- I'm Clavell. - And I'm Howard Tibbs III.

- And we are Funky Finger Footwear. - You dig it?

Let me give you one of my cards. You know, I'm fresh out. Howard.

- Bam! -

Uh, this says call Mistress Raven at 976-BUTT.

Oh, that's my girlfriend Sheila's business line.

Man, ask her to bang on the fire extinguisher four times.

- The first 14 seconds are free, my man. - Oh.

You don't have to tell me. Listen, uh, uh...

I don't wanna break the bad news, but if you want Mr. Ewing's autograph...

you gotta wait courtside like all the other fans.

Fans? Au contraire, Fred Astaire.

Now, we are "bidness" men...

and we're here to offer Mr. Ewing a lucrative contract...

to endorse our new line of basketball shoes.

- Howard. - Bam!

Oh, look out now. Ho, ho, ho.

Watch yourself.

I think big man done broke my foot, man.

Oh, that's all right now.

Now, are you Mr. Ewing's "representacion"?

Uh, no. I'm just the equipment manager, Big Dave.

Uh, but, uh, I'll tell you guys.

- Mr. Ewing has his own shoe company. -

No biggie, Homo sapien. See, 'cause he gonna change his tune...

when he sees our dazzling Funky Flier TV commercial...

in rough cut form, you understand.

Bam!

- I got a bad heart. - All right now.

You might wanna cut back on the Fatburgers.

- All right, Budrow. Kick it. - Hey, Budrow.

We trying to get a few words with basketball star Isiah Thomas...

to see why he only wears the Funky Flier.

- Go on. Get some, bro. - Man, get that crap outta my face.

Man, how does he do the things he does? Got to be the shoe.

Got to be the shoe. Hey, man, I hear Rodman's in trouble, man.

Go on. Touch it. Hold it one time, man.

Hey, man, it smells like a dead, wet Chia Pet.

Hey man, what's your problem, man?

- I'm not Lambier, man. I will kick my foot off... - Come on. Not here.

Hey, watch it, watch it! Look out! Security!

Thanks a lot, guys. It's pretty good.

- Pretty darn good, if you ask me. - Thank you, man.

- You know that's right. - All up in there.

- Hey, hey, hey, Red, hold up. - Hey, bro, what's up?

No, you ain't got me like that.

Ewing, is this you? And what's up, man?

Do I look like Ewing? I'm John Starks. What's up?

- What's up? That's what I thought. - Uh...

- All right now, brother. Go get it on with you. - Okay now?

- Okay now. God Bless you. - All right.

- Guys... - Patrick Ewing!

- What's up, man? - Who? Nice try.

You're too small. I can help you out.

Y-Y-You get home safe now, brother.

- That ain't him? - Hey!

- What's up? - You out here again?

Man, if all three of y'all rolled up, come on with it.

- What's up, Dave? - Oh, man!

Man!

Patrick Ewing, what's up, man? How's it goin' up there, man? Doot!

What floor you on? Hey, now!

Man, I'm honored, I'm sure. Excuse me, brother.

- Look here. My name's Clavell. - And I am Howard Tibbs III, man.

- Excuse me. - And we need to talk "bidness."

Thanks, guys, but I already have somebody to wash my car.

- Oh, you wrong now. - You wrong now.

Man, don't make me... I'm just kiddin' with you.

No. But for real, home stretch, we're here...

to let you in on the ground floor of the next footwear revolution.

Presenting... get ready... the Funky Flier.

Watch the sky hook. Bam!

Go on, man! Now, look here.

We want you to be our celebrity endorser.

Now, all we need from you is a slight commitment.

A few hundred thousand dollars seed money.

Check with Shaq. He does everything.

Hey, man, that cat Shaq is a bad mother...

Look, I don't have time for this.

- Hey, I get your strategy, big man. - You have to hold up, man.

Now, look here, homecoming king.

I know what you want. You wanna represent the whole athletic line.

- I know he does. - Our Funky Fingers sweatbands, tube socks...

jockstraps and the pièce de résistance...

- Howard! - Bam!

Funky Drawers.

- Okay, bozo, let's move it. - Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!

Boxcar Willie, if you done harass me...

Man, you better get your hands off me. Hey, Patrick!

Good evening, everybody. I'm Roy Firestone.

The White League was formed back in the late '50s...

by a man named Art Schanker, himself a white man...

who wanted, as he put it, to give the white fellas...

an equal chance to play in a game dominated by black athletes.

L.A. Clippers's forward Danny Manning remembers...

hearing stories of the white players.

Oh, yeah, I've heard some of the old-timers talk about it.

There were a lot of them that would try out...

but none of them were ever allowed to play in the NBA.

If they hadn't been white, do you think they would have made it?

Uh, no, because they basically sucked.

Harland "Beep Beep" Williams remembers the problems...