Monday, February 9th — 7:50 a.m.
The air is cooler today.
I notice the chill as I duck into the Uber headed for the airport. Yesterday the air was warmed by people, bright lights, and excitement. Today the streets are dead. They feel almost staged. Like a movie set after filming wraps. Corners that pulsed with life have returned to their natural rhythm.
San Francisco was the host of this year’s Super Bowl.
For a week, it was spectacle.
Now, almost overnight, it feels like a ghost town.
I used to be sensitive to that drastic shift in energy. It would smack me in the face like cold water—but in reverse. That sharp descent from crescendo to quiet.
But that is how it always goes.
You build for months—sometimes years—toward a single moment. The closer you get, the tighter the energy coils. Pressure rises and the stakes climb. Then finally you reach the final “boss”. You empty the tank to defeat it.
And then you do.
Or maybe you don’t.
Either way, the game is over.
The credits roll.
The lights shut off.
Everyone goes home.
Life goes on.
The champions? They’ll get their rings, banners, and parades—all things we create so we don’t forget who won. But even parades end. Confetti gets swept away. Energy dissipates.
The losers? They’ll experience the loss of mountains of devotion, in an instant collapse into silence.
But win or lose… life goes on.
Over the years, I’ve learned to anticipate the fall off and take it as an opportunity to reset. In football, it’s always necessary to reset. From play to play. Game to game. Season to season. The ability to reset and adjust within those intervals directly impacts the ability to survive the competition.
You watch the film.
You detach your pride.
You evaluate.
You begin again.
But on this side—post professional sports—it’s a bit different.
I’m not playing the same game.
The Game of Art
For the past year, I’ve been building toward this week. Not for the game on Sunday, but for what would happen around it.
The Game of Art.
If you’ve been following this Substack from the beginning, you know that last year I had one of the best weekends of my life. It started with a question. A hunch. A belief.
Something special happens when you intentionally bring together the worlds of sport, business, and contemporary art.
Last year, we proved it.
This year, we doubled down.
Artists like Derrick Adams, Murjoni Merriweather, and Alteronce Gumby joined us for a truly unique week of events. Partners like UBS and UOVO helped ensure that patrons of the event had the opportunity to meet the artists and experience their work in person. We executed a private dinner at Pabu Izakaya, followed by a museum activation at MoAD—both of which featured dynamic panel discussions that dropped more gems than a barbershop debate.
When I talk about the power of artists and athletes working together, it might be hard to visualize—especially if you only think about the transactional relationship of athletes buying art. But the concept isn’t as abstract as it may seem. In fact, most of us are very familiar with what it looks like to have black artists and black athletes working in tandem.
Giving this example to the audience was my favorite moment of the weekend because it was the exact moment that I saw the concept land.
I point your attention to the great Muhammad Ali and Gordon Parks. Both titans in their own right—but what they did together would inspire generations to come.
When Parks photographed Ali, he did more than take his picture. He reframed him. Through his own lens, Parks was able to shift the narrative around Ali from braggadocious heavyweight to intellectual man of the people. Not only did the collaboration create iconic images—it fortified their legacies. It expanded meaning and dug deeper into the wells of the lexicon for black men. It amplified impact far beyond the ring or the camera frame.
That’s why I am curating these events.
There is an opportunity to expand the narrative of who we are and what is possible.
We cannot afford to waste any opportunities. And there lies my driving force. A quiet fear.
I know that just because something is impressive doesn’t make it meaningful.
And just because something is successful doesn’t mean it serves.
I’m not afraid of losing.
I’m afraid of getting everything I asked for and no one being better for it.
If this platform doesn’t elevate artists…
If it doesn’t connect capital with culture…
If it doesn’t move something forward…
Then what are we really doing?
Click the button to view a curated offering of works made available by the participating artists.
No Scoreboard
In football, there’s always a scoreboard.
Clear feedback. Clear results.
Now there isn’t.
There’s only my own standard and the feedback of people watching. The former I can never fully meet, and the latter I don’t fully trust.
But I’ve been told that I’m breaking the mold of what former athletes can and can’t do. Many people tell me that it’s inspiring to watch. That raises the stakes. Because I don’t fully know where this road leads. I’m learning in real time in the view of the public.
But this is the part the public never sees or talks about—the right after.
The first few weeks after something major always feel strange.
Part reviewing footage and images.
Part sitting in silence.
Part following up with partners.
Part already planning the next version.
Do I rest?
Do I build?
Do I celebrate?
Do I dissect?
The in-between is uncomfortable, at best.
But I know what to do.
Watch the film.
Detach ego from outcome.
Keep what builds. Discard what doesn’t.
Because the fall off isn’t the end of the story, it’s the beginning of a new journey.
The Offseason
Next year isn’t about bigger rooms for the sake of bigger rooms.
It’s about scale through collaboration.
I don’t want the Game of Art to grow because of my name.
I want it to grow because of community.
I want it to become a platform where business leaders, athletes, collectors, and artists sit under the same roof—not just to celebrate culture, but to build solutions. To fund futures. To expand narratives. To support one another intentionally.
This isn’t about crossing over.
It’s about weaving together.
And that takes time, relationships, and trust.
As my Uber scales the hilly path toward the airport, J. Cole’s voice projects from my ear buds. Sounds from his much anticipated album, The Fall-Off.
Fitting.
The album isn’t really about decline. It’s about transition. About identity and who you are when the spotlight dims and only the work remains.
That’s where I am.
I’ve seen many chase the spectacle.
I know few who’ve mastered the silence after it.
Winning a championship and being a champion are two different things.
While championship rings are nice to have, they do an insufficient job of defining who you are.
Instead, it’s what you build when no one is watching—and the impact you aim to make—that makes you a champion long before anyone sees it.
Acknowledgments
The Game of Art is the result of a true team effort.
A massive thank you to our incredible brand partners — UOVO, UBS, MoAD, Arternal, Cooley LLP, ArtMatic Art Advisory, Lewis Cellars, JUSTIN Vineyards & Winery, and Kinsey Whiskey — for your support and belief in this project.
To our artists — Alteronce Gumby, Derrick Adams, Hank Willis Thomas, Jerrell Gibbs, and Murjoni Merriweather — thank you for your presence, your vision, and for contributing your work in support of The Malcolm Jenkins Foundation.
To my friend Cari Champion, thank you for moderating an entertaining discussion filled with rich dialogue and insight.
To all the athletes, collectors, supporters, and patrons who showed up and brought this event to life — thank you for your time and your enthusiasm.
And lastly, to the people no one usually sees — my team.
To everyone at Listen Up Media and Malcolm Inc., thank you. We have been grinding for months to execute this vision, and we did it.
Richelle — thank you for your leadership and for holding this thing together all the way through the finish line.
Kristi, John, Tyler, Trent, Lindsay, and Jillian — thank you for your meticulous attention to detail and unwavering commitment to execution. The many compliments and praises I received from this event, I pass directly on to you.
Job well f***ing done.
And finally, to my dear friend Christina — thank you for your creative vision and impeccable taste. You continue to impress not only me, but everyone who steps into the spaces you create.
I look forward to continuing to build with all of you.