Friday, March 30, 2007

Do We Get A Receipt, Just In Case This Doesn't Work Out?




It's quiet...too quiet.


Then again, that's the way it usually is when it comes to Packers General Manager Ted Thompson and radical, earth-shattering, roster-altering change.


Green Bay is a team entering the upcoming draft with gaping holes at running back, fullback and tight end, not to mention the shadow of a possible Randy Moss acquisition looming over the franchise.


Thompson slapped a gag order on his Lambeau minions, as if doing so will quell the buzz. He can't quiet the din in state bars and anywhere else fans gather...can't end the debate about whether Randy would be a good thing or bad.


More fans than I thought possible--many of whom know more about football than I ever will--are all for such a trade. And, it would seem to be a good thing from an Oakland Raider standpoint, too: they could save the millions being lavished on Moss while adding a front line receiver with their top pick.


I wrote not long ago that it made too much sense for the Raiders NOT to deal Randy to Green Bay--Brett Favre supposedly wants him, and he'd come at a relatively low price (presumably backup QB/fan-convicted flop Aaron Rodgers).


Careful what you wish for, Packers fans: read this column from out west and see if THIS is the kind of guy you want snapping locker room towels with a young, impressionable, up-and-coming team. You may understand while a deal for Moss hasn't been done--with Thompson, or any other NFL G-M.


The Most Powerful 30 Seconds On T-V Each Week


Want to see the most powerful 30 seconds or so on television?

It doesn't involve amateur singers waiting to see if they last another week on "Idol", or has-been actors hoping for another week of relevance on "Dancing With The Stars."

It's certainly not the NCAA tournament--not this March with one-and-two seeds dominating and drama in short supply.

Its not on "The Great Race" or "Grey's" or "Ugly Betty".

It happens every Sunday morning, between 10:20 and 10:30 CST on ABC.

It comes after George Stephanopolous trots the usual talking heads through his ABC studio for another edition of "This Week"...a fine show, no doubt, with the weekly roundtable one of my must-see's.

What comes after never fails to generate a tear.

It's simple.

It's quiet.

It's sad.

It's the weekly list of names of men and women killed in Middle East fighting.

Sons and daughters, listed in simple white font on a black screen amid downcast music. Names, ranks, hometowns.

Nothing is said.

Nothing has to be.

Making it sadder is the fact that this is about the only national exposure these noble souls will get. News of military deaths, even in this age of media saturation, is scatter-shot. Your government doesn't want you to see their caskets when they arrive stateside. About the only time we put a name and a face to the death toll is if the soldier comes from our hometown, when the story's made local and personal.

The list is also powerful for what it DOESN'T include--the names of the scores that are wounded, maimed and forever changed by combat, both physically and mentally. Until the Walter Reed scandal, those brave contributors remained largely under the national radar.

Out of sight. Out of mind.

Rosie O'Donnell struck a chord Monday morning on "The View", pointing out the national angst and tooth-gnashing that came after some house pets died from tainted store-bought food, while virtually nothing was said about the 23 service people killed in Iraq last week.

The paraphrased response from her fellow panelists: the pet story is new. The Iraq story is old...sad, but old.

Sad, indeed.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Surrender, Sanjaya


He has every right to be there.

He's done nothing wrong.

And, that's why he should go.

Sanjaya Malakar, the heavily-maned but lightly-talented "American Idol" contestant, should fall on the proverbial sword and remove himself from the competition before he goes from curiosity to curse.

Some could say he's already cost talented singers their shot--is there any doubt that those who previously walked the plank, including Chris Sligh Wednesday night, forgot more about music than Sanjaya knows?

Things will only grow uglier for him as he survives and the capable are sent to the gallows. Little girls may like him, and those who want to impose their will on the popularity contest that is "Idol" may want to see if they can tip the show over on it's own absurdities, which is all the more reason for the boy to do the man's thing....and quit.

A burst of self-awareness--a news conference in which he admits "I'm not worthy" would defuse the Idol detractors, give the show a credibility boost, and guarantee Sanjaya a spot in American folk lore as someone too modest to confuse notoriety with talent--a rare trait these days where celebrity isn't always commiserate with accomplishment.

Sanjaya could then go back to his regular life--with a voice coach and an agent that could teach him a few things about how to carry himself (lose the faux-hawk, find a barber, and forget the smart-ass attitude you flipped Simon's way the other night--modesty is the best policy).

He could return in a few months a new creation: confident, street-wise, and more talented, with a resume that would lead off with the fact that he abdictated his unwanted role of Idol punchline to pursue a career of his choosing and at a level he's able to sustain.

Sanjaya has a choice--being 2007's William Hung, or being 2008's future megastar. He has the look, plus a modicum of talent. Add maturity plus modesty, and who knows? Others went much farther, with far less.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

A Man Dies...A City Shouldn't, Too


Get back on the bike.

That's what I did the other day, after an inattentive driver almost turned me into 200 pounds of Flight for Life ballast at a suburban intersection.

It was Saturday--warm, bright, and packing the first true weekend taste of spring.

I'd ridden all the way from Whitnall Park to Miller Park and was within three blocks of home when it happened.

I'm at a stop sign as Mr. Head Up His Ass approaches at high speed to my right before deciding (without signalling) to turn in front of me--actually, turn right INTO me, since he cut the corner so short I thought he'd clip my stop sign first before obliterating me and my ride. He looked up at the last moment, swerved, and narrowly missed me. My wide-eyed fear morphed into open-mouth, full-lung profanity which, I'm sure, he didn't hear. I went home, amazed at how fast the body can go from producing endorphins to adrenaline, and, as evidenced by my bike shorts, urine.

The next day dawned, just as bright and beautiful, and I rode again, never giving the incident another thought. Stop riding, just because of one idiot? A single, random act of negligence? No. I'm taking the streets back. I belong here as much as the dopes do.

So it should be at Sherman and Capitol.

Much is read and said after last week's murder of Waukesha boxing coach Scott Huggins at the Citgo station at that Milwaukee corner. The Journal/Sentinel's Mike Nichols suggested the slaying of the suburban man by a would-be robber in broad daylight might be a "nail in the coffin" for Milwaukee. His colleague, Eugene Kane, suggested that random violence is a part of life daily in areas of the city, and that it took the slaying of a white guy to shine a light on that.

So, I figured it was time to get back on the bike again. Take the streets back.

I went there to top off the tank the other morning after work, figuring I belong there as much as the dopes do.

Stop living? Just because of a one idiot? A single, random act of violence?

Nails may get driven, but I'm not going to help hold the hammer.

There was nothing extraordinary at the pumps where Huggins died, save a single bouquet taped at one island where his Jeep supposedly stood as his killer approached. "Happy Valentines Day", it read.

The gas flowed, the tank closed, the money changed hands inside as the sign on the cash register told me to "Have A Blessed Day."

And then, unlike Huggins, I drove home.

Chances are, the same will happen to you.

If we let random fear rule our lives, we keep losing parts of our city that need our support, be it with a tank of gas, a dinner purchase, or some other simple act of commerce that keeps a store open, a family fed, a neighborhood vital. Driving through because of fear only accelerates the urban decay and the proiiferation of the unlawful element that's trying to dictate where we can go, and when.

Bluntly put--you can die anywhere. A north side gas station. A Whitnall Park area intersection. Your own backyard.

That's not being morbid. It's real. And, to allow that fear to rule your life would mean we'd be pounding all sorts of nails in constructing all manner of coffins around town.

I already know too many people who won't go to various parts of the city--including downtown Milwaukee--based on fear reinforced by what they see on the news and read in the paper. Does that mean you hit the roughest streets as night hits it's darkest wearing a suit made of $100 bills? No, there's still a time for being street smart.

There's also a time to get back on the bike, Milwaukee. This is one of 'em.

Have A Blessed Day.


Here's the link to a Nichols' piece that ran after Huggins murder:

http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=581983

...and another to Eugene Kane's:

http://www.jsonline.com/story/index.aspx?id=582223

Monday, March 26, 2007

Maybe I Should Just Ride My Big Wheel In The Driveway...


I got yelled at by an old man today.

He was 70. He told me so.

It happened along a stretch of Milwaukee County's Oak Leaf bike trial in Franklin. I had met my nemesis earlier, under more friendly auspices, as he and I went in opposite directions this bright, sunny, unseasonably warm afternoon.

He stood out in my mind for several reasons--first, it was obvious that, despite his age, he was spry enough to still be active. Good for you, I thought. I hope I'm able to do what you're doing when I reach your stage in life.

He was also one of the few who acknowledged my presence--one of my biggest bugaboos about the trail is the general lack of friendliness among fellow users. I say "hi" or bob my head to everyone I encounter, not looking for a dinner invite or a hot, passionate kiss. Just a little common courtesy. Civility.

A few bob back.

Some smile.

More than plenty treat you like a ghost.

Others give you looks that suggest, "Go away, creep", "No speak English" or "One more word, and I'm going for the mace."

So it was a pleasant surprise when I noticed my old friend again, after I'd completed my loop and started heading home. He was 30 or 40 yards ahead of me when I recognized him, baseball cap perched jauntily on his head, legs pumping steadily.

I clicked my gears once or twice as I do when I approach someone, and then passed on the left.

"Arr, Arr, Arr, aaaaaa...ight!" is what I thought I heard him say, his voice trailing off in the distance.

Hmmm. That sounded like something more than hello, I thought.

I slowed. He kept jawing. It became obvious he no longer wanted to be my friend.

"Let people know when you pass," he cried. "You almost hit me!"

Truth is, it wasn't close...not by a damn side, even though he wasn't nearly as far to the right of the path as he could've been. My other bugaboo--people who act as if their name is "Oak Leaf Bike Trail" and they own all that is in front of them, as well as on both sides.

"f you stay to the right, you won't have to worry about getting hit," I shot back, thinking that would be the end of it.

I was well ahead of him by now, but he wasn't done. I could hear him barking away, obviously pissed and wanting to engage.

I stopped, got off my bike, and said, "What the hell is your problem?"

As he rolled by, he told me, "I'm 70 years old and I've been riding 15."

"That's great. I'm happy for you. I hope you ride for a long time," I said.
He replied, "If you hit me, it's a felony!"
I assume he meant hitting him on the path while riding. I sure as hell wasn't going to slug the old timer, altho running the grumpy old bastard off the road was starting to sound like a community service.
Then, I had to ask.
"By the way, do YOU have a horn?"


"Beep Beep" he said, and kept rolling by.


"Nice," I said, getting back on my bike.


By now he was ahead, so, inevitably, I had to pass him again.

"Here I come," I yelled, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm passing you on the left. Do you hear me?!?"

And pass him, I did, as he kept muttering away.

I completed the ride, feeling small and stupid for engaging, and wondering just what the rule was. I NEVER had ANYONE say ANYTHING to me when passing me on the trial--the same guy went by me three times that very afternoon, saying "hi" each time as he left me in his dust in his best Tour de France spandex.

I got home, hopped off the bike and hit "the Google" for "bike path etiquette." Every page, from every part of the country, even our very own Milwaukee County, said the same thing.

My 70 year old antagonist was right.

Those doing the passing are to say "on your left" well in advance of the people they're about to leave in their wake. Give them time to move, or even slow, so you can complete your pass faster.

Mea culpa, my elderly friend. You may be grumpy, but you were right. I was wrong. I'm officially schooled in the ways of the road.

And, still way embarrassed.

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Peter Griffin, Meet Tony Soprano




The only thing these two guys have in common is Sunday night.


Sure, Peter Griffin and Tony Soprano both are dealing with kids, wives, middle age, friends with quirks, and everything else mid-lifers cope with. Both star in edgy, prime time shows.

That's it.

Well, except for one thing: Tony owes Peter his name.

The recent "Vanity Fair" stokes "The Soprano" fires with a huge article on it's creator, David Chase--how the show got spurned by virtually everyone except HBO. It tells how Chase picked the cast, James Gandolfini's struggles with memorization, the weird dream sequences that make no sense to viewers (they aren't supposed to, Chase says, because that's how dreams are in real life).

And, it tells of Chase's struggle to brand his creation.


HBO finally ordered 13 episodes, just as Chase's contracts with his chosen castmembers were to expire, but the wrangling wasn't over, "Vanity Fair" says: Chase wanted to call the series 'The Sopranos' after some kids in his high school. "But HBO had a problem with that," he explains. "They thought people will say, 'It's about opera,' " which proved true. "They had people generating lists of alternate titles, page after page after page: "New Jersey Blood", this terrible s--t. They wanted to call it "Family Man." Steven Van Zandt (who plays Tony's consigliore) said, 'This is insane! Are they outta their f---n' minds?!' Then a series went on the air called "Family Guy", and that was the end of that. So they said, 'All right, use "The Sopranos."



Nine episodes of what is arguable the best, most real television drama remain, the first of which airs April 8th.




Friday, March 23, 2007

Randy Moss: Friend Or Foe? Guess What He'll Be If He Comes




All that's left to decide is what number he'll wear.


After a weekend or so of sports talk exposure, including a bit of hosting with folks who know a damn side more about pigskin than I do, I've reached the sad conclusion that Randy Moss will be a Green Bay Packer soon.


The Raiders want him gone and they reportedly want only backup QB Aaron Rodgers in return, if you listen to the fine folks at ProFootballTalk.com.




Moss and Brett Favre have the same agent, as does a potential first round Raider draft choice who, coincidentally, is a wide receiver, Calvin Johnson. The Packers slapped a gag order on all Moss talk, but didn't do what could've ultimately ended all the scuttlebutt: say that there's not going to be a deal for him.


I'm guessing Favre's back because he likes where the team's at and because G-M Ted Thompson promised Number Four pretty much whatever he wants in what appears to be his final Green Bay campaign. Moss could be Favre's final indulgence--a wideout who can stretch the field and open things up for Donald Driver, Greg Jennings and other potential targets.


Personally, I don't think it's worth the risk--but but then again, the guy supposedly trying to get Moss to Green Bay will no doubt have his number hanging in the Lambeau Ring of Honor. I will not be accorded similar accolades.

And, something tells me Moss won't be, either.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Hey, Hey, LBJ--How Many Aides Peed Outside Your Tent Today?










1974.




Teenage acne left me with a face you could hear.




Heredity blessed me with a helmet of hair.




And, my elders left me a President I was ashamed of.




These were the high holy days of Watergate, and a nation that had so many other things to work on was distracted by a constitutional crisis involving hush money, blackmail, tapes and executive privilege.




Fast forward 33 years.




It's 2007 and a nation with so many things to do is instead distracted by a looming constitutional face-off involving "executive privilege" which, to me, is a tool that's used by Presidents to either cover up something a) illegal or b) embarrassing.




The mandate George W. Bush claimed in 2004 is squandered amid approval ratings in the low 30's--the lingering war didn't help, nor did Katrina, Scooter Libby, and now, the firing of federal judges for what appear to be political motives.




President Bush dolled out jobs to unqualified buddies like former FEMA head Michael Brown and longtime pal Alberto Gonzalez who's stay as Attorney General is very much in doubt. Bush, like Nixon three decades ago, is surrounded by a cadre of like-thinkers and yes-people who are valued more for loyalty than gray matter.




Many of us go to Jon Stewart's "Daily Show" for laughs, but he had a great moment of clarity the other night with former U-N Ambassador John Bolton. Stewart cited Abraham Lincoln as an example of a chief executive who filled his cabinet with political foes and direct competitors in hopes of finding great ideas and building a consensus.




Bolton said, no, not so.




So, the next night, Stewart run up historian Doris Kearns Goodwin who wrote a bestselling book on just that very treatise. She assured Stewart that his take, indeed, was right--that Lincoln built a team of rivals that eventually worked to save the union.




Maybe our current President should take a ride to Barnes and Noble, pull out the family credit card and buy himself the Lincoln story. Or, he should maybe heed the advice Ms. Goodwin offered at the end of her chat with Stewart, when she remembered her old boss, Lyndon Johnson. LBJ had a crude but pithy take on the concept of surrounding yourself with friendlies vs. having some foes amongst on the staff:
"I'd rather have my enemies in my tent, pissing out, than on the outside, pissing in."


See the Stewart/Goodwin chat here:








14:59...14:58...14:57...





Lazy.


Liberally biased.


There's no doubt the conventional media get the snot kicked out of them on a daily basis, but give credit where credit's due to the L-A Times which scores the scoop of the week, telling us who the now-famous "Crying Kid" was at "American Idol" Tuesday night.


Caper cracked. I smell Pulitzer.
BTW, we're about two months and a day from the actual crowing of this year's "Idol" champ.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

What'll She Do When They Cancel "Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip"?

Genocide in Darfur.

Civil war threatening U.S. troops in Iraq.

A terror mastermind still at large.

AIDS.

The guinea worm.

And THIS is what she chooses to go on a HUNGER STRIKE FOR?!?!?!?

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

A Formula So Easy...Even Cavemen Can Do It




Claymation--it's not just for Davey and Goliath any more.


That's what I thought when I first saw "The California Raisins" doing a Motown groove while touting the virtues of dried up grapes in early 90's television spots. The technology seemed so cutting edge, the concept so refreshing, it made me want to go out and buy a box of Sun-Maids and spend the rest of the day in the bathroom.


The Dancing Raisins became, to quote Ron Burgundy, "a big deal."






Now come "The Cavemen"...a popular ad about to make the jump to television series.


I love the 'tude, the tone, the evolution of the spots, which are supposed to make me call for a car insurance quote but so far only got me to laugh--a lot. There's now talk of a regular series for the Neanderthals, which I think sounds like a stretch. Lemme take a swipe at the plotline: overweight suburban knuckle-dragger outkicks his coverage and marries really hot wife who sires several smart-ass kids who end up getting the show's funniest lines. Add over-reacting studio audience that ooh's and ahh's at all the right spots, especially when someone says something REALLY saucy. The meter pegs at all sexual innuendos. A safe home is secured in the Nielsen top 20 and no one has to work again once the syndication deal's cut.
It's so easy...even a Caveman could write it.


Read about the evolution of the ads on Slate at:





Monday, March 19, 2007

Where Are They Now? Terry Tate, Office Linebacker


Where did you go, Terry Tate?
There are still people taking the last cup of coffee without putting on a new pot.
There are still co-workers taking office supplies home.
And you were there, to make sure they got their just deserts.
I thought the Office Linebacker ads were some of the greatest ever aired--they got the ultimate compliment at work, where we'd gather around someone's terminal to watch the long versions of the spots, laughing uncontrollably even though we knew what was coming.
And just like that, they were gone.
I thought Reebok struck gold with number 56, and figured he'd be part of the landscape for years, but, then again, I thought the Miller Lite "Man Law" spots were destined to a long haul, too. Then, the marketing people pulled the plug, saying that while they were entertaining, they weren't moving enough "merch". Lord knows I did my part.
Then again, maybe that's why Reebok yanked Terry Tate. I remember laughing a helluva lot at the Office Linebacker's exploits, even looking for one of his jerseys to buy on the web.
I don't remember buying any Reeboks.
Read more about what happened to the man who brought Terry Tate to life , including the fact he might've been a Green Bay Packer, at:
And, here's the best of Terry, as per YouTube.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

So, How Did YOU Sleep Last Night?


Steven Avery's lawyers say Theresa Halbach's killer is still out there.

Most of Milwaukee apparently doesn't agree.

As I drive to work this morning at around two a.m., just eight hours or so since a jury found Avery guilty in connection with Halbach's slaying, I'm seeing nothing but dark houses in my suburban cul de sac. More of the same as I head toward I-43 for the ride into town. Nothing but lights out in almost every home that lines the interstate, and in the neighborhoods beyond.

It would seem my little chunk of southeast Wisconsin, just an hour and change from the spot where Ms. Halbach's final, horrible moments played out, is sleeping quite comfortably this morning, believing justice is done and a murderer is behind bars. No one is peeking through their curtains, shotgun in hand, waiting for the same monster to show up on their doorstep.

I wonder, too, how others are sleeping. Those I can't see...didn't drive past.


I wonder if Avery's defense team is resting well. I hold nothing against them for doing their jobs as officers of the court--they are charged with trying to get the best possible outcome for their client. But did they have to do it by sliming Manitowoc County authorities? By drumming up the conspiracy/frame-up theory that was the centerpiece of their argument for Avery's innocence? By calling into question the integrity of law enforcement officers who put their lives on the line for us every day--without offering even the slightest SHRED of evidence to prove their far-fetched hypothesis?

How, indeed, did THEY sleep?

And, you have to wonder what it's like in a certain Manitowoc County jail cell--the one where Avery is being held, pending sentencing. How does one rest after being accused, then convicted, of such a heinous crime? When your life's prospects include nothing but a future filled with jail cells and appeals? Does he dream of another Courtroom Hail Mary? It happened once, when judicial advocates found the DNA evidence that sprung him from prison on a sexual assault rap after 18 years. It would seem that's only a dream, too, since the same technology that freed him not so long ago helped seal his fate in the Halbach case Sunday night.

And, allowed those in these parts to get a good night's sleep this morning.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Pitchy, Bitchy and Impossible To Ignore




I've never seen a whole season.


I've never voted for a contestant.


Professional obligations force me to digest each and every "American Idol", and, while I don't think it's making me a better person or pushing me toward joining Jimmy Carter in curing guinea worm, I'm much more cognizant of one of the great pop culture phenomenons of our era.


"Idol" creates stars--not just the ones who win, but those who show that they have chops. It, and the web, are recreating how hit artists are made. No longer do singers have to sign their souls away to heartless record companies who'll treat them like meat and crush their creative spirits. Look at the charts for any format if you need proof.


"Idol" redid the prime-time television gird. It's called "The Death Star" in polite conversation among the opposing networks, and things far more profane when they chat privately. NBC, CBS and ABC have to steer their best shows clear of "Idol" nights because, no matter what they put up against it, Simon Cowell and company beat it down. Badly.


My biggest surprise in my first mandated season of "Idol" viewing? I'm ashamed to admit it, but...it's....Ryan Seacrest. I'd wrongly convicted him of being a lightweight. He knows his role, plays it smart, stays out of the way and makes his few moments shine. His high-water mark: his interview of "Idol" alum Kelly Pickler and the way the tried to get her to fess up about her obviously augmented chest.


I find Simon's takes dead-on, and I find him less rude than Randy Jackson who lost me with his mid-song titterings during the early episodes. He adds virtually nothing, but looks like Howard Cosell when put next to lighter-than-air Paula Abdul. It's too easy to rip her...almost as easy as it is to hit "mute" when she talks.


I don't care who wins this year, although I do have my favorites. None of them are men, unless you count Sanjaya's hair. It should get it's own show. Everything beneath it should've gone home months ago.


There's a lot of other television I'd like to be watching the two or three nights that "Idol's" on, but I really haven't regretted my time spent with the hottest show since, well, I don't know. The early auditions grew tiring, but the producers do a good job of spreading out the drama. I no longer feel as though they're stringing viewers out for 59 minutes of fluff to get to a minute's worth of decision-making.

"Lost" lost me amid red herrings, dead ends, a flood of new characters I don't care about, and a chronic inability to over-hype and under-deliver. I never got on the "CSI" or "Law and Order" bandwagons, and "Desperate Housewives" couldn't keep building on all of the undeserved goodwill it garnered after it's inaugural season. It takes a lot to keep a prime time juggernaut going for two, three, four seasons. Whatever "Idol" did to maintain it's momentum should be emulated by networks everywhere. Then again, I don't even think THEY know--otherwise, they might've balled it up by now.


I found a great take on "Idol" on "Slate" this morning. Enjoy.


Friday, March 16, 2007

Cosmetic Changes and Meaningless Wins


Yep, it was ALL ME.

I bag on the Bucks (see my blog of a few days ago--the one sotted with dead venison), say they're dead to me and POW! Heads roll. Wins happen.

Nice guy Terry Stotts walks the plank, replaced by assistant Larry Krystkowiak. Why did the switch happen now? There are different schools of thought.

Salt Lake City papers say the University of Utah was about to pitch big time woo to Krystkowiak, leaving one to think Milwaukee G-M Larry Harris felt the need to act now, before his top candidate got snarfed up.

Harris admits to WTMJ's Bill Michaels tonight that he was going to fire Stotts at the end of the season anyway, and concedes there was a bit of a Utah factor in the timing. He also denies the allegation that Andrew Bogut wanted Stotts gone, and, that since Krystowiak was Bogut's tutor, Bogut won the locker room tussle.

And, Harris says Monday night's debilitating loss to the Raptors played a part, too. It was after that game that Stotts, in a break with tradition, ripped his team for a lack of effort.

That was the game that broke my Bucks' back for this season, and I'm not sure the ascension of Krystowiak will stoke my fires again. There's more to this mess than the firing of a single coach can fix.

A former Milwaukeean who know writes for NBA.com has a take on the situation:

http://www.nba.com/features/peterson_070315.html


Rob Pederson alludes to the infrequency of Bucks' coaching changes the first two decades of the team's existence--and the rapidity of them now. George Karl came, saw, almost conquered, then flamed out. Terry Porter had Harris' arm around him one minute, Harris' foot in his can the next. Terry Stotts' stay ran shorter than most car leases.

Firing coaches is so typical, so band-aid. A change now probably does the team more harm, at least in terms of the lottery. Every win from here on out only costs the team ping-pong balls--it won't bring the Bucks any closer to the postseason. That ship sailed.

The time to make this switch was November, when there was still some season to salvage--if the injuries had still happened, then Krystkowiak (or whoever else got the gig) would've gotten a freebie: a season to implement systems, check the bench and plan for a brighter 2007-2008.

Harris' handling of the Porter dismissal has a lot of the faithful wondering about the legitimacy of his word--would YOU want a Larry vote-of-confidence? The way that who scenario played out--firing a coach without having your top candidate in the fold--is a stain this franchise has yet to wipe away.

Thursday night's win over the Spurs is a good start for the Krystkowiak era. The rest of this season is about pride. Bucks fans are a patient lot and thought there'd be a postseason to celebrate this spring. Then again, Terry Stotts probably thought he'd be having his Easter ham in Milwaukee, too.

You Don't Know You Can, Until You Have To...




How do they do it?


It's a question I remember asking myself a bazillion times when I was single and I'd see the things parents did for their kids--from changing dirty diapers, to wiping up puke, to watching their kid strike out with the bases loaded to end a Little League game.


How do they do it?


Seeing corny movies over and over again, dealing with the neighborhood bully who has your child in the cross hairs, the heartbreak that comes when the first crush ends, flop-sweating at the DMV while your teenager takes his/her road test.


How do they do it?


Those are the things parents can expect--they are the mortal locks that that are the standard rites of passage. It's the boiler plate of growing up.


Not on that list: burying your own child.


Or, having to sit through the trial of the man accused of murdering your offspring.


Real life shows us that the latter two happen, sometimes to those we know. My in-laws had to watch their son, a Green Bay area priest, suffer through the ravages of brain cancer before succumbing. We all are familiar with the stories of kids who put up valiant fights before a debilitating disease ends their lives too soon. Or, the incidents where children die in car wrecks, storms, or other random acts.


Like homicide.


There isn't a parent around who wonders how Theresa Halbach 's family--and others in the same gut wrenching position--sit through the most grisly testimony about the slaying of their child. How does a mom or dad remain composed while listening to someone describe a son or daughter's final, terror-filled minutes on earth? How can you just sit there as you see your flesh and blood reduced to a handful of bone fragments, tagged and bagged as a court exhibit?


How do they do it?


Kids don't come with instructions. You leave the hospital that day with a little pink bundle swaddled in a blanket and wrapped in your own parental apprehension. How will you, as a mom or dad, deal with the things you KNOW are going to happen in that child's next 18 years under your roof? How will you be when, God forbid, one of your worst fears materializes?


How do they do it?


I think parenting is like adrenaline--you don't know it's in your system until outside stimuli call on your body to produce it. Some of us have more--others, not so much. And, in our darkest moments, we wonder if we'd have what it would take to get through those horrible, heartbreaking moments with grace, dignity and composure...to cope with the heinous and unspeakable without acting out, or going all Jack Ruby on the perp.


How do they do it?


Thank God they can, and pray you never have to find out if you could.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

You Can't Fire 12 Players, But Boy, If You Could...




HEADLINE: "BUCKS FIRE COACH TERRY STOTTS!"


It ranks right up there with "SUN RISES IN EAST!"


We saw this one coming for a while--I remember doing an entire segment on Stotts' future back around Thanksgiving when I co-hosted a sports show on Newsradio 620WTMJ. That was before the Bucks' December ascension toward respectability--a development undone by the rash of injuries that benched four of five starters.


The fire-Stotts mojo pretty much died down until the All-Star break, then went on the back burner after the coach kept his gig as the second half of the regular season began.


And, while the Journal/Sentinel pretty much left the issue die down, it was getting traction again out west--read this story, which pretty much called the shot this morning:



So, it would seem, Krystowiak's availability might've determined Stotts' expandability.


I admittedly didn't watch the Bucks closely enough to know if Stotts was the next incarnation of Red Auerbach or if he was a bust. Monday night's flame out that had Stotts ripping his team for a lack of effort was the death knell, as was Andrew Bogut's late-game hissy fit that saw him get tossed for a flagrant foul--punctuated with a finger-flippin' tirade in the Bradley Center tunnel.


The team lost games, the Coach lost the team--so it goes in the NBA. I DO know Stotts was one of the league's true nice guys. I remember him giving morning show co-host Amy Taylor a little on-air Hoop 101 right after he got hired, and was impressed with his self-depreciating wit and overall charm. Yeah, the NBA doesn't need guys like that. It's SOOOOOO chock full of high-character people as it is.


Good luck, Terry. No one will blame you if you aren't checking the Bucks' box scores in the paper every morning. A lot of us are already there with you on that.







A Ritual Rearranged...But Not Forgotten


I thought I'd lost him.

March Madness approached, and my 16 year old son hadn't asked what my plans were for the Sunday Selection Show.

For my son, that day is second only to Christmas in terms of anticipation. It's the unveiling of the NCAA Tournament grid and the start of the High Holy Days of College Basketball: the 64 team playoff.

As soon as my boy could write, he'd fill out a stack of grids, some very analytical and others chock-full of long shot victors. He LOVES underdogs and upsets, so the potential for the status quo to be turned on it's ear was just too sexy to pass up.

He'd watch all the conference tournaments, the more obscure the better. He'd pass on the Big Ten to see the Patriot League title game. C'mon, Colgate!

There'd be the inevitable conflicts--rehearsals, sports practices, homework, family obligations that would all be met with great growling and gnashing of teeth. The VHS and later, the DVR, would glow red with all the missed games he'd record, and then watch later...sometimes into the wee smalls. Time without games to watch was spent in the neighbor's driveway playing hoop, playing out the grid through a series of one-on-one battles that became harder for yours truly to remain competitive in as time went on and I grew shorter (he couldn't possibly be taller than me, swatting away my jumpers like flies).

Selection Sunday approached last weekend, and the buildup was conspicuously lacking.

Turning 16 does things to a boy. Shaving. Driving. Dating.

Yeah, that last one.

I'd talked to my son in the past about the eventuality of the fairer sex taking some of the edge off his sports hankerin's. I remember lots of baseball stats from my pre-hormone youth but draw tons of blanks after walking on the estrogen side of the street. I told him that the day would come, maybe sooner, maybe later, but that it happens to every guy and that he probably won't hear the shot that drops him.

I remember him looking at me as if I had three eyes. What do you mean, he said? No matter what happens, THIS will always be what is. It shall not be challenged.

We all say it.

Few, if any, live to keep it.

So it seemed, this March of 2007, as my boy said little of Selection Sunday, the upcoming tourney, the grids, the upsets, the Madness. Instead, I heard a lot of plans that didn't include the Selection Show, including a date that would run well past the program's conclusion.

Wow, I thought. He fell fast. He tumbled hard.

The date came and went Sunday night. The front door opened. The boy walked in.

Then, he dashed downstairs....and flicked the tube on.

And, the DVR.

To watch The Selection Show.

Next came the trip to the printer, and the eventual deconstruction of the brackets.

I've already been told that it's my job to text him partial scores as often as possible Thursday and Friday while he's in class. He's talked to virtually every teacher to find out who might consider providing an electronic portal to the NCAA world. A computer. A radio. Maybe even (dare to dream) television!

My boy's back, not that he ever left. He just has some other things to do. Just like all of us.

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Lose? Okay. Don't Try? We've Got A Problem...


Dead to me.

That's what the Milwaukee Bucks are, now that they're losing at home to teams like Toronto and their star is dishing out Kobe-eque cheap shots while flipping off fans on his way to the locker room.

I really, really want to like pro basketball, but respect the game (and the guys who play it) less and less. The prices, the officiating, the strategy and the network's belief that there are only four or five teams worth telecasting (Lakers, Suns, Spurs,Mavs, Pistons, and Heat, in all their possible combinations) killed my taste for the league, but I always cared about the Bucks. They're the home team, for the love of God, and the guys who I lived and died for since the their inception in 1968.

It's getting easier to do without.

Sure, Michael Redd seems to be a nice guy and the rest of the roster stays out of trouble. I was all for drafting Andrew Bogut and saw him as another in the wave of foreign players coming to the NBA to show how basketball is really played.

December brought hope--a playoff spot seemed within reach after a dismal start, but then a rash of injuries dented their chances.

I'd heard through the grapevine about guys beefing about Coach Terry Stotts, the offense he called, the way everything supposedly had to run through Redd, of Bogut supposedly being disappointed by his role to the point where he no longer spoke to Stotts. That was BEFORE the rash of hurts that idled four of the team's starting five.

Everyone's healthy now, and the team is in the midst of a seven game home stand--one that could've propelled them back into post-season relevance and made spring kinda fun around here.
As of this writing, though, they've lost two of the first three Bradley Center tilts and four of the last five overall. Some were gut wrenching, involving blown late leads. The one Monday night was disgusting--the Bucks never seemed into it and Stotts ripped his club afterward for a lack of first-half effort. Effort, being called into question on your home floor when you're struggling for your playoff life. How lame is that? Toss in Bogut's flagrant foul on Chris Bosh in garbage time, combined with the dirty digit he shot the crowd on his way to the showers shows me he's more Todd Day than Bob Lanier.

I've watched a lot of years of crappy Packers football in the 70's and 80's...plenty of dismal Brewers clubs in dank old County Stadium since the Pilots came in 1970, lived through decades of Wisconsin football embarrassment (as well as Don Morton's "veer offense") but always felt that the home club gave it's all. I don't remember many of those coaches ever calling out one of those squads for "effort" issues.


Stotts' post game comments Monday night sealed what I'll be doing Thursday night when the Bucks are hosting San Antonio in another late-season home clash.

Watching the NCAA.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Casting The First Stone







Would you let THIS guy be the next President of the United States?






A guy who routinely challenged church authority and argued with it's hierarchy--at one point even getting into a physical confrontation with those doing business there?






Someone who routinely hung out with the lowest dregs of society--tax collectors, prostitutes, the lame and the halt?






A man who remained unmarried all of his life, yet was often seen in the company of a pack of men who followed him everywhere, even to weddings and social events?










I think you know where I'm going with this.






Trust me, I'm not hear to advocate anyone's candidacy--I don't do that sort of thing, plus, I think choosing favorites 21 months before we vote is foolhardy. Too much can happen.






That said, I'm amazed at those who are automatically dismissing Rudolph Giuliani's effort simply because he has two divorces on his resume. One conservative was quoted on one of the network newscasts Monday night as saying, in so many words, that a man who can't keep his marital vows can't be trusted to maintain the Presidential Oath of Office.






Booshwa.






Look around your workplace, neighborhood or apartment complex and count the number of people with a split marriage or two on their record...I'm guessing it's a good sized number, even among those in your group who you'd consider good, honest, ethical, religious people.






As for Giuliani, it's not so much the divorces that'll cripple his bid--it's the way his marriages flamed out. In one case, he started befriending one of his nurses who'd treated him after prostate surgery. One of his soon-to-be ex-wives heard that she was on the way out via news conference. Sloppy. Real sloppy.






To read more about Giuliani's life...good and bad, go here:
























I remember talking with friends in the 80's, wondering aloud who'd be deemed a viable Presidential candidate considering what the future leaders of the Free World might've done, ate, smoked, or inhaled during their college days in the 60's and 70's. Little did we think that marital record would be in such play in the 21st century.






What, then, of Hillary Rodham Clinton--a woman who stayed with her husband despite one of the most public marital indiscretions in the history of the free world? Should THAT be in play? Is she a hero for standing by her man, or an opportunist for not throwing the philander overboard just to make sure a divorce doesn't taint her record?






And to think...just 21 more months to go.






...Strictly For Entertainment Purposes...




...that, boss, is why I'm running off 200 copies of the NCAA Men's Hoop Tourney grid at the office printer this morning.


That little drama probably played out thousands of times all over America as office pools got firmed up. Any supervisor worth his or her salt will probably either a) look the other way or b) grab a couple of brackets for themselves.


Companies pay big money to bring in consultants to team-build, when, in fact, they could save themselves a ton of cash just by letting the minions do something simple like NCAA basketball. The truly enlightened ones will allow a t.v. or two in the office Thursday and Friday, too.


What's the big deal? Who gets hurt? Plus, it gives the staff a chance to bond and talk smack, with no one having the edge.


Oh, sure, there'll be the guy with the Cheeto-stained hand who does nothing but watch games, crunch web numbers and compile his own RPI index in his one-room apartment each Saturday night. These usually are folks who don't kiss a whole lot of girls, either, and have rather translucent skin, not unlike wax paper. Don't let these geeks scare you--I've seen people do better in our little office pool using the mascot vs. mascot theory, or choosing winners by color schemes and uniforms (or, as my wife calls them, "costumes").


Even though I think March should be purged from the Gregorian Calendar for weather reasons, this truly is the best time of the year: the melting of snow, the promise of baseball, the return to grill access on my snow-covered deck, and, of course, March Madness.


Bosses, let the kiddies play: this is our pagan holiday, when we hail the men in short pants and dance around the NCAA Maypole, grids in hand, thinking we're all the next Dickie V. And, if a few bucks change hands, so what? Some of that cash could land in your pockets, if you have a clue. Or, if you understand that a Golden Eagle usually kicks a Spartan's ass...or that a Badger has the edge on a Islander any day of the week.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Some Give All...The Rest of Us? Not So Much...

They don't want us to see the flag-draped caskets as they come home.



And, until recently, there wasn't a whole lot said about those making it back alive--with parts missing--from Iraq.



The feds say they want to resepct the privacy of grieving familes, which is why they won't allow t.v. coverage of the unloading of the caskets of our war dead once they arrive stateside. Others think the administration is applying lessions learned from Vietnam where the steady drip-drip-drip of disturbing images turned a nation against "a police action."



The wounded, though, are becoming another story: ABC's Bob Woodruff survived horrific wounds and lived to tell the story of the caregivers who saved him, of those who are hurt as badly as he was, and of the heroes who are falling through the institutional tracks. The Washington Post broke the story of the Walter Reed situation, and other media are pcking up the mantle.



Then, there's Ty Ziegel--a badly disfigured Marine who is trying to get on with his life, one that includes a new bride who is a living example of the phrase, "for better or worse, in sickness and in health."



There's a story behind the picture to the right--it won the photog honors and created all manner of buzz nationally. Ready more about the woman who took it, and what she saw as she observed Ty's wedding day right here:

http://www.salon.com/mwt/feature/2007/03/10/berman_photo/?source=newsletter


This is a story that's playing out every day with hundreds of our nation's bravest men and women. People who served our country and those around them who have to deal with the aftermath at home, in many cases without institutional support or with situations so unique, no one knows how to cope. War doesn't just kill--it maims, it wounds, it leaves mental scars that take years to heal--if, indeed, they mend at all.

A lot has been done to make sure the war doesn't inconvenience us--face it, unless you've got someone over there, we are asked to give up nothing for this incursion, other than bigger national debt. No one's growing Victory Gardens, we aren't behing handed rationing coupons, and we aren't recycling rubber to beat the Kaiser. We tear up when we hear "God Bless The U.S.A" or when a vet takes a bow at the ballpark, but really, what are we at home asked to give up? Nothing.

We complain about media excess when it comes to Britney Spears or Anna Nicole Smith--yet, how many of us turn the dial to "Extra" or "Entertainment Tonight" when we could be watching Jim Lehrer on PBS or Chris Matthews on MSNBC? Would you have picked up this Salon magazine article if Ty were on the cover, or would you grab instead for Ugly Betty on "TV Guide"? Be honest. It's the first step.

Our friends, neighbors, relatives and fellow Americans are leaving a lot on the battlefied. We owe it to them to pay attention, be informed, and read their stories, no matter how hard they may be to digest or how tough the photos are to look at.

Friday, March 9, 2007

Defending the Indefensible




I never liked Kobe Bryant.


What I'd read about him even BEFORE he became the face of the post-Michael NBA and a convicted philanderer told me that this was one strange, self-absorbed, one-dimensional cat. Someone who didn't mingle with teammates. Thought a big night with a girl included a trip to his house to watch hours of tapes...of Him...playing...basketball.


He followed the Lakers' title runs with a world-class hissy fit that forced L.A. management to trade Shaquille O'Neal--the team's now his, just the way He wanted it, and the good news for we Bryant Bashers is that the Lakers in His Image blow chunks.


Now comes the latest act in the Kobe drama--he bopped not one, but two defenders in recent games, flailing his arm wildly after launching a jump shot (hard to believe, Kobe shooting). There's another instance of Byrant vigorously applying his forearm to a defender's throat, but that happened well before these two recent attacks.


The first flail, in which he busted a San Antonio Spur's mug, got defended in more circles than I care to count, even by friends of mine who I consider knowledgeable basketball fans . They said it was a normal hoop move. "Okay, be honest," I responded. "When you're in your driveway teaching your kids how to shoot a 'J', how often to you show them the Byrant 'arm-flail' technique?"


Cue the crickets.


The most recent incident this--the one that forced a second one-game suspension that played a huge role in the Bucks win over the Lakers Wednesday night--is just as egregious and equally flagrant. And, it's generating the same number of apologists, including this mope on MSNBC:




Yeah, that's right--Kobe Bryant is the FIRST player in the history of sport frustrated by his surroundings and, thus, is justified when he acts out. Bulls--t. And remember, the Lakers have the roster they do in large part because He couldn't stand sharing the spotlight with equals.


ESPN's Dan Le Batard sounded just as inane when he blamed the Kobe flail on the fact Bryant is constantly double-teamed. Right, Dan: Kareem, Magic, Michael and Bird NEVER had to contend with tight "d" or multiple defenders. That explains why they, too, used their arms as battering rams to smash the faces of the nearest oppo...oh, wait, that's right, they didn't pull any of that crap, did they? Le Batard also suggests that the flail is Bryant's effort to draw a foul--like He needs help getting whistles. The NBA already bends over to the point of bastardizing the integrity of it's game to make sure you can't exhale on a 'star', much less lay a hand on one. What a load.


There's no defending what this chump did, and the league should come down harder than a one-game sit after this second offense. The first suspension obviously did nothing to break Bryant of what is now a habit--the NBA should do something before the next thing broken is someone's face.


Take a page out of the NHL's book in the case of New York Islander Chris Simon who assaulted an opponent with his stick the other night--Simon is suspended indefinitely, and it's my uninformed guess he's done for the season, playoffs included. Good. Any athlete in any sport who tries hurting an opponent needs to be dealt with severely--even if the victim pops right back up and keeps playing. Make it worse if there's an injury, and max it out when someone is sidelined by a vicious act. Save the sport. Lose the goons. And let's muzzle the nation of apologists defending the indefensible.


Thursday, March 8, 2007






For once, the University of Wisconsin gets some national pub without any bunny ears attached.





Madison almost ALWAYS wins the annual Playboy poll of the top party schools--once, in fact, the magazine D-Q'd the Badgers, saying it wasn't fair lumping in professionals with amateurs.





Times changed--sure, one can probably get faced on almost any floor of any UW dorm at one point or another during a typical week, but there's something else that all of us can take pride in: Wisconsin's basketball program.





Winters on the UW campus used to mean two things: drinking, and hockey. For most students, the two went hand in hand: booze could always be had, and Bob Johnson's Wisconsin hockey team was the closest thing Madison had to a sure-fire winning sports program. Football was still in a malaise, and hoop was fairly easy to forget since the team never got a whiff of postseason play and was stuck playing in the decrepit Fieldhouse.





What's happened on Bo Ryan's watch is nothing short of incredible as he built on the successes of Dick Bennett and put Wisconsin into the national spotlight. "Sports Illustrated" Rick Reilly gives him props here:





http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2007/writers/rick_reilly/01/29/reilly0129/index.html





...and HBO's "Real Sports With Bryant Gumbel" piles it on in a piece that aired this week. The show not only gives all due praise to Ryan, but lauds the UW administration for it's insistence that "student" remain a verb when describing the school's "student athletes." Cath it here:


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7sLkfucfvtA





Strange, isn't it, that an honest coach who gets results without bending the rules or beating his players is lauded for being THE EXCEPTION...when a school that keeps high standards while graduating the vast majority (70%) of it's players is seen as BUCKING THE PRESENT TREND?





Let us be that exception. And, may it pay dividends for the athletes wearing the state's name across their chests this upcoming tournament season.

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

Son Of "O Says It's So"


Who doesn't love a secret--especially when it'll get you what you want?

So it goes with the latest hunk of new-age wisdom: "The Secret" which is rapidly becoming an industry onto itself, aided in no small part by at least two blessings from Oprah Winfrey herself.

We brought "The Secret" up on our radio show a few weeks ago, and those who called in seemed to be less than overwhelmed by the message. Further reading tells me "The Secret" can be boiled down to this: if you picture success, you'll get it...imagine what you want, and it'll come to you.

The initial book is now a DVD set and is about to become a movie. Folks are free to spend their cash as they please, and there seems to be no end to our appetite for simple self-help solutions to our everyday woes. Why work hard, sacrifice, and apply yourself when someone can hand you an answer (for a price) with a bow on it?

I wonder why Oprah's buying into this. She's usually pretty careful with endorsements, and the fact she's done not one but TWO shows about "The Secret" tells me she's buying in. Oprah is the most power woman (maybe person) in America--if she told her faithful to pound nails into their foreheads, you can bet your local hardware store would be hard pressed to handle the surge in hammer sales.

I've already done one blog on Oprah and "The Secret", one that featured an MSNBC link. Feel free to check that one out, as well as this recent story pulled from the pages of "The Wall Street Journal". I suggest reading both, especially if you're thinking of parting with your hard earned cash.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB116986059209389783-search.html?KEYWORDS=Oprah+The+Secret&COLLECTION=wsjie/6month

And, here's more from "The L-A Times"{

http://www.calendarlive.com/books/cl-et-secret7mar07,0,5799148.story?coll=cl-books-util

You can also find some fairly nasty blogs by doing a Google search featuring the words "Oprah" and "The Secret". Gird your loins, Winfrey fans: some of these people are pretty hard on "The O."



Worried about "the liberal media" hijacking your news?


Looking for more proof the planet's getting smaller?


Try "the Beeb".




I don't ascribe to the theory that lefties rule the airwaves (we should worry more about financial and focus groups commandeering news content, but that's a blog for another day) but I always enjoy how others report what's going on here in the U.S.


Enter the BBC.


The British Broadcasting Corporation not only has a lot of it's content on the web, it puts it into pod casts so you can listen at your own leisure. I download several of their newscasts before I head in to work each morning--giving me the chance to balance what I watched on the American networks the night before with the British take the next day.


Know what? They aren't that far apart, especially when it comes to Iraq. If anything, the Beeb asks far tougher questions about that nation's involvement than what I've heard over here.


The BBC also reminds you that there's more to the news than Scooter, Britney, and Anna Nicole--did you know there's a whole continent out there called "Africa" where there are countries, people, conflict, and...dare I say it...NEWS?!? I'd always heard about "North" America, but apparently there's another place called "SOUTH" America, too, where things happen. At least, that's what "the Beeb" told me.


You get my drift.


Do yourself a favor and tap in. Listen. Compare. Learn.


Did I mention the best part? IT'S FREE.