I Met 50 Cent Today



Today was supposed to be just like any other day. I woke up in my Brooklyn apartment, showered and put my pants on one leg at a time. I grabbed coffee on my way to the office and settled into my cubicle at Barstool Sports headquarters.


Then something happened. Around noon a guy by the name of Chuck (who apparently works here) came up to me and casually said, “Hey I know you’re a big G-Unit guy. 50 Cent’s parked out front.” Excuse me? Chuck was soooooo casual about it. The video doesn’t do it justice just how casual Chuck was. Once I realized he wasn’t kidding, Young Pageviews and I literally sprinted out of the building. People might not know but YP is just as big a fan of 50 Cent as I am. We talk about mid-2000s rap on a daily basis. And so we ran down the stairs as fast as we could and spilled out onto the streets of New York City. And there he was. The one and only Curtis Jackson. Fiddy. Eminem’s protege. The guy who took nine shots. The guy who ended Ja Rule’s career. The guy who many men wish death upon. There he was. Sitting in a two-tone convertible Rolls Royce like a goddamn king. I thought I was dreaming. People forget just how famous 50 Cent is. That dude is super famous. In 2017 people like to be like, “LOL 50 Cent went broke” but he’s still 50 fucking Cent. He’s super intimidating but I went for it anyway. It took 28 seconds from when I was sitting at my desk to when I was awkwardly slapping hands with my idol.


I can’t overstate how much I love 50 Cent. He’s my favorite artist of all time. Period. That’s a strange thing coming from a guy who was born and raised in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. I shouldn’t connect to 50 Cent’s music in any way, shape or form. He raps about gun play and dealing coke on the streets of Jamaica Queens. I grew up in the land of corn fields and strip malls. He wears bullet proof vests. I wear cargo shorts. But I lost my SHIT when Get Rich or Die Tryin came out. It’s my favorite album of all time. ‘In Da Club’ is still the biggest hit these ears have ever seen. He sold a gazillion records. He put on his own artists like Young Buck and Lloyd Banks who would become stars (sorry Tony Yayo). He was the heir to the Shady/Aftermath throne. He took on any and all beefs. He was cocky, he didn’t give a fuck and I loved every second of it. Something about the way he operated really resonated with high school Trent. Kanye would eventually put an end to the gangsta rap era but I had a BLAST during those years and 50 Cent was the reason for it.


And yes, 50 Cent hated me. He hated every second of our interaction. I don’t care. People say never meet your heroes but I met mine and he hated me and I still had a blast. It definitely wasn’t how I had envisioned our meeting happening over the years. Do I wish he would’ve seen me coming, asked me to hop in the Rolls and we’d ride around NYC all day talking about what he might’ve have done differently in regards to The Game? Of course. That would’ve been ideal. It didn’t happen. You quickly realize in a scenario like that that celebrities want absolutely nothing to do with fans. Especially an ogre dressed in a pink shirt waddling up to their $300,000 Rolls Royce. But it was still great (for me).


So there ya go, kids. It just goes to show that if you start a blog covering a state in the midwest, get hired by a mogul, get left behind when the company gets acquired by a bigger mogul cause the first mogul thinks you’re lazy, eventually move to New York City cause your boss doesn’t think Iowa can beat Michigan in college football, you too can meet your hip hop idols one day. It’s really that simple.




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