Will Smith’s graceful, heartfelt apology to his own bruised knuckles


I’M sorry. You deserved better than the contusions and swelling I inflicted upon you. You did not deserve that inflammation. I did not want to be that man.

Violence in all its forms, whether a righteous blow delivered by a proud black man in defence of his wife or the explosive takedowns of Miami drug cartels in the Bad Boys franchise, is poisonous and destructive.

And my behaviour towards you, my knuckles who have been with me all these years since playing B-ball in Philly, was unacceptable and inexcusable. These are million-dollar knuckles, y’all, and I treated them like cheap trash.

I reacted emotionally. When I walked onto that stage I was thinking of my poor crippled wife. I let pride take over when I should have looked at my precious, precious hands.

So I would like to publicly apologise to you, my eight A-list knuckles. I was out of line, I was wrong and it was you who suffered minor blunt force trauma, trauma no $45,000 hand massage can take away.

I am embarrassed that my behaviour has stained what has otherwise been a gorgeous journey to your finest hour, gripped around that Academy Award, when we could have whupped Chris Rock upside the head with the Oscar at an afterparty. That would have been classy.

I am a work in progress. And the promise I make to my knuckles, the real victim in this, is that when I next take down a fool before a worldwide audience I will use a blunt instrument.

Perhaps my Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award. Which I deserve for Big Willie Style alone.



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