Tag Archives: mike lupica

Six Degrees of Slanderous Separation with Mike Lupica

lupica2.jpgDespite being jaded and cynical about The Ways of the World, I still manage to surprise myself with my naive ability to be appalled. This happened on Sunday as I read Mike Lupica’s rambling, borderline slanderous column in the Daily News about Jose Reyes. In it, he puts a bunch of dots on the same page as “Reyes”, “hyperthyroid issue”, and “HGH”, expecting you to connect the three without ever explicitly saying so.

It was a Fox News-ian tactic: say an extremely controversial thing that will play well with your core audience, but say it in such a way that allows you to deny (technically) saying it when the other side gets its feathers ruffled. Except that in the world of sports “journalism”, you can write such things and not face any consequences for actions that would result in censure in virtually any other arm of the fourth estate.

Here’s a few choice quotes designed to sow doubt in readers’ minds:

Reyes says he told the feds he didn’t get human growth hormone from a Canadian doctor named Tony Galea, often regarded as a patron saint of HGH.

Yes, I remember when the Pope officially canonized him as such last year. Galea is under investigation for HGH distribution, but I don’t think that makes him the “patron saint” of the shadowy substance any more than I’m the patron saint of Cheez-Its because I can’t stop eating them. (Though I would totally accept the position were it offered to me, or existed.)

[J]ust because Reyes now has a problem with his thyroid gland, and is in New York City for sophisticated testing on it, does not mean those problems were caused by any kind of synthetic drug in his system.

Although the tone of my article, and this snotty sentence, indicates I totally believe they were.

Nobody should be surprised that people are looking to draw a line from Galea to what showed up in Reyes’ blood tests.

I’m not surprised that people make such assumptions in blog comment sections or on sports radio. This morning, I heard the douchetacular Craig Carton scream at a doctor who dared suggest there wasn’t enough evidence to make this logical leap. But I am surprised that such accusations–which have no shred of evidence to support them–are given credence in a major newspaper like the Daily News.

Is there a way human growth hormone could have contributed to Reyes’ thyroid problems? There are doctors who think so. Would they ever say HGH definitely caused Reyes’ problems? No, they would not.

No, they would not say that because diagnosing a person you’ve never treated and revealing that diagnosis publicly would be a total violation of everything you learn from day one in medical school.

“Good medicine is about eliminating possible causes,” Dr. Lewis Maharam – a doctor of sports medicine who has made sense about performance-enhancing drugs for years – said yesterday. “It’s about differentials, making a list of possibilities and then eliminating them one by one. But there is a possibility that human growth hormone could cause a spike of thyroid hormone levels.”

There’s also a possibility that it could give you the ability to fly or learn ancient Sanskrit or grow  an extra set of arms. These things are all highly unlikely, but there’s no reason to think they’re impossible, right?

The negative side effects of HGH use aren’t well known, because HGH isn’t legitimately prescribed often, and most of its use is confined to the murky underworld of performance enhancing drugs, where users are reluctant to participate in clinical trials. So hell, why not say it could cause your hands to turn into saltines? You can’t definitively say it doesn’t do that, can you? I rest my case.

Also, Dr. Maharam “has made sense about performance-enhancing drugs for years”–I didn’t know you could specialize in Making Sense. Is that a lucrative practice? Is it any more lucrative than badgering Tiger Woods, which he also seems to specialize in?

Lupica closes out his piece by unfavorably comparing Reyes to Jimmy Rollins and Derek Jeter. He notes that Reyes played only 36 games last year and Jeter has never played fewer than 119. He fails to mention that Rollins had a terrible year last season. He also doesn’t mention that from 2005 through 2008, Reyes played at least 153 games every year, and played 160 games twice (something Captain Intangibles has never done). Because all of these facts would not jive with the well-established narrative of Jose Reyes as malingerer and malcontent and–now added to the pile–drug cheater.

I don’t think Lupica has anything against Reyes, necessarily. This is not an attempt to railroad him so much as it is an attempt to stir up controversy and sell some more papers/get some more page hits (which I am indirectly contributing to, I suppose). And in the grand scheme of things, writing a shitty, wildly speculative column on Reyes is pretty low on Lupica’s list of offenses.

For instance, he was directly responsible for driving Mark Kriegel and Lisa Olson away from the Daily News, all of them for petty personal reasons. He loves to insert himself into the news as much as possible, as he did during last year’s U.S. Open. He is, by multiple accounts, a miserable prick who lives to throw his weight around.

He’s risen to the heights of the sportswriting world, yet is still apparently haunted by jealousy and a fear of being outshone. What could possibly cause a man to behave in such a manner? I have no idea what personal demons Lupica may have within him, but I don’t think you can eliminate HGH use from the equation.

I have absolutely no evidence that Lupica has used HGH. And I also have absolutely no idea if HGH could even cause such emotional neediness. But I don’t have any evidence to refute these things either, do I? Lupica painted Reyes guilty by association on evidence just as flimsy, so I see no reason why I can’t do the same.

The New York Douchebag Sportswriters Guild Decrees Eric Mangini’s Fate

lupica.jpgAs chairman of the New York Douchebag Sportswriters’ Guild, I, Mike Lupica, call this meeting to order. First item of business, all praise and worship be due to Gorlaqk the Dread.

MurrayChass.jpgHail Gorlaqk!

lupica.jpgIndeed, Murray Chass. Second item of business, it looks like Eric Mangini might have a job interview with the Cleveland Browns. Do we think this is the next best move for him? The floor recognizes Phil Mushnick.
mushnick.jpgNo. Not only did he lead the Jets to a disastrous end, but he didn’t heed a word of our invaluable advice!
lupica.jpg
Shall we cut him any slack because that advice varied wildly among all of us from minute to minute?

MurrayChass.jpgSurely you jest! There is only one honorable thing for Mangini to do: take his own life.

raissman.jpgMy mustache and I agree. To go on living would do nothing but bring shame upon his ancestors. It would also make it seem as if our pointed barbs did no damage to his fragile psyche–which surely cannot be true!

lupica.jpgI concur, Bob Raissman. So we’re agreed that Eric Mangini can only truly find peace in the icy grip of the grave. The question follows: What would be the best method?

Continue reading The New York Douchebag Sportswriters Guild Decrees Eric Mangini’s Fate

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.