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Stephen H. Provost is an author of paranormal adventures and historical non-fiction. “Memortality” is his debut novel on Pace Press, set for release Feb. 1, 2017.

An editor and columnist with more than 30 years of experience as a journalist, he has written on subjects as diverse as history, religion, politics and language and has served as an editor for fiction and non-fiction projects. His book “Fresno Growing Up,” a history of Fresno, California, during the postwar years, is available on Craven Street Books. His next non-fiction work, “Highway 99: The History of California’s Main Street,” is scheduled for release in June.

For the past two years, the editor has served as managing editor for an award-winning weekly, The Cambrian, and is also a columnist for The Tribune in San Luis Obispo.

He lives on the California coast with his wife, stepson and cats Tyrion Fluffybutt and Allie Twinkletail.

Trash talk is toxic garbage — and a sign we've lost our way

On Life

Ruminations and provocations.

Trash talk is toxic garbage — and a sign we've lost our way

Stephen H. Provost

Trash is something you throw away. It’s not really worth anything. Maybe it was at one time, but it isn’t by the time it’s trash.

That’s how I feel about trash talk. It’s worthless, and I don’t understand why people treat it as something of value.

Still, socially speaking, it seems to be expected and even glorified — at least in some circles.

Prizefighters talk trash to each other at weigh-ins, which often leads to shoving matches that have to be broken up. A lot of that is for show. It’s part of the promotion, a way of creating interest among fans who’ll want to see the fighters settle things in the ring.

Muhammad Ali made trash-talking almost an art form. He improvised poetic predictions at the expense of his opponents. When he fought Archie Moore (who was almost 46 years old) at the age of 20 in 1962, he quipped: “Archie’s been living off the fat of the land. I’m here to give him his pension plan. When you come to the fight, don’t block the aisle and don’t block the door. You will all go home after round four.”

Ali did, in fact, knock Moore out in the fourth round. By that time, he’d already nicknamed himself “the Louisville Lip” because of his talent for talking trash. He gave his opponents derisive nicknames. Leon Spinks was “Dracula” because of the space between his front teeth, Sonny Liston was “The Big Ugly Bear,” bald-headed Earnie Shavers was “The Acorn,” Joe Frazier was “The Gorilla,” and so on.

As skilled as Ali was in the ring, I never liked his trash-talking, and I found myself hoping someone would shut his mouth. That, of course, is just the sort of reaction promoters wanted: Get the audience all worked up so they’ll pay money to see the fight. It’s an even bigger part of professional wrestling, where trash talk front and center. Without it to distract and provoke the viewers, would they watch something that was so obviously scripted? Wrestling is a soap opera, and what happens outside the ring is just as important to the brand as what happens inside — if not more so.

As for Ali, I later felt sorry for him because he ate so much leather it left him debilitated by Parkinson’s syndrome. But that doesn’t mean I ever warmed up to the idea of trash talk.

That’s entertainment?

Watching grown men insult each other like playground second-grade bullies isn’t my idea of entertainment.

I’m a big basketball fan, but trash talk has become almost as much a part of that game as “posterizing” dunks and flopping to draw a foul. It’s all theatrics, and it detracts from the action, as far as I’m concerned. But it’s not going anywhere.

“Trash-talking is part of the game. You have to give it. You have to be able to take it.” Those are the words of future Hall of Famer Stephen Curry. And he’s one of the most admired and likable stars in the game.

He goes on to say: “It’s just that you don’t want to see it ever cross the line and become personal, because the game of basketball is never that serious in regards to disrespecting people. So you have to leave it on the floor.”

But how can you not take it personally? It is personal, and it is disrespectful. If no one takes it personally — allows it get inside their head — then what’s the point? In boxing and wrestling, it’s promotional. But it’s hard to see how it serves that purpose in basketball, since most of it occurs on the court, beyond the range of microphones that might pick it up.

“Perhaps the less we have, the more we are required to brag.” — John Steinbeck

Bringing the goods

Maybe you think I should lighten up. Maybe you think trash talk is just part of the culture, a way people relate to one another. What’s the problem? Everyone does it.

But that’s just not true. Everyone doesn’t do it. You don’t see professional golfers go around badmouthing each other. They’re too focused on the game, and it is most definitely not part of their culture. Even in places where it’s common, such as the boxing ring and the basketball court, it’s not universal. Tim Duncan and Kawhi Leonard, two of the best basketball players to take the court in this century, were known for staying quiet and going about their business.

For their restraint, they’ve been criticized by some as aloof or standoffish. How dare they let their game do the talking?

You may have noticed something by now: All the examples I’ve mentioned are guys. That’s because men do a more trash-talking than women do. A lot more.

So, is it a natural part of male culture? Sorry, but I’m not buying that. Traditionally, strong, silent types have been held in higher esteem than big-mouthed braggarts. Actors like John Wayne and Gary Cooper didn’t need to brag. They just brought the goods. It didn’t start in 20th century film, either. Shakespeare wrote that “men of few words are the best men” and that “every braggart shall be found an ass.”

Then there’s this from Leonardo da Vinci: “He who truly knows has no occasion to shout.”

This isn’t about bottling up your feelings. You can laugh, cry, shout out in joy or curse the heavens —all without denigrating another human being. It’s not necessary to your mental health. In fact, it could be damaging to someone else’s.

Modern trends

Trash talk is the refuge of the insecure soul. Those who use it demean others in order to make themselves look better by comparison.

If I had to pinpoint two factors in the rise of trash-talking in the post-Ali era, I’d point to the rise of rap/hip-hop and the ascendance of Donald Trump.

The more people hear trash talk, the more they think it’s cool. And since hip-hop has become the most popular form of music and Trump is big-mouth braggart of a president, it’s hard to avoid these days. (Trump’s success is particularly ironic because he comes from a party whose biggest heroes were strong, silent types: Teddy “Talk Softly and Carry a Big Stick” Roosevelt, Gen. Dwight Eisenhower, and Ronald Reagan, a cinematic cowboy hero in the John Wayne mold).

Trash talk in itself is annoying, but it’s a lot more. Remember that the biggest trash-talkers are fighters and wrestlers. In both cases, trash talk precedes a violent confrontation. Boxing and mixed-martial arts bouts are controlled violence, and professional wrestling is staged violence. But what happens when trash talk happens in the real world? Real violence can ensue.

Rap comes from a street culture already steeped in violence fueled by poverty and oppression. The rage that stems from that kind of environment is understandable; the problem occurs when that rage continues outside that setting. Tupac Shakur had a net worth of $200,000 when he was shot to death in 1996; Christopher Wallace, aka the Notorious B.I.G., was worth $10 million when he was killed in a drive-by shooting the following year.

And what about fans far removed from the streets who listen to the obscenity-laden trash talk on hip-hop records? How does it affect them?

Then there’s Trump, whose childish nicknames, vile bigotry and empty boasting have cast a choking haze of hatred and distrust across the country. Does this kind of trash talk lead to violence? You betcha. ABC News found 54 cases in which Trump’s name was invoked in connection with “violence, threats and alleged assaults.”

“Boasts are wind and deeds are hard.” — Isaac Asimov

So ... why?

What’s the point of trash talk? What does it accomplish?

I can think of a few things:

As mentioned above, it can help promote an event (such as a fight) by raising interest. But a good fight promotes itself. If you need to talk trash in order to sell tickets, it’s probably not worth seeing anyway.

It makes insecure people feel better about themselves. But it’s a temporary fix. The minute they’re exposed as frauds and posers, the resulting pain only adds to their insecurity. The “cure,” as they say, is worse than the disease.

It can be used as a scare tactic. That said, it’s the least effective form of intimidation out there. A reputation works a lot better because, as they say, actions speak louder than words. And the minute you come across someone who’s not scared of your bluster, you could be in a load of trouble.

“But it’s not bragging if you can back it up!” True. But if you can back it up, why waste the energy bragging? It’s pointless.

Trash talk is verbal abuse, nothing more. It’s aptly named, because it’s really just garbage, and we’d all be better off just leaving it curbside for the trash collector to pick up and bury it where it belongs: In a landfill.

It’s toxic waste.