J. Starr's Forced Media Embargo

So, I've finished my first week back at college in nine years. Yay me. Unfortunately, there's some collateral damage. Namely, my sports media "research" opportunities have dwindled pitifully.

I had a nice routine happening, shows that I found worthwhile and others not so much. Now that my days are spent enjoying a class on American Media and Cultural Institutions (Dr. Bob Pondillo is a pimp among professors, straight up) and being forced to endure ones on biology and "The Experience of Literature," (fuck off, I've been ordered to read "A Rose for Emily" FOUR TIMES NOW, find some new material) it's made me a bit nostalgic for the old media blitz. So, if I may, a brief discussion of the drill.

7:05 AM--"Mike and Mike in the Morning"
After seeing the wife off to work, it'd be onto the computer to look for work and write whilst Mike and Mike provided background. Honestly, I find these guys pleasant enough, even if they are the typical "fat guy/skinny guy" caricatures that are usually prevalent in our sporting discourse.

The funny thing is that, for a skinny metrosexual, Mike Greenberg is almost always portrayed as a guy with very remedial social skills who can't understand why people get up in arms when he does stupid shit. A recent discussion on cell-phone etiquette served as a prime example.

Greeny and another Little League parent were showing each other pictures of their children, and he simply takes it upon himself to begin rifling through the rest of the pics on her phone. And he was aghast that anyone would take offense to this.

Seriously?

I don't take pictures with my phone. (I barely have enough people willing to talk to me to bother MAKING CALLS with my phone, but that's another story.) If I did, however, I think I'd be making it very clear if I was allowing someone unfettered access to look at whatever they wanted. You'd think that it'd be the "fat oaf," Golic, who'd be this socially retarded, but no. Golic seems to have a little bit of a clue on how to deal with people.

You may be asking, what does this have to do with sports? The answer is, not much, and that's the big downfall of this show. Lots of times, discussions like this drag on for half an hour and recur throughout the show, especially on slow news days (which, these days at ESPN, are code for "Brett Favre hasn't taken his morning dump yet").

I used to listen to Mike and Mike until their signoff at 9 Central, until I found something else to enjoy starting at 8.


8:00 AM--The Dan Patrick Show
What really kicked off my interest in posting on this today was a phone call to 104.5 The Zone, the local sports station here in the Nashville area. The caller was telling Mark and Kevin, two of the three morning hosts (along with ex-Titan TE Frank Wycheck...more on him in a moment), that the Zone needed to dump Dan Patrick, whose show airs on a one-hour delay right after the Wakeup Zone. The caller called Dan "self-absorbed," which he may very well be. Never met him, can't testify.

But, honestly, Dan's show is exactly the kind of show I would love to do for a living. It's an ensemble piece. It's much more of a discussion between Dan and his staff (or the "Dan-ettes," as they're called by the boss). Three hours of one schmuck airing his opinions and rants gets boring really fast, especially if he wants to rehash the old stuff for people just tuning in. The back-and-forth between Dan, Seton, Paulie, Fritzy, and McLovin is occasionally thought-provoking and frequently funny.

That's the fun part about sports talk, being able to cut up with friends and co-workers and air divergent opinions without anyone taking it as a personal affront. Radio seems like a much easier medium on which to do that than the Internet, which serves as a haven for angry trolls emboldened by the anonymity of the keyboard. EWB and Bleacher Report, the other places on which I've talked sports, are essentially worthless, because most have hard-ons for their specific teams, and Lord help anyone with dissenting opinions.

And if you have DirecTV, by all means, get on The 101 and check out the new TV simulcast, especially during a commercial break. The recent day where Brooklyn Decker was in studio with the guys was well worth the price of admission, both for her sheer hotness and the obvious nervousness of the Dan-ettes.

(Oh, and back to Wycheck for a second. Great player...veeeeeeeeeeery iffy broadcaster. I heard him try to read a promo yesterday, and I seriously had to ask if he was drunk, he was stuttering so damn much. And today, not on the show. Hmmmm....)


12:00 PM--The Jim Rome Show
Usually, I'd only catch Rome if I was driving around and was listening to the Zone. And occasionally, he'd drive me to put on a CD.

I've discussed Rome before, and he's the guy I meant when I said that one guy talking to himself for three hours gets boring. His show is to radio what "Night at the Roxbury" and "The Ladies' Man" were to movies. A few minutes' worth of good material streeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetched out to multiple hours.

And if Patrick is some of what is good about talk radio, Rome is a lot of what's bad about it. Much of the show is him reading e-mails and fielding phone calls from people who only want to complain. Ripping on players, coaches, other fans, other Rome callers and e-mailers, it's all fair game, and Rome won't let you on if you don't have something to bitch about. If you think sports talk radio is totally populated by angry trolls who'd rather kill the opposing team's quarterback than put their kids through college, you won't find much to refute that claim here.

Just today, Rome spent a good fifteen minutes reacting to an e-mail from an angry Detroiter who wanted to call Steve Perry (yes, Steve Perry of Journey) a "jackhole" for using the term "South Detroit" in the song "Don't Stop Believin'." Apparently, no one in "the D" uses the term "South Detroit," unless they're talking about Windsor, Ontario.

Granted, I agree with Rome for defending Perry, who's got one of the most bad-ass voices in music history. Detroit was getting big-upped in song, get over it. I was born in Lafayette, Indiana, and the closest we ever got to being name-checked was when my fellow Lafayette native Axl Rose compared the town to Auschwitz in an interview. Besides, Detroit's been relevant for two things in the last century: Motown and cars. Berry Gordy yanked Motown to L.A. in 1972, and the auto industry's on welfare. Just sayin'.

These are the kinds of people who get time in "The Jungle." These are Rome's people. Scary.


3:30 PM--Jim Rome is Burning, ESPN
If Rome's radio show is the "Ladies' Man" movie, his TV show is the original skit. Tight, focused, to the point, and still opinionated without being hateful.

Rome's not going as full-frontal snark on people as he once did to one Jim Everett (see picture above), and his interviewing, both on radio and TV, is better for it. Here, he lets the guests have as much say as they can in the time available. He usually has commentators on The Forum who have interesting takes (and also entertaining loons like Vincent Thomas), and during his Burns, he says what he needs to say and gets out, without feeling the need to fill three hours repeating everything at least thrice.


4:00 PM--Around the Horn, ESPN
I want Tony Reali's job. Seriously.

He gets paid to be a douche to a bunch of pompous sportswriters. Now, if someone would please remind Woody Paige that he is, in fact, not Gallagher, the show would be even more watchable.

From some articles I've read, it seems that back in its early Max Kellerman-hosted days, ATH had a bit more in the way of "intellectual" discussion, or what passes for it in the sports realm. I could dig that, but somehow I doubt ESPN will let many programs veer that way anymore. Well, unless they're hosted by Jeremy Schaap or Bob Ley.

4:30 PM--Pardon the Interruption
I love PTI's format. Covers a lot of topics, and doesn't linger on any one long enough to run it into the ground. When Mike and Tony are on together (which seems to happen about 23 times per year lately), you get a great rapport between the two.

The one nag that I have is that their ever-more-frequent guest hosts veer toward the older-than-Kornheiser demographic (Bob Ryan) or the terminally buffoonish (Dan LeRetard). Are there no sportswriters under the age of 50 who can put opinions together without seeming like they're auditioning for a sitcom?

Actually, that's a serious question. Sometimes it seems like ATH could use some too. Well, except Kevin Blackistone. He's the man.


Classes eat my morning, actual studying eats my afternoons. But, as I post this, maybe I can go catch ATH and see if Plaschke's on there to big up everything Los Angeles. Excuse me.

A steroid policy with some teeth?

Some of the reactions to Manny Ramirez's suspension for steroids went way beyond the rational. (See Bill Plaschke calling for everything but Manny's head on a pike...and this WAS the rational version. His totally losing his shit on Around the Horn seems to have disappeared into the ether.) But, honestly, are we past being annoyed with it yet? Do we just kind of shrug and simply adjust our hopes for our favorite teams (or our fantasy teams for that matter) and factor these guys out as if they'd suffered some minor rotator cuff problem? It's a difficult situation to get a good read on because everyone has an excuse. I thought it was arthritis balm...my trainer said it was good for me...I wanted my own pair of knockers to play with and not get slapped...I wanted to see if I could become Octodad...excuses all over the place.

Now, people who follow baseball seem to be divided into three camps: the Chicken Little "send them to the ovens" purists, the "why, God, why?" hand-wringing purists, or the "eh, what the hell else's new?" realists. And to be honest, I can't slot myself completely into one or the other. I guess my position would fall somewhere between Camp 1 and Camp 3. I can't really hammer Mike Schmidt for his use of greenies or Gaylord Perry for his use of the spitball, so why would I want to hammer Barry Bonds for using the cream and the clear? To be honest, my main anger at steroid users isn't that they're tainting the game, it's that they're overshadowing the games. Alex Rodriguez's confession owned spring training. The entire NL West race is now being viewed exclusively through the prism of Manny's absence from the Dodger lineup. Even when it's not the story, it's the story. Fringe players like Juan Salas or Ryan Jorgensen getting suspended isn't greeted with gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands. It really only becomes an "epidemic" when it's big-name veteran players getting the hammer brought down on them, and then you can't get away from it.

But is it really that hard a hit for a guy like Manny Ramirez? Examining his month-by-month splits shows us that he's already a better hitter in September than he is in May. How's he going to be this year, when he doesn't even have to worry about playing these essentially meaningless games in May? If the Dodgers are anywhere close to the division lead come Roster Expansion Day (and unless they all suddenly start playing like St. Mary's School for Blind Double Amputees, their odds are looking solid so far), they may very well sit back and coast while Manny clocks everything he sees into greater downtown Mannywood (which will be enthusiastically, if quietly, reopened if he's batting .350 through August, I have no doubt).

To put some real teeth into the steroid policy, I have two options. One of them will send most of you into chucklefits because, and I'll be perfectly honest, it's off the wall. The other one is a little more rational. And as a bonus, Proposition #2 could actually HELP the intrigue and storylines of the game, which are usually lacking through summertime, when the contenders are puttering around and wasting time with the already-mathematically-eliminated Pirates and Nationals.

Going out of order, Proposition #2 is this: defer the suspensions. Suspending Manny in May is like sending the man on an unpaid vacation. And let's face it, unless he's taking financial advice rather than hitting advice from Tony Gwynn, it's doubtful you're going to be seeing Manny behind the counter at Del Taco for some extra coin anytime soon. (Although, with Manny, we really do never know, do we?) But, where's the harm in making a 50-game suspension equal the LAST 50 games of the season? The ones that make players legends, give fans ulcers, and get managers fired? The interest in those dog-day games in June and July take on a little more meaning for a team and a fanbase that knows its engine is about to blow its biggest cylinder in mid-August. And if the pennant race is hot, just think how guys like Matt Kemp and Andre Ethier would feel if they were suddenly seeing those fewer pitches to hit and those fewer baserunners ahead of them, all because their dreadlocked security blanket was conducting fertility experiments? Making it hurt the team when they can least afford it will make teams that much more vigilant, which would in turn add an extra layer of scrutiny for players in addition to the already-heightened focus from Major League Baseball.

Now for Prop #1, which will either curl your toes and set your pubes on fire or make you nod your head enthusiastically. Since the big-name players are the ones who tend to overshadow the game when their wrongdoings are brought to light, and they're also the ones who tend to be banking the most money, one would surmise that they would have the most to lose, correct? Sure, there's the Hall of Fame, but when the shrine to this most statistic-obsessed game bars its doors to its all-time leaders in hits AND home runs, as well as what will surely be one of the game's last 350-win pitchers, it seems like Cooperstown takes more of an integrity hit in the long run than any of the offending players. The secret here is to make players stare down the barrel of a VERY big gun. 50 games in May is a vacation, as stated above. If you want to really make players decide that no enhancement in performance comes with ACCEPTABLE risk, the solution is radical, yet powerful: a salary-based suspension scale. I know, I know, it'll never happen. If Don Fehr and the rest of the players' union had their way, murder, rape, and Satanic sacrifice of small woodland creatures in the on-deck pentagram, er, circle, wouldn't be grounds for even a benching, let alone a suspension. Like I said, this one's out there. But think about it. For Manny, who's making $25M for this season, 50 games costs about $7.65M. Now, ponder this: would you be more cautious about using everything your doctor prescribed if you had to stare at an extra 10 games for each million in your annual salary? Adding that multiplier to the existing 50 games, Manny would (Mannywood? Yes, Manny would), in my MLB, be staring at a 300-game suspension. That's a month shy of TWO FULL SEASONS, boys and girls. Crazy? Probably. Fair? Ye gods, no. But I'll be damned if it wouldn't have every player in baseball snapping to attention and understanding that there'd really be no room to even consider screwing with the system. The bigger your paycheck, the bigger of a name you likely are within the game, and by that standard, the bigger the impact your being busted has on the public perception of said game. Juan Salas getting nailed doesn't make everyone cry about how tainted baseball is. Manny Ramirez getting nailed does. And if anyone would be stupid enough to dance in front of that train, they'd deserve everything they got.

I'll continue on the steroid track next time with a man-by-man discussion of the prominent figures in the Steroid Era, and who I would and wouldn't allow into the Hall of Fame...and while doing so, I'll invoke the name of the man, the myth, the legend...Rob Deer.

Peace and be wild.