Category Archives: Media Morons

Baseball, The Worldwide Leader

Down with Dope, Up with Hype!

During Monday night’s Home Run Derby, Josh Hamilton hit some of the most impressive moon shots ever clubbed within the confines of the House that Ruth Built. And as we all know, anything accomplished at Yankee Stadium is at least 10 times more important than anything accomplished anywhere else.

The only things bigger than the home runs Hamilton hit were the lengths to which the ESPN talking heads went to praise him. You see, Josh Hamilton’s a recovering heroin addict–perhaps you heard about it when you weren’t too busy not living under a rock for the last year.

Granted, Derek Jeter wasn’t taking part in the Derby, so ESPN had to find someone else to verbally fellate. But their unblinking love of Hamilton–a man they couldn’t pick out of a lineup before the night began–was so embarrassing, it was approaching near Favre-ian levels.

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Baseball, Media Morons

Willie Randolph’s Dismissal Was Totally Unfair to Mike Lupica

lupica2.jpgEven coming from a franchise with a long history of bad personnel moves, the Willie Randolph firing really takes the cake. How could the Mets be so disrespectful as to fire their manager after three am eastern time, when I’m sound asleep?

Maybe Willie deserved to go, and maybe he didn’t. I do know one thing for certain: there was no reason to treat me this way.

If the Mets were intent on firing Randolph midseason, they had numerous opportunities to do so before Tuesday. After losing three out of four at home to the lowly Nationals. After being swept in San Diego by an even worse Padres team. Even after the Billy Wagner-assisted losses to the Diamondbacks. Any of these occasions would’ve been better times to hand Willie his pink slip. Preferably before lunch.

But canning him in the wee hours of the morning shows a disgraceful lack of regard for my schedule.

Sure, firing Willie might turn things around. It might be the wake-up call this team has needed so desperately since the collapse of last September. It might ensure more fannies in the seats when CitiField opens next year.

But did the Wilpons ever stop to think about me, having to drive into the Daily News office on two hours’ worth of sleep? No, they had no thought for anyone but themselves. Just like the inconsiderate jackasses who got into a three-car pileup on the Merrick this morning. Stop-and-go traffic from Trumbull all the way to the New England Thruway. Thanks a lot, guys.

If Mets ownership had given a second thought before bringing down the axe on Willie Randolph, maybe they should’ve spared one for their fans, who’ve been forced to suffer one indignity after another in the past year. Now, after Randolph’s ill-time, badly managed firing, the fans have to contend with yet another wound on their collective psyche.

A wound almost as deep as the one on my index finger, which I got while trying to butter an English muffin this morning. I was so tired I didn’t even know I’d cut myself until I saw the blood on my kitchen countertop. It really smarts.

Willie Randolph certainly isn’t blameless for the Mets’ struggles this year. But not enough fire has been directed at general manager Omar Minaya. He constructed a team with too many brittle veterans, one almost guaranteed to break down. He may have gotten Johan Santana, but he decimated the farm system to do so, leaving the team without serviceable backups once the inevitable injuries occurred.

He’s also the person who couldn’t wait until today to fire Willie. What’s the rush? You could’ve done it first thing in the morning California time, which would’ve been around noon back east. That would give me plenty of time to file my column and get back home before Jeopardy starts.

Instead, I have to fix a pot of coffee at four in the morning so I can stay up and wait for the stupid beat writers to call me back with their little tidbits of info from Anaheim. I hate beat writers. Think they’re so tough just ’cause they go in the locker room.

And there’s nothing to watch at four in the morning either, not even on cable. I’d pop in a DVD, but then I’d have to find the right input on the TV. My kids have, like, seven different video game systems. S-Video, HDMI–I don’t even know what those things mean.

Is Fred Wilpon going to explain to me what HDMI stands for?

Now my editor tells me he wants me to fly out to LA and cover the team in person during their hour of turmoil. So I have to cancel a golf game at Bethpage on Sunday. Bethpage! It’s easier to get a table at Momofuku than it is to get a tee time at Bethpage.

Can Fred Wilpon explain to me how I’m supposed to squash other writers’ stories from the West Coast?

This is the kind of royal screwup that can damage fans’ faith in their team. In 1977, I was fresh out of college and working as a typesetter at a small newspaper in upstate New York. It was just after midnight. We’d just finished setting the sports section, and it was ready to go to press, when news came over the wire that the Mets had traded Tom Seaver to the Reds. That move decimated the franchise for years, and they would never truly recover until the mid-1980s.

Mets fans never forgave general manager M. Donald Grant, and the team’s clueless ownership, for trading away their most beloved player. Me, I’ll never forgive Grant for forcing me to reset the entire sports section all over again. And this was back before desktop publishing, you know! I didn’t have Quark or InDesign to help me!

Maybe what this team needs isn’t a new manager, or a new GM, but new ownership. Owners that know what the fans have been through. Owners who won’t throw gasoline on a burning fire.

Owners who won’t make me have to pound Red Bull at 11 in the morning.

For all he’s done for his city, Mike Lupica deserves at least that much.

Baseball, Media Morons

John Sterling Broadcasts Live from Armageddon

sterling.jpgWe’re coming to you live from the Lowe’s Broadcast Booth. Lowe’s: Let’s build something…to-geth-ah!

You know, baseball’s a funny game, isn’t it? I mean, one second the Yankees are up by three runs, the next thing you know, someone’s broken the seventh seal and we’re in the middle of the Biblical Apocalypse! I tell you what Suzyn, the only thing you can predict about this game is that it’s unpredictable!

Of course, many of the fans have left the Stadium to flee for their lives. And some of
those who’ve stayed have been killed by these strange flying monsters that look sort of like a cross between a dragon, a monkey, and Goose Gossage. But the players here are all professionals, and they’re going to soldier on through this end of life as we know it. So if you’re listening at home in your fallout shelter, loading a shotgun and rationing out trail mix, keep that radio tuned right here!

Here’s the Captain, Derek Jeter, to lead off the fifth. The path to the batter’s box is now swirling with molten lava and demons’ blood, so he’ll have to watch his step. Remember, Robinson Cano slid into that deadly pool after a close play at the plate in the bottom of the second, so the Yanks’ bench is a little thin.

Remember, next Friday is Cap Day at the Stadium. All children 12 and under will receive a free Yankees hat, courtesy of Dunkin Donuts. Plenty of good seats still left, so if we all haven’t been roasted to death and if time itself hasn’t ceased to have any meaning whatsoever, come on down!

And Jeter takes…low for ball one. Now, if Jeter can go the opposite way and poke one into right, he may be able to leg out a double. The right fielder is not quick and does not have a good arm. Plus, it should be hard for him to judge the flight of the ball, now that the sky has turned a hideous shade of blackish red.

This weather report is brought to you by Con Edison. Well, I can’t tell the temperature, since the mercury in our thermometer has burst through the top and boiled away. But I would have to say it’s muggy today, even though the sun has been completely blotted out. So if you’re venturing out this afternoon, make sure to bring plenty of water, and an axe to stave off all of the zombies.

And the pitch is…swung on and missed, strike one. Jeter was looking fastball on that last pitch, but he just couldn’t catch up to it. He may have also been distracted by the vampires that have just swooped into left field, but I doubt it. Derek is the ultimate professional–he would never use bloodsucking corpse-things as an excuse.

Here’s the 1-and-1. DRILLED TO LEFT CENTER! THAT BALL IS HIGH! MM-IT IS FAR! MM-IT IS GAHN! El Capitan! Oh Captain, My Captain! The Captain and Tenille does it again! Captain Jack will get us high tonight!

Wait, hold on. I’m sorry, folks, it seems there was some confusion on the play. The center fielder is protesting that the ball was ingested by some sort of demon. He’s pointing at the beast right now as it hovers menacingly over the warning track. The demon has long, leathery wings and pointy ears. If I had to describe his eyes, I’d say they have a soulless look that just sends shivers down my spine. Boy, it’s Jeffrey Maier all over again!

I tell you what, you can’t predict this game at all, Suzyn! You just can’t!

What’s that, Suzyn? I can’t make out what you’re saying. Sounds like you’re saying “brains”. Oh, it seems Suzyn has been transformed into one of the bloodthirsty undead.

Well, to paraphrase the old musical Oklahoma, I’ve gone about as fur as I can go! While I look for a sharpened stick and pray for the protection of my immortal soul, this would be a good time for station identification on the Yankees Radio Network. This is Yankees baseball!