Monday, April 30, 2007

Ted Thompson: Savant or Contrarian?


"Are they TRYING to piss Favre off?!?"

Those are the words of a good friend and radio colleague moments after the Green Bay Packers shocked the world by drafting Tennessee defensive lineman Justin Harrell with the 16th overall choice in this weekend's NFL Draft.

Retired QB/current ESPN analyst Steve Young echoed that emotion, figuring that the Packers needed a lot on offense and that he remembered being slighted when his old team, the Niners, went with defense on draft day even amid glowing needs on the other side of the ball.

Young's co-hort Chris Mortensen reminded everyone that there was still a lot of choosin' left to be done, and that we shouldn't forget about Randy Moss possibly getting traded to Green Bay.

Well, the choosin's done and Moss is now a New England Patriot.

How's that draft workin' out for you, Packers fans?

I, for one, won't miss Moss but DO think GM Ted Thompson needed to make some sort of dramatic move--other than trading down in the second round while leaving three pretty viable players on the board who immediately got snarfed up by the teams that followed Green Bay in the pecking order.

Fan patience with the GM was at low ebb at the start of last season, what with the whole will-Farve-retire-and-why-doesn't-Thompson-tell-him-to-come-back scenario still fresh in all of our minds. An 8-8 finish with four straight victories to close out the season made all that go away.

Now this.

Sure, Thompson picked up some bodies at running back, tight end and wideout--guys who may be the next Emmitt Smith, Tony Gonzalez and Marvin Harrison. You never know with draft picks, though. They could just as well end up being the new incarnations of Brent Fullwood, Tyrone Davis and Taco Wallace, too.

Packers fans have to trust that Thompson knows what he's doing--this past weekend's disappointment will be forgotten this summer if Harrell and his fellow greenhorns dazzle in early September. And, no matter what, there's always the Lions to break anyone's fall into the divisional abyss.

But oh, to be a fly on the wall wherever Favre was watching Saturday's proceedings. Or yesterday, as he watched the veteran wideout he supposedly coveted get dealt to another team.

If flies have ears, those suckers had to be burnin'.

Friday, April 27, 2007

Tailights...

She's gone.

Anyone wondering what happened behind the scenes this morning as Amy Taylor did her final show just needed to have a radio on, because what you heard on the air was truly what was going down when the mikes were off.

There were the girls--Tess, Jillian and Chloe--all in matching outfits, playing in the studio and alternating laps between Amy and husband Jason.

There were tons of phone calls, wishing Amy the best as she starts a new life as a full time mom.

There were fellow employees stopping by for hugs and laughs, except, of course, for WTMJ's John Jagler who got Amy to finally break down and cry--mark the time: 8:41 , after nearly three hours of dry eyes.

And, much as I did when Reitman walked out the door for the last time in December, I had nothing but good feelings for a fellow colleague who's leaving the business on their own terms. That simply doesn't happen very often in broadcasting, where, as with baseball managers, you're hired to be fired.

Watching Amy and family walk down the hall toward their new life fills me with nothing but good thoughts for a young family heading to better places.

There's no back story--Amy's heart is truly what's drawing her away from us. I will certainly miss our daily chats, but then again, SHE'S NOT DEAD! We can still meet, talk and, without mikes around, swear like Longshoremen.

Best of luck, Amy, Jason, Tess, Jillian and Chloe. Hope you'll still listen, but I'll understand if you want to sleep in.

...as if THAT'S gonna happen with triplets.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Fathers And Daughters...Acorns and Trees



This "goodbye" business is getting a bit old.

First Reitman, now Amy.

Ms. Taylor leaves us Friday morning after a bunch of years and more laughs--on the air and off--than my addled brain can retain.

You already know how I feel about Amy: smart, tough, funny, real, and truly one of a kind. And, I know where she got it from.

Amy's parents, Jack and Virginia, are living proof the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. We've had them on the air via the phone over the years, but I'd never gotten the chance to meet Dad face to face until Thursday morning when he shared an hour with us, telling stories about a daughter he obviously loves and respects.

Jack is a Chicago television and radio legend...he doesn't know it, but I was one of his most avid viewers, even though I lived well out of WGN-TV's range in the 70's.

In fact, Jack Taylor put me to bed more nights than he can imagine.

In those days, I was going to school and later cutting my radio teeth in Stevens Point--a city that had the foresight, even back then, to wire it's denizens with cable television. Point didn't have a station of it's own, and got only two signals from Wausau, so the city fathers decided it was time to seize the future and bring in the coax.

Cable brought us WGN/Chicago. That meant Jack Taylor's "Nightbeat".

I'm not sure what time it started, but I know it was on a lot of evenings/mornings when I came home from the bars. In fact, for many years, I thought Jack Taylor had three heads. I watched the one in the middle.

Jack's late night news recap told me all I needed to know about the world before I went to bed--trouble is, I usually passed out on the couch before he got to the end of the show. He would often be the last thing I'd see--telling me all that troubled our planet that day, but a reassuring presence that said all was well...that he'd be back tomorrow, when, hopefully, things went better.

I'm sure he had the same affect on untold millions of people in Chicago and wherever the cable carried 'GN. He must hear it a million times.

I didn't get to tell Jack what he meant to me today--only that I was nervous as I did the news in his presence. Today was about Amy, a dad she loves, and a father who's proud of what his daughter's done, both in the business he loves and at home she's made with her triplets.

In fact, today we didn't connect as viewer and fan. He said something that made me share his pride as a father.

At one point, he mentioned how as a parent, you share the joy and pain your kids experience. Watching him in the studio this morning, it was pretty clear he was feeling everything Amy was--the relief of knowing the job at KTI would soon be done, that the one at home would now get her full-time attention. Some sadness, sure, but also the contentment that comes with making the right choice.

What parent hasn't felt that as your child reaches a milestone, be it as small as a part in the first grade play or as big as giving the high school commencement address.

Amy's accomplishments are many. And, in a long and storied life, Amy is one of Jack's finest. I share his pride. I'm honored to have met them both.

Good luck Amy. And, thanks Jack and Virginia, for making her possible.

Getting Jiggy With It--Good For Will Smith, Bad For The Commander in Chief?
















President Kennedy was true to himself, right to the day he died.




He knew the power of the image, and how to massage it for his benefit.




It put him at odds with his wife, who didn't want their two kids used as photo ops--so, JFK would wait until she was out of town before inviting John-John and Caroline to the Oval Office for some frolic in front of the staff photographer.




I've read at least one account about the late president being haunted by a picture he'd once since of his predecessor, Calvin Coolidge, in a full headdress and thinking to himself that it made a Chief Executive look less than presidential to don what he deemed "silly hats" for the White House press.



And so it came to pass that, on November 22, 1963 at a breakfast in Fort Worth, Texas, JFK would be presented with a brand new hat by the local Chamber of Commerce. The crowd roared as the President, known for going without a chapeau, motioned as if he'd bust his self-imposed embargo and actually put his gift on.



He didn't, saying he'd try it on the following Monday at the White House.



That, of course, never happened. And, neither did the picture.



Enter George W. Bush.



The current leader of the free world either a) got caught up in the moment b) succumbed to his inner frat boy or c) forgot there's always a camera rolling on the President when he decided to cut a rug at a Rose Garden photo op this week about malaria awareness in Africa.



http://player.clipsyndicate.com/player/play/190/369304?cpt=8&noresize=1



Do I care that Mr. Bush chose to shake a leg? Naw. Actually, it's kinda fun to see the man who's finger is always on the button so comfortable with himself that he'd actually do such a thing. For me, it would require the downing of at least a 12 pack--as anyone who's ever seen me half shined up at a wedding will attest.



But, in this age of cellphone cameras and the Internet, those in power and who rub up against celebrity in even the most remote way have to know that their picture will be taken, that said photo can go global in a mouse-click, and that those images live on FOREVER via Google search.



President Kennedy didn't put on the cowboy hat the day he died. That was 44 years ago.



Think yesterday's video will have a shelf life beyond that?





Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Imagine Gilbert Brown...With Mad Hops


Imagine THIS guy in Green and Gold (I try to always use caps when referring to Packers colors--it's a religious thing.
Walter Thomas is billed by the New York Times
as the biggest secret of Saturday's upcoming NFL draft--big in many ways, as in size and in ability, at least up to this point, to remain off the radar.
Read the complete story right here:
I'm not one of those guys who locks myself in a darkened room with a computer, an industrial sized bag of Cheetos and a vat of Diet Coke pouring over mock drafts. Sure, I love the game and would love to see the Packers do SOMETHING that'll bolster their 2007 chances, what with the relatively underwhelming off-season G.M. Ted Thompson's given fans so far.
The real draft wonks, a few of whom work in our building, probably know Thomas, his story, and what was in his leavings after dinner last night.
Sorry. Those guys aren't normal. Knowledgeable? Yes. In sore need of a life? You betcha.
I'll go into Saturday's cattle call armed with that morning's paper, some ill-conceived idea of what I'd do if I were Thompson, and a self-imposed aura of detachment that'll guarantee a sense of surprise from the day's proceedings.
And, after reading the Times story, a new found interest in a very large, skilled man with some character flaws who may be on the outside, looking in. Or, the largest pro football story in recent years.

Is There A Men's Room at "The View"?




Okay, Amy Taylor WON'T be replacing Rosie O'Donnell on "The View".


At least, not this week.


So who should take her place?


Rosie, I mean, not Amy.


Ms. Taylor's chair will be filled by WKTI management at a time and pace of their own determination. O'Donnell's will be taken care of by ABC, sometime after he contract expires at the end of June.


We took calls this morning about possible replacements, and there were several strong candidates including Ellen DeGeneres and Whoopi Goldberg.


And then, some surprises including, gulp, a few that pack testosterone including "Queer Eye's" Carson Kressley.


Could it work?


Is "The View" exclusively the turf of women, where men can be guests but not...hosts? If there is someone who has a set of testicles, can he only host if he's gay?


When Babs developed "The View" a decade ago, the tone was set: women talking the way they do, about the things they want to talk about, the way they want to talk about them. There was nothing like it on television.


Things changed, though. There've been knock-offs and clones and other combinations on other networks designed to cut into "The View's" crowd. Does the passing of time and the inevitable imitation mean it's time to break the mold and draw up a new game plan that includes a man?


I wouldn't have had the stones to even BROACH the concept of a man riding shotgun with Babs and Company until this morning. I didn't know if women would warm up to it. Then again, if it's the RIGHT guy, who cares?


Love her or not, Rosie brought fire to a show that was listing in the creative waters--the messy departure of Star Jones followed by Meredith Vierra's decision to wake up early on "Today" left "The View" without a quarterback. It's still very much Walters' show, but she's too penned in by her journalistic limitations to be the fire-starter. Each woman at the table has a role: Babs is the voice of reason, Elizabeth is the conservative, Joy the court-jester. Who ever takes Rosie's chair has to be the one who fears no subject, no colleague, no guest, and isn't afraid to state a case.


Is that something that only another woman can do? Or can a guy have a "View", too?


Let me know.

Monday, April 23, 2007

Hard To Watch? Yes. News? You Bet.


We knew his name.

We saw what he did, when he did it, and where.

The only questioning remaining after last week's Virginia Tech massacre was why? Why would a classmate repeatedly empty guns into fellow students, stopping only when he decided to point one of his weapons at his own face and blow it off.

Even someone who's never written a news story for pay or a college grade knows the questions: who, what, when, where and why. They are the questions any reporter worth his/her salt answers every time they sit at a keyboard or crack a mike.

That's what NBC did last week--when it aired portions of the gunman's homemade media kit.

The network is getting grief in some circles. Family members, survivors and victims' friends shunned NBC in protest. Some critics said running the ramblings gave the shooter what he sought from the grave: validation.

Another publication suggested another alternative: web-only broadcast, so that only those who actively sought the ramblings could actually access them. Read their take here:

http://www.tvweek.com/article.cms?articleId=31844

I disagree.

NBC handled the shooter's package responsibly--alerting authorities immediately upon it's arrival. It shared the contents with rivals. It edited profanity. And, it let the contents speak for themselves: we saw what investigators did after pouring through the manifesto, that this kid had plenty of anger, tons of issues, and no discernible motive other than a twisted rage for a world he saw as hopelessly tilted against him.

Making the contents an Internet-exclusive keeps the news from those who don't have computers. Granted, that number is dwindling, but it's still a significant. It would also leave NBC open to accusations of capitalizing on the tragedy by driving web traffic to it's site exclusively, then using those "hits" to attract Internet advertisers.

Paraphrasing what the killer said--without audio and video that viewers already knew existed--would leave listeners wondering what was "left out". The questions would always linger, and the conspiracy buffs, enabled by the web, would have a field day filling in the blanks.

Who, what, when, where, and why. They're the questions that are supposed to be answered, even when they're difficult to look at or hear. Let the listener and viewer decide how much they want to absorb, and at their own pace. That's why there's an on/off button on televisions and radios, as well as a channel changer.

Is This Where Don Imus Shops?












Okay, I admit my headline is a little unfair, but I thought it would get your attention.





If you're an old cuss like me, folks like Aunt Jemimah, Uncle Ben, and Funny Face were part of the accepted landscape.





Yes, racist charactures sure helped move the merch--and a lot of us never said a peep. I remember the Frito Bandito raising some hackles, and that was a fairly recent protest. In fact, a few of these folks still sit on the shelf today.



It's truly amazing how the pedulum swung in the last 40 years or so...from a time when advertisers painted with broad, stereotypical strokes to make us buy pancake mix, converted rice, corn chips, and many other products too numerous to mention.


Read more about our racist Madison Avenue past right here:








http://www.slate.com/id/2164062/nav/tap1/

Friday, April 20, 2007

A Bathroom Inspiration



This is how baseball ga-ga I am...I keep the Brewers media guide next to the toilet.
I figure down-time is a good opportunity to buff up my horsehide I-Q.


I'm on the "Retired Numbers" page, looking at the dates when Robin Yount and Paul Molitor had their ceremonies at County Stadium. I get to the Hank Aaron part, and it says only that the club retired his 44...with no mention of any "ceremonies".


I asked a ballclub official about that--a greybeard, like me--and he says he can't remember any such event for baseball's all-time home run leader, only that then-owner Bud Selig decreed that no one would ever wear that number again as a Brewer. A good call, indeed, but one that didn't get a ballpark bash as an exclamation point.


Just thinkin' out loud here...but now that we've determined via GPS coordinates where Aaron's 755th home run ball landed July 20th, 1976, and that said spot will forever be remembered with a plaque...be it resolved that THIS would be the perfect chance to kill two birds with one proverbial baseball: observe the unveiling of the marker with an "official" number retirement ceremony. And, as the Braves mark the 50th anniversary of Milwaukee's one and only World Series win, why not tie it all together with one, big, giant bash at Miller Park? I know the Brewers are in the midst of remembering the 1982 A-L pennant winners, but what the heck? A chance to give Hank his props, as well as his surviving teammates? Not to be crass, but it also has some healthy marketing opportunities, too. I'm always thinking about movin' the merch, you know.


Hank's already said he's busy when and if Barry Bonds hits number 756, and personally, I think it's a good call. As all of baseball looked the other way during the steroids era, Aaron is the one guy who can claim the high ground and steer clear of what promises to be one of the game's more muted celebrations.


What better way to remember Hank, the Braves, and all that's right with the game by unveiling the 755 marker, remembering the 44 that hangs in Miller Park, and embracing the '57 Braves one more time with a gathering Friday night, July 20th when...why, what a coincidence! The Brewers play Bonds and the Giants that night.


THAT would be TOO PERFECT.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

We Know Where It Landed--Now, Where The Hell Is It?





One good thing about Barry Bonds: his imminent busting of Hank Aaron's home run record is giving a classy guy one more day in the sun.


The juxtaposition of Bonds against the former Brave and Brewer is stark--Bonds is everything Aaron ISN'T. Bonds is a living stereotype of all that's wrong with today's athlete: arrogant, aloof, a piss-poor teammate and, if the accounts in the best-selling steroids tell-all "Game of Shadows" are to be believed, a pretty rotten human being in general.


Aaron, on the other hand, is gentlemanly, humble, and dignified. This, I know, from personal experience, having had the honor of interviewing him when his book, "If I Had A Hammer", came out in the 90's. It qualifies as one of the highlights of my professional and personal existence.


And then...there's Dick Arndt.


Expect to hear alot about him in the days ahead, as Bonds edges ever closer to Aaron's 755 home runs. That's because Arndt caught the last one.


We found out this week, through GPS readings, precisely where the ball landed that July night in 1976. Arndt was there, as it landed, to gather it in.


Trouble is, Arndt worked on the County Stadium grounds crew, and the team ruled that he couldn't keep the sphere. He said he'd give it back, if he could do so personally to Aaron. The Brewers refused, Arndt got canned, and even docked the five bucks for the ball on his final paycheck.


But, he got to keep it.


This is where I come in...myself and my partner, Bob Reitman.


We'd read about Arndt and Aaron, thinking we could serve as mediators. This was well into the 80's, perhaps around the tenth anniversary of Aaron's circle-clout, if memory serves. How cool would it be if our little radio show could reunite Aaron with a ball that obviously meant so much to him?


We were able to track Ardnt down, and the drama began. We were go-betweens for the Brewers and the former grounds crew guy, working out Arndt's demands--I remember he held fast to the one about handing the ball to Aaron personally, and also wanting plane fare for himself and his family. Things started coming together and it looked as though the great reunion was about to happen.


And then, Arndt pulled the plug...literally keeping the ball and going home.

Adding insult to the injury, Arndt would show up at an Aaron autograph show where the all-time home run king would unknowingly sign the very ball he wanted so badly, boosting the value of Arndt's questionable gain.


Arndt later sold the ball, and gave a portion of the take to charity. Suffice to say, he got a handsome return on his five-dollar investment.


The ball is now with a deep-pocketed fan, instead of Aaron who thinks it should be in the Hall of Fame. That, of course, speaks volumes about the kind of guy Aaron is: he respects the game, and thinks it's artifacts should be available for all to see, instead of gathering dust in someone's safe-deposit box.


The best seats in the house go to the folks with the deep pockets. Collectors and card freaks turn our childhood memories into investments. Guys who luck into the game's artifacts turn their good fortune into momentary fame and seven-figure portfolios. That's how time changed our game.


What stays the same?


Our untainted memories of days gone by, and the eternal class of one of baseball's true elite: Hank Aaron. For every Bonds story you read in the weeks ahead, keep the Hammer in mind, especially if you need a reminder of what's right about the game. And, remember this story when the plaque goes up in the Miller Park parking lot, showing where Aaron's final swat came down.


Want to read a different take on Arndt? Check out this blog:




My Journal/Sentinel buddy, Tom Haudricourt, gives a detailed account of Aaron's swat, the ball, Arndt and all that followed:





When The "News Cycle" Stops Spinning...





Anna Nicole.


Imus.


And, now, Virginia Tech.


Each of the above stories knocked the usual newsroom planets out of alignment at the various cable current events channels, some more so than other.


The death of the Guess jeans model/well-married widow got WAY more attention among the legitimate media than it deserved, while the Don Imus flame-out gave us all a chance to debate race, respect and the culture of mean--things that I think don't get enough serious consideration until someone like a shock jock of politician self-immolates in front of a mike.


Virginia Tech? How can you NOT cover it? React to it? Put faces on it's victims? Ask about the ongoing trend of violence at school and the workplace?


There are some who say enough is enough--some at my daughter's college campus complained that all of the attention could inspire copycat situations in which another disaffected loner looking to make a statement ammo's up and unloads on the innocent.


It may--but then, what inspired THIS event? And, what should the media do with such stories?


Many newsrooms don't report suicides or bomb threats, the thinking being that the publicity could inspire someone else to follow suit. It's a policy I agree with (unless the incident causes some sort of incidental inconvenience for the greater general public, but that has to be looked at case by case).


That rule cannot apply to mass slaughter.


Yes, an unstable person could see the coverage and be inspired to follow suit. Then again, as history shows, these kind of people can be set off by the most innocuous slight: spurned affections, an insult, or some other "injustice", real or perceived.


What the media--in particular, the cable channels--need to do is remember that there are other news events still happening amid colossal tragedy. Huge, breaking stories deserve wall-to-wall attention. Swimming in ill-conceived sidebars just so there's something to show between somber music bumpers serves no purpose, other than to give the viewer reason to complain that the story is being beaten to death for ratings. Toward that end, local stations should keep looking for the angles that can tie a distant community to a huge event: the kid from town who saw/heard/actually witnessed what happened at Virginia Tech that fateful day strikes me as news. Talking to someone who graduated from the school years ago and wasn't even there at the time? That's a stretch that serves no function.


The media serve a powerful purpose at times like this--informing, comforting, and giving folks a shared experience to which they can react, recoil, recover, and repair. They can enlighten us as to what to look in each other--so that maybe, just maybe, someone intervenes before we live through another one of these nightmares.


Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Ever End Up Being The Only Guy Not Laughing At A Joke?






You need to know a couple of things before I go on:




1) It's two a.m. as a write this. I just woke up, and it takes a LOT to make me laugh.




2) I'm apparently the ONLY person who doesn't think EVERYTHING Will Ferrell does is the


funniest thing every created.




That said, here's this week's "Internet Video of the Year"--a two minute vignette that's gone "viral": web-speak for something so hot, it generates million of hits. This particular one is probably at the two-million mark as of this writing, and certain to go even nuttier now that it's gotten home-page coverage from this morning's "Los Angeles Times." Comments? Universally fawning--everyone I read raved about it.




I didn't laugh once.


Not even a smile.


Watch, and tell me what you think.




WARNING: It contains some language that might bother you. Don't say I didn't warn you. Oh, by the way: it'll come from a two year old child.






Here it is:







And, here's the back-story, as told in this morning's "Times".




Monday, April 16, 2007

A Father, His Son, And Their Connection To History

It was a turkey club sandwich and a bowl of clam chowder that brought me and Ron Rabinovitz together. And now, I don't want to stop talking to him.



It was lunchtime Friday, and I knew the cupboard at home was bare. I had an itch for a turkey club and a bowl of chowder plus the companionship that comes from being alone with a newspaper. I found both at an eatery on my side of town, ordering up my grub and grabbing a copy of USA Today.



There, on page one of the sports section, was Ron.










He's not an athlete, or an agent, or an owner. We share two things: a hometown (Sheboygan) and a passion for baseball.



Ron, though, is so much more.



Ron was a childhood pen-pal of the legendary Jackie Robinson--a relationship that sprouted over the years, lasting until Robinson's death in 1972. Here's the story, as told to USA Today's Bob Nightengale:



http://www.usatoday.com/sports/baseball/2007-04-12-robinson-letters_N.htm?csp=34


I was lucky enough to be co-hosting a sports talk show on our sister station, WTMJ, Sunday morning with my newsbud, John Jagler. I figured Ron would make a good guest, and gave him a cold-call Saturday night to see if he would take part.

We ended up talking for about 20 minutes--about Sheboygan, our childhoods, and baseball. I could've gone an hour with him but had to be on my way. Plus, I didn't want to leave the interview "on the phone"--I wanted there to be something fresh and new to talk about on the air.

No worries.

Ron proved to be one of the best guests I've ever had a chance to talk to--it doesn't matter if you don't know a baseball from a tuna can, because his story is so compelling. It speaks of a time gone by, when athletes connected with fans, and, sadly, when old prejudices still had to be fought. It speaks volumes of both Jackie Robinson and of Ron's father, David, who gave his boy the ultimate life lesson.

Listen in to our chat as it aired April 15, 2007: the 60th anniversary of Robinson's first big-league game.

http://podcast.wkti.com/DesktopModules/Orizonti_NukeNews/getLink.aspx?pid=22&tid=837&newsid=13368

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Choosing To Be Like Mike...Instead of Jackie





Imagine sports without color.


The green grass. The blue sky. The white ice. The uniforms.


The men and women in them.


It's hard to believe there was a time when pro baseball was a white country club where minorities were welcome to watch and serve, but not play. To put it into a perspective I could understand, blacks were in the game just ten years...ten years...when I was born in 1957.


Unbelievable.


As we remember Jackie Robinson on this, the 60th anniversary of his entrance into the majors, the debate isn't about opportunities for blacks and other minorities in pro baseball. The question now: why aren't more African-Americans playing it?


People with larger brains than me have a variety of takes--one of the best of which is in this morning's Washington Post. Columnist Michael Wilbon talks to an MLB exec who says it might have alot to do with...ready for this? Nike.





Here's a quote that leaps from Wilbon's page: "It's a generational sport," Jimmie Lee Solomon, MLB's executive vice president of baseball operations, said. "Your dad or your granddad or uncle explained all the nuances to you, the game within a game, how to fill out a scorecard. . . . The game was passed down. Well, we've lost a generation of teachers because of all the new interests."


New interests, yes, and I venture to say the collapse of the traditional family. How many African American kids are growing up in homes with no fathers, no male influences? How many have no one to play catch with...hit fly balls to...watch a game on t.v. with?


Jackie Robinson could only open the door--he can't shove people through it. As the 60th anniversary of his breaking of the color barrier arrives, I choose to celebrate the fact that Major League Baseball is now more colorful than ever, with people of all colors and from many nations playing the game at it's highest level. And, that the opportunity to join them remains for all.


Saturday, April 14, 2007

And Then, There Were Two...





I wonder what Reitman's doing?


Just kidding.


Bob is enjoying a well-deserved life after radio, and soon another one of my partners, Amy Taylor, will be joining him.


Amy announced yesterday that she's leaving WKTI to become a full-time mom, wife and daughter. She has triplets, a husband and parents that all need tending to, and I salute her for doing what she believes is best for all concerned.


And, I hope others will understand, too. We've all felt the tug--male and female alike. When you're working, you feel as though you should be tending to the family. When you're home, you're thinking about the job.


I've known people of both genders who got grief for choosing family over office--I'm guessing the folks dishing it out weren't secure enough in their own choices to be happy for someone who might've made a different call. Or, maybe they're just plain jealous. I think life is best lived letting others make their choices, with others extending the same courtesy to us.


I can only speak for myself when I say I couldn't be happier for Amy as she prepares for life after broadcasting. She's a colossal journalist, a great radio companion, and a close personal friend. I'll miss what we shared on the air, and I'll also long for those chats we had when the mikes were off and we matched notes on news, life, kids, food, and anything else we'd put in our cross hairs.


People talk, and I'm sure there's plenty of chatter out there about what's going to happen next at the radio station--trust me, NO ONE loves to gossip more than people in the broadcasting business. There are three ways to spread a rumor: telephone, telegraph and tell-a-radio person.


Those coming here today looking for some sort of insight into the future will go away wanting. This isn't the time to talk about "the next Amy Taylor". I choose to use the next two weeks to savor what is one of the more uniquely talented, smart, funny, informed radio personalities to ever grace Milwaukee television and radio. And, to celebrate the brave choice Amy made in leaving a lucrative career to handle life's most important jobs: wife, mother and daughter.


Friday, April 13, 2007

Bloated Athletes And Anemic Ethics




Bud Selig gets his hair cut once a week--so there's no doubt he'll look neat and clean when he poses with Barry Bonds after the San Francisco slugger strokes career home run number 756 sometime this summer.

What, you say...Mr. Selig won't be there?

He ought to be. Selig had a lot to do with the history Bonds is on the cusp of making (as I write this, he just jacked number 736 in Pittsburgh). Selig, the players union, fans and the media had better be ready to take ownership of this questionable achievement since all played a part in letting it happen.



Bonds is thoroughly unlikeable as a player, teammate or man. The best-selling book "Game of Shadows" pretty much confirms this, detailing Bonds' "alleged" use of steroids as well as his deficiencies as a human being. Aside from the perennial chip on the shoulder that he sports, he is the poster child for the jock-entitlement mentality that most of us project onto athletes without ever really getting to know them. Bonds makes that puppet come to life.

Conventional wisdom is that Selig doesn't want to be caught in photos or on film shaking the slugger's hand, only to find out later on that the juicing allegations are true. Then, it becomes the modern sports version of "Dewey Beats Truman", the photo-equivalent of Milli Vanilli: fraudulent, wrong, phony, engineered.

Trouble is, baseball was only too eager to embrace Bonds and other alleged users when it needed them in the days after the 1994 strike.

Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa thrilled us all as they fought to bust Roger Maris' mark, starting a horsehide renaissance that continues today.

No one asked any questions as their puffy, bloated caricatures swatted spheres monstrous distances and shattered all manner of records because, after all, "chicks dig the long ball."

The media fell in lockstep, too--failing to ask the tough questions, doing features instead about juiced balls. Only one--S-I's Rick Reilly--had the stones to confront Sosa at his locker, pleading with him to submit to a urine test on the spot to put the whispered allegations to rest. It made for a great column in his magazine, but it almost cost Reilly his teeth.

Fans and front offices all turned the other way, too: next time the Cardinals are in Milwaukee, be sure to ask the St. Louis faithful what happened to the McGwire jerseys they used to sport.



And then there's Bud--true, he's presided over a crackdown on both steroids and amphetamines, a belated set of moves that won't change the set of tainted records that now dot baseball's books. Selig and the player's union went along for the ride in the 90's when it was convenient for both to look the other way. Now, it's time to reap what's been sown.

Sack up, Bud, and take it like a man--one of the game's most cherished records is about to fall, and Bonds won't be breaking it alone. Failing to show up convicts Bonds of something the courts have yet to find him guilty of. And, don't offer up the bull about the commissioner being a no-show when Aaron hit number 715: Bowie Kuhn's colossal gaffe is nothing to emulate. It was a tragedy in '74 and the ultimate diss to a man who deserved much better for all he went through in shattering the mark.




Can't you just hear the photographers now?

"One more, Mr. Selig--only this time, shake Barry's hand without gagging."

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Does He Have Matching Shoes For His New Pink Slips?





I guess we won't have Don Imus to kick around anymore--at least, until he's on the bird.


CBS completes his emasculation by firing him this afternoon--MSNBC cut him loose earlier this week, meaning that, as of now, he no longer has a national platform.


I'm guessing it's just a matter of time until he inks a satellite deal, allowing him to operate untethered to a global audience. That's one way around those messy F.C.C. regs and all those ears, waiting for you to step on your own you-know-what.


It's working well for Howard Stern, Opie and Anthony, and any other number of performers who are now free to do what they want in front of a mike. You get to hear it, if you're willing to pay.


You can scroll down and read my previous takes on the I-man--in a word, I wish he would've come back so the free market could've decided his fate: listeners, guests, advertisers. The latter already voted with their feet, fleeing Imus as if her were...what, radioactive?


I've also broken bad on the Reverends Sharpton and Jackson, who also made verbal missteps in the past yet somehow seem to be given credibility as the unelected leaders of the maltreated and racially oppressed.


I've scoured the wires, reading all I could on the Imus situation while trying to find someone who was saying something that I haven't heard/seen anywhere else. Then, a buddy sent me the following, written by K.C. columnist Jason Whitlock. I think he is, as the British say, "spot on" on several fronts.


Read it, and weigh in.


Mirror, Mirror, Not On The Wall But In Don Imus' Hands





Do you like what you see?


Don Imus held a mirror up in America's collective face, and I'm guessing it makes a lot of us want to turn away.


MSNBC execs, in announcing their decision to can Imus' simulcasts after what the talk host said about the Rutgers women's basketball team, say it wasn't this latest incident that prompted the move, but rather a pattern of such behavior.


Why, then, didn't the plug get pulled sooner? Did it take a sponsorship stampede way from the I-man to give the network a conscience? To ask what MSNBC employees thought about their colleague?


What about the millions who worked their way toward Imus every morning? His numbers were strong, and he apparently was gaining on CNN in terms of a.m. audience. They must've liked what they heard--the "pattern" must've been pretty palatable (in the interest of full disclosure, yours truly listened to I-Tunes Imus podcasts each day on the way into work--they featured only his interviews, and I never remember hearing anything even remotely approaching what happened last week).


Where were the "professionally pissed", the Reverends Sharpton and Jackson before this? Did they only show up after the latest Imus contretemps started getting national media traction? Why aren't they going after rappers and fellow African Americans who demean and degrade women in rap videos and lyrics? After all, where did the word "ho" come from, anyway? Listen to Sharpton's explanation in this column--you can see the video itself via a link at the end of it:





I wonder what would've happened to Imus had he been given the chance to return to MSNBC. Do you think his audience would've come back? Would it have grown even larger, spurred on by a "what-will-he-say-next" mindset? How about his guests, which included A-list politicians and network news types--would they have wanted to be associated with such an infamous host? And, what about the sponsors? Would those who fled this week have returned after the hub-bub died down and the ratings spiked up?



I guess the I-man couldn't hold the mirror up long enough for us to look at that.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

This Just In: The Midwest Isn't Built For April Baseball





It's one of my favorite all-time sayings.


"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result."


Enter Major League Baseball.


It keeps trying to convince Mother Nature that baseball can be played throughout North America in the month of April. This month, and many of the April's preceding it, proved otherwise.


Milwaukee is benefiting from the brutally harsh spring, snagging a bonus Indians/Angels series from snow-socked Cleveland this week. Good thing Miller Park has a lid, though, as our temps linger in the 40's with a foot of snow due in Southeast Wisconsin Wednesday.


Northern U.S. fans continue to shiver--those in New York, Chicago, Detroit, and other places don football duds for the boys of summer.


It doesn't have to be that way.


Seattle, Anaheim, Arizona, L.A., San Francisco, San Diego, Arlington, Houston, Miami, Minnesota, Milwaukee, Atlanta, Toronto and Tampa Bay should all start their seasons at home--they're either warm, or domed. You might have to roll the dice at a few other venues, but the remedy is right in front of Commissioner Bud Selig's face.


Then again, he's been known to have his head turned on occasion when that happens.


"We do the best we can," Commissioner Bud Selig told MLB.com Monday night as the Diamondbacks opened their home schedule against the Reds after four frigid games against the Nationals at RFK Stadium. "We try to squeeze 162 games into a 182-day season. And it's very difficult. You try to make little changes, but you can't please everybody."


He's not alone.


"If somebody can predict weather for me 18 months in advance we'd be happy to do it another way," added Katy Feeney, Major League Baseball's senior vice president of scheduling and club relations, when reached in New York on Monday. "But nobody has been able to do that."


I'm gonna go out on a limb here, Kathy, and predict that the weather in Wisconsin next April will SUCK. May's not a mortal lock for sunshine and 80 degrees, either. June? Hit-and-miss. And, I can remember ordering hot freakin' chocolate at a 4th of July game at County Stadium.


The warm-weather D-Rays opened this year in frosty Yankee Stadium, and the dome-home Twins were on the road, too. Why?


Money.


"The warm weather teams don't want to be heavily home in April and May, either," she said. "They want their June, July and August dates (after school lets out), too. Plus, if you go by that logic, would you have any of the Florida teams or the eastern teams at home during hurricane season? And that's June through September."


Yeah, and we have tornadoes here in the Midwest, so by that logic, we should do April through September games in someone's basement.


Feeney says MLB tried the warm-weather angle a few season ago--only to run into unseasonably cold weather in late April. The game adopted the you-can't-win-for-losing mantra, and went back to it's old, cold ways.


Fix it, Commissioner. You insist baseball is in a fan-friendly renaissance--do the game's constituency a solid by making sure we don't have to dress like we're shoveling snow. We'll be doing that later today, getting a foot of it out of our driveways in time to watch tonight's Indians/Angels game under the Miller Park dome...while our Brewers play on the road in Florida.

Does that make ANY sense? Or, is it the definition of insanity?

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Let The People Decide






What does a Milwaukee morning radio host listen to on the way into work?

This one chooses Don Imus.





His podcasts kept me company the past few months, including this morning when I heard him apologize for his "nappy headed ho's" crack, aimed at the Rutgers University women's basketball team.

There's no sorrying-away what Imus said, although he tried, anywhere that'll have him. His latest happened on this morning's "Today" show. Click on the link, then head for the video portion of the MSNBC website.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/



He talks about "context" and good works for sick kids and friends who are black and how he picks on everyone and....it...all...falls...short. What he said was wrong and now he's getting a two-week corporate sitdown. Some want him gone, others want stronger sanctions, and a few are probably comfortable with what he got. There might even be folks who think it's nothing.
Who should be offended?
The women of the Rutgers University women's basketball team, who are the targets of the comments in question.


Who should decide the fate of Don Imus?

Me. You. Everyone else with a radio or television that receives the Imus program. All come with dials and buttons that determine stations. You run those controls. You also decide what stays and goes.


Not the professionally pissed, like the Reverend Al Sharpton and Reverend Jesse Jackson. Both had their brushes with the ill-said, and they got forgiven. It's not up to them to be upset for ANYONE. Their outrage only seems to manifest itself when the target is large, famous, and obvious. I hope they save some of their anger for the more subtle forms of racism people of all colors endure every day....actions that don't get "Today" live-shots but are facts of life for way too many. Of course, fighting THAT won't get you a half-hour of prime morning television.


It's very easy for the self-righteous to leap onto the "he should be fired" bandwagon--they'll tell you that if you don't agree, well, then, you must endorse racist speech. Not so. You endorse it only if such talk continues, and if you keep consuming it without challenge.


Trust me, nothing--NOTHING--speaks to a broadcaster like low ratings and the lost revenue that comes with them. If enough Imus fans are truly upset, and if his guests (who include tons of Beltway A-listers and network t-v heavies) agree by putting the I-man on the pay-no-mind list, he'll go away. Ignoring the obnoxious, the distasteful and the untalented is the best possible way to make the offending party vanish from the public airwaves.

You're free to say whatever you want in this country--realizing, of course, that comments come with consequences. Imus dodged tons of bullets in his 40 years on the air, and this could be the one that fells him. I've enjoyed having him ride shotgun with me the past couple of months, and I'll probably give him another listen if/when he comes back. I want to see if he truly changes his act, how he'll carry himself on the air, and who's going to still want to play with him after what happened.
As someone who's had his share of on-air gaffes, I'm thankful for the second-chances I've gotten from various station managers during my career. But ultimately, it's the listeners who get to decide your fate.

So should it be with Don Imus.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Sanjaya Gets Me to Cry "Uncle"





My "Surrender Sanjaya" push isn't getting any traction.


None.


Nada.


Zip.


In fact, as incredible as it seems, Sanjaya is getting sympathy, if not momentum. Haters might even beat their swords into plowshares after reading the following piece.







I don't hear the talent, but I DO agree that the judges created Sanjaya, and that they're now stuck with him. And, I also don't think legions of "Idol" haters are beating their phone fingers bloody trying to discredit the show at the behest of Howard Stern and other evildoers. There are better things to do. Video games and sleeping come to mind.


The planet won't stop spinning on it's axis if Sanjaya wins. Or, even if he cracks the top five. He probably is a shoe-in for a record deal already, simply because he's cute and can kinda carry a tune. And, as the father of a soon-to-be 17 year old, I'm all in favor of any teenager having a paying job.


So, I guess I'll put a bullet in my "Surrender Sanjaya" push. Instead, I'll devote my energies to a more noble cause: continuing the "Idol" candidacy of Haley Scarnato.


Because she's a great singer, of course.


Thanks For Coming...Now, Go Home!


He cheered every base hit as if it had driven in the winning run in Game Seven of the World Series.

The Cub fan, and his buddy, sat one section over from mine in the club boxes at Miller Park Saturday afternoon. He wasn't being profane, but he wanted EVERYONE to see that he was reveling in his Cub-dom, miles from the Friendly Confines. He was guilty only of being excited, and very, very much at home. He, like every other Cub fan this weekend, acted as if as if MY ballpark were HIS.

And, many of them were doing it from some of the best seats in the house.

It happens at Lambeau, too, and it royally cheeses me off. It's obvious that Brewers and Packers season ticket holders are selling their seats to the enemy, no doubt at a handsome profit. There are Brewers season ticket holders who buy Cubs dates with absolutely NO intention of using them--instead, they flip 'em on E-Bay for obscene prices, which the Chicago jugheads are more than willing to pay. Think how much you can shave off the cost of a Brewers partial season ticket plan if you sell your Milwaukee soul along with the Cubs portion of your slate.
That's the only reason why I'm watching the Easter Sunday Brewers game and seeing a lard-assed Cubs fan sitting in the front row of the field boxes between the dugouts--I'd bet my kids that those chairs are occupied by Brewers season ticket holders the rest of the year.

It explains why you see Urlacher jerseys 10 rows up on the 50 yard line in Green Bay, too. Yes, even Packers fans can be bought. Purple and gold, blue and orange: they all pay green, and to some loyal "fans", it's a temptation too good to refuse. Shame, shame.

The Brewers tried to "take back Miller Park" a season ago, with middling results. Face it, folks, Cubs fans are more plentiful and far more motivated than Brewers backers are when it comes to securing ducats. Even though Milwaukee fans bought up a million chairs before the season's first pitch, there seems to be no thwarting the Illinois hoards.

Then again, we don't have to help them by taking their cash.

No honorable Brewers/Packers fan should sell their tickets to the opposition. It's sacrilege. Prostitution. Treason. Aiding the enemy. If Cub fans want to come here, let 'em sit in the nosebleeds after we've gotten our first swipe at seats.

It'd be a good first step toward taking back Miller Park--and keeping Cubs fans from tossing our own home runs back onto the field the way they did Sunday.

Our next mission: making sure we take at least two of three the next time they come to town.

Sunday, April 8, 2007

Things The Easter Bunny Can't Deliver


Who says nothing good comes out of Chicago?






Some Brewers fans who got stuck next to Windy City blowhard Cubs backers at Miller Park this Easter weekend are probably wishing for a fence to be installed along the Illinois/Wisconsin border---the same kind they're talking about that'll shock those evil boat-jumping carp from vaulting into Lake Michigan.

Then again, there's Regina Bakala and Georgia Thompson, who both had life-altering changes handed to them in Chicago courtrooms the past few days. They probably have better things to say about our Big Shouldered neighbors.

Bakala and her husband, David, got the news this week that they can stay in the United States after living for years amid the threat of imminent deportation. Their struggle to flee oppression and possible death in their native Congo is rife with the kind of drama and legal courtroom wrangling you'd see on "Law and Order", only these weren't actors--these were REAL PEOPLE who wanted to start a new life in a new land.

Why this country makes it so hard for people like the Bakalas to do that is the stuff for other people's blogs--folks with a rudimentary understanding of immigration law. Honest, hard-working citizens who made the effort to do the right thing shouldn't be punished because legal t's weren't dotted and i's crossed.

The Bakalas no doubt have plenty to be thankful for, including the moment of clarity that came in that Chicago federal courtroom as the clouds cleared and common sense prevailed. They also are no doubt grateful for one Sister Josephe Marie Flynn and her band of activists at St. Mary's Catholic Faith Community in Hales Corners who tirelessly worked on the behalf of the Bakalas--raising funds and spirits when both needed to be. In the interest of full disclosure, St. Mary's is my parish and I'm damn proud of those who worked so hard on the Bakala's behalf.

Then there's Georgia Thompson--the former State of Wisconsin staffer who, in the words of one Federal Appeals Court judge in Chicago, got left holding the sack.

Thompson, too, is home for Easter, after getting sprung by the court a few days ago--a relatively unprecedented move according to legal observers.

Thompson got convicted of two felony counts in connection with the awarding of a state travel contract to a Milwaukee area company--one that lavished money onto Jim Doyle and his gubernatorial campaign. Doyle got cash, the company got the contract, and Thompson got 18 months in the pokey.

That, my friends, is the textbook definition of "the sack."

And, even though she's free, Thompson's a financial mess, having to spend tens of thousands of dollars on her legal defense. Her job? Gone, although there's talk of her returning with back-pay. Reputation? Well, acquittal helps, but life may never be the same.

It was hard listening to Doyle talk about Thompson being used as a political football in the hours after the federal court's decision--mostly because he didn't say squat when the case first broke. Following her conviction in June, Thompson resigned from her state job. The Wisconsin State Journal reports, "At the time, Doyle said, "I have zero tolerance for ethical lapses in government. When public servants abuse the public's trust, they forfeit their rights to continue in the state's employ." Within hours of the reversal, the Governor apparently discovered that he had grown a set of stones in the time Thompson sat in stir, calling what happened "a terrible injustice" that turned Thompson into "a political football" which he blamed in large part on "sensationalized media reports and partisan attacks."

Want THIS guy in your foxhole?


Republicans, who wanted something...anything...to stick to Doyle during his re-election battle with Mark Green, got their chance to do the "See,-we-TOLD-you-so!" happy-dance when Thompson got sent away. They also turned her into the subject of many a Green campaign ad.

So, you say you want a career in state government?

Two women, both home for Easter, both thankful in their own ways for the turns of events this Holy Week.

Even though it's Easter and not Thanksgiving, let us use the holiday to hope for more friends like the ones that stuck by the Bakalas, fewer like those who tossed Thompson under the proverbial bus, and more court decisions like the ones out of Chicago that are letting two women get on with their lives.

Thursday, April 5, 2007

Rosie On The Grassy Knoll: Hip Prophet, or Crazy-Go-Nuts?






The recent blog about Rosie O'Donnell's 9-11 conspiracy theory generated a couple of links, one that details the seemier side of WTC 7's collapse:




...and, another with the Popular Mechanics analysis:




Read, digest, balance, and please let me know what you think.

Is Anyone Sitting In That Seat?




He gets the best seat in the house...free.


He doesn't have to worry about traffic.


For some reason, President Bush has yet to execute a key duty of his office--the tossing out of the ceremonial first pitch of the 2007 baseball season.


The hometown Washington Nationals were at R-F-K this week opening against the Florida Marlins, yet the Commander in Chief was a no-show.


The Baltimore Orioles are close by--at least to someone with helicopter access. Oh, wait--they're not home until next week. Maybe the President can do a belated first-pitch at Camden Yards.



Then again, maybe the President isn't in a baseball frame of mind--or at least, in a mood to enjoy the national past time amongst we, the unwashed.


Ticketmaster doesn't ask if you're Republican or Democrat, meaning Mr. Bush stands the risk of being exposed to a bipartisan crowd if he decides to take in a fray. And, me thinks that with approval ratings like Wisconsin temperatures this week (in the low 30's), there's a good chance he could get HIS BRAINS BOOED OUT.


He's not the first Chief Exec to bail--Bill Clinton missed his last four Opening Days, which came at the height of Monica-gate and impeachment. Ronald Reagan only did three in eight years, although he had a pretty good excuse in 1981 being on the D-L with a gunshot wound to the chest and all.


Nixon? Skipped '71 and '72 as anti-war sentiment hit a fever-pitch (get it?) and also took a pass in '74 as Watergate entered it's final innings.


Lyndon Johnson threw out his last ceremonial pitch in 1967...he was lame-duckin' by the time baseball returned to the nation's capitol in '68, having just announced his decision not to seek another term the month before.


Maybe Mr. Bush is just too darn busy to pull himself away from the massive burdens of his office to fling a sphere, down a dog, and sing "Take Me Out To The Ballgame."


The President is workin' it this week, chiding Congress about it's Iraq war funding measures, telling Senators and Representatives that they shouldn't be taking time off when our troops need the cash included in those bills. He said it's no time for Congress to be on spring break.


He then got ready to head to his ranch in Crawford, Texas, for the Easter holiday.


The President still has a chance to get his obligation in--the Astros open their home slate this weekend in Houston, while the Rangers are in Arlington.


Why do I think he'll be watching on the tube?

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Going Grassy Knoll


Is this getting any traction?

You might've heard Rosie O'Donnell's recent rant about World Trade Center Building Seven being the target of a conspiracy--that there's no way such a building could've dropped the way it did that day.

Who's behind such a plot, and for what reason? The Rose doesn't say.

Apparently, though, if you say something loudly enough and suggest that anyone who disagrees is a dolt, you go unchallenged, at least on "The View".

The only conspiracy I'm buying into for now is the one that has O'Donnell making sure she didn't bring up such a topic on a day when Barbara Walters was at the desk.

I'd love to hear what you think, and if anyone can point me to something that tells me more about this theory, I'd love to see it...I'll post what I get.

Only Funny If You Saw the Movie...


I haven't seen a gladiator movie since, well, the late '60's when I'd be at my counsin's house on a late Sunday afternoon and Channel 6 would run all the classics. My taste for such atrophied with age.
Until "300".
It's the kind of movie I never would've caught on my own, but my 16 year old son insisted we catch it (plus, he needed a parent to get under the ratings fence).
Glad I did.
It's bloody, violent, over the top, to be sure, but also very easy on the eyes with a compelling story based in fact. It's some really good movie making, and a lot of the country apparently agrees--my showing was packed and the film knocked down tens of millions in staying in the top five for several weekends.
All that said, the above fictional "300" trailer is hilarious--only if you saw the movie itself. Enjoy.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

What's Wrong With A Little Kiss Between "Friends"?

Admitting you have a problem--isn't that one of the 12 steps?


I'm addicted to one of the seemiest, most tawdry shows on television--FX's "Dirt", starring former "Friend" Courtney Cox. Seeing her play against type drew me to the show: Cox plays a kick-ass tabloid editor who says naughty words, plays with plastic, battery-operated toys and, in the season finale, KISSES JENNIFER ANISTON. I post the video here, as a public service.

Okay, it wasn't all that--Cox downplayed the scene in pre-show interviews, which I think was a huge tactical mistake.

I can't earnestly suggest you make "Dirt" a part of your life, certainly not the way I've pushed our radio crowd toward another FX offering, Denis Leary's "Rescue Me" which returns in June. "Dirt" is packed with pretty people doing tawdry, sometimes hard-to-watch things but it does have one of the tube's most compelling characters in paperazzi Don Konkey--a photog battling demons 24/7. The portrayal is gripping, and impossible to ignore. Actor Ian Hart deserves serious Emmy consideration.

I pestered people here at work about "Dirt" to the point of distraction--mostly because I couldn't believe what I was seeing and wanted to confirm it through other eyes. I found few takers, and finally became the subject of an on-air intervention, the message of which boiled down to: "Enough with the 'Dirt' already. You're watching. We aren't. Deal."

We'll find out if there are enough like-thinkers to bring "Dirt" back next year. If not, we have our memories, and select YouTube clips like the one above, to keep us warm.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

See? He Likes To Laugh, Just Like Real People Do!





Karl Rove proved that he, like any other guy in a tux at a wedding, can act a fool while dressed to the nine's the other night when he displayed his inner street during the White House Correspondent's Dinner.


Some love the man affectionately dubbed "Bush's Brain". Others see him as the poster child for all that ails the Administration.


Comedy Centrals Jon Stewart disassembles the Rove Rap:


Clean Clothes, Road Map, Lipitor: Ready For The Annual Baseball Trip!




















Baseball is runs, hits, errors.







It's E.R.A.'s, B.A.'s and S.B.'s.





In my house, it's also Erie, Pennsylvania, fried bologna sandwiches and Niagara Falls.








I devote a large portion of my life and income to America's past time--I worship Major League Baseball, own a Brewers 20 game season ticket package, possess all manner of jerseys/hats/memorabilia, and spend HOURS managing a fantasy team that brings me much aggravation and zero satisfaction.




This is the time of the year when those of us who love the game are to make our predictions, pick World Seiries winners and bloviate about what the home team's done to make itself a contender/blow it's chances before the first pitch.

The seasons blend together, but one part always stands out: the annual baseball road trip.





My son and I have yet to draw out this year's plan, but we will soon match schedules with maps and come up with an itinerary that'll take us to points unknown, seeing places that aren't traditional tourist spots, eating food no nutritionist would recommend, and having the time of our lives.




A hot dog tastes just as good on a cool, summer night in Batavia, New York as it does at Miller Park, and the story about how we got there is the relish that gives it an irreplaceable flavor. I'll never forget a sunset in Lexington, Kentucky--not because of the way a certain double play got turned as day was becoming night, but rather for the way my son sat in silhouette against the sky, scorebook in hand, as I got us a fresh round of grub.





















The people we've seen--Charleston, West Virginia's "Toast Man" who plugs his Sunbeam in amongst the box seats and cooks up loaves of Wonder Bread, to be flung to fans each time the hometown team's pitcher strikes out an opposing batter (amid cries of, "You Are Toast!").








The Buffalo, New York beertender who makes his rounds ala Dan Akroyd, talking as if there's absolutely NOTHING unusual about wearing a Conehead while slingin' suds.







The food? Everything from Louisville, Kentucky's famous "Brown Hotel Sandwich"...












...to the infamous Primanti sandwich of Pittsburgh which mates meat, fries and cole slaw between two pieces of bread--it's to die for. Then, there's the night in Covington, Kentucky when Dad decided that THIS was the evening my son needed to experience the splendor that is White Castle--he and are trotting with bag of burgers in hand in the dark of night so we could get back to the hotel in time to watch the remake of "Dawn of the Dead."






























Nashville is Jack's Barbecue--a national landmark with a genuine ambiance, intoxicating aroma, and a sauce that lingers for hours after the last bone hits the paper plate.





















We've done our share of landmarks: the arch of St. Louis, the Falls of Niagara and a few life-altering visits to Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame during which I saw my boy go from a kid who liked a few songs on the radio to an affectionado of Hendrix, Marvin Gaye, the Kinks and others. Getting your kid to LIVE history is far better than trying to inflict it on them at home with a dry book or documentary.
























Other wonders we've witnessed include the world's largest baseball bat outside the Louisville Slugger plant, and the globe's largest heads, which almost invariably plant themselves in the seat in front of me, no matter what the evening or where the ballpark.






Or, the Wally World moment we shared in Cincinnati, when he and I hit what was to be one of our ultimate destinations: a world class suburban amusement park where we'd kill the day while waiting for that night's Reds' game...only to find out that, on the last full week of August, Ohio kids GO BACK TO SCHOOL AND THE G-----N PARK WAS CLOSED!













I'll never try convincing anyone of baseball's virtues--I'm not an apostle of the game, only someone who loves and defends it at every turn. I believe you either "get" baseball, or don't. But there's nothing to "get" about travel, laughter, good food, time shared and stories that'll be told, retold and no doubt embellished as I edge closer to the nursing home and my son gets a family of his own...one that'll hopefully develop traditions onto itself, some of which I hope contain at least a smidgen of horsehide.