Thursday, December 6, 2007

He who dies with the most toys, still dies.


Post #34 Topic: You Beg My Pardon!

By no means am I modest. I think modesty is for the mute. If you’re good with words then why not twist your accomplishments to shed them in the most illustrious light possible? Taken one step farther, why not spin those accomplishments that are “expected” as per a reasonable person standard and make them seem, in a word, super.

To admit greatness is to acknowledge one’s shortcomings. If one were without shortcomings one would never be presented with an opportunity to improve oneself; or so I opine. And only through improvement can people reach levels of notoriety in society.

We’ve all heard the story of Michael Jordan not making his varisty basketball team until his junior year and then coming off the bench at North Carolina. Had Jordan been given a full 48 right from the get he would never have had cause to address those flaws which made him less than the perfect basketball player that he eventually became.

There’s the story of Tom Glavine who was originally drafted by Los Angeles. Not the Dodgers mind you, nor the Angels. Rather, Tom Glavine was a 9th round draft pick of the Los Angeles Kings of the NHL. A little known pesky goal-scorer by the name of Luc Robitaille was drafted several rounds later. Tom must have realized that his baseball skills were less than applicable to a the needs of a major league franchise, which in turn left him with two choices. Flounder in the depths of minor league hockey, or improve his baseball skills. Having this past year won his 300th game (with the Mets), we can deduce that Tom took his failure to make the majors as a sign that he had better make some adjustments; and adjust he did. Had he not adjusted, Tom might have been nothing more than a middle reliever, coming in to games in the 4th inning after Steve Trachsel had already given up 6 HRs, serving no purpose other than to eat innings, and eventually succumb to the pressures of steroids only to be dumped for a 4th string catcher and a collective managerial sigh of relief (Good-bye Guillermo, you shant be missed).

Being unable to presently recall any areas in which I have needed improvement in my life I shall save the Colombusesque exploration that such an inquiry would require for a later post. In the meantime, I acknowledge that I am less than perfect and that there somewhere out there is (or might be) an area in my life in which I have needed improvement (undertones of sarcasm).

YOU (yes you) should be satisfied by the mere fact that I’ve admitted that which precedes this sentence. In addition, such admission should enable you to comfortably digest the following sentence in which I plan to disclose a great great secret of the sports entertainment world: DCMSG invented P.T.I. If you paid any attention to my opening paragraph you will understand why I feel comfortable making this bold (get it?) statement. I have admitted that I have shortcomings, which necessarily permits me to boast (and gold-plate) that with which I have graced the universe (to limit my impact to earth would be ignore the water-cooler discussions going on this very moment in Uranus). Yes indeed, I invented P.T.I.

I have yet to confirm this fact with ESPN, but I’m certain that their own factual inquiry would uncover the same, and therefore I am confident that this disclosure is neither slanderous nor fraudulent.

Here children… is how it all went down, from the very beginning.

In high school I was certain that I was going to be the next Bob Costas or that Bob Costas was the predecessor to me (whichever one is sweeter). Growing up my parents never instilled the value of “sports fandom” upon me, which lead to me picking up the hobby at a later age then most of my acquaintances (friends are nuisances so I keep acquaintances). But my infatuation with the world of professional sports came, like a teenager, fast, furiously and almost unexpectedly. Pretty soon I found myself immersed in statistical analysis, trading card valuation and begging of my father for tickets to games.

So in High School, I was confident that Bob Costas would soon be introducing me at the Olympics, referring to my analysis on Real Sports and writing books about my genius. How ever was I going to let him know that I existed?

My sophomore year of high school (the following is a true story), I started a newspaper called The Sport Section where I wrote the articles, edited the articles, paid to have the articles printed (thanks for your support Mom… as soon as I start making some money I will never stop thanking you… and you too Dad) and distributed the articles to my classmates. It didn’t really bother me that most of my paid for newspapers were used for paper airplanes and as rolling papers… my thoughts were getting out there and I liked the feeling. As my readership doubled from me to me and my friend Ian I realized I needed more opinions, and began recruiting my friends to write for my paper. My selling point was that anyone who contributed could place my fine publication on their college application, which at the time was quite important… to our parents. Inviting my friends was a BIG mistake.

As is always the case, my friends soon betrayed me. Another big sports fan (and no joke, now a former friend) decided that he could do a better job running my newspaper than I could. How preposterous a thought. So I started campaigning amongst the five other writers, all my friends. On a side note, when I was in middle school I ran for school president and lost. My friends promised they all voted for me. Imagine my chagrin when I created a fake AOL screenname and chatted them only to find out that they didn’t in fact vote for me; I remain bitter to this day.

Well as in middle school, my friends apparently thought that my campaign opponent could do a better job than I could and elected my competitor to the position. As any true future politician would do I demanded a recount. The vote had to have been fixed. Either that or my competitor was sleeping with the club advisor who was responsible for tallying the votes. (Ironically and truthfully, that Male advisor was several years later arrested for having illegitimate sexual relationships with under-aged high school boys – perhaps my premonition was in fact dead on).

In a similar situation, most young gentlemen would give up their dreams and default to law-school, but not I… yet. Luckily I had a contingency plan; I was going to work for ESPN The Magazine. Secretly, all the while I had been sending copies of my newspaper to one of the editors of the magazine who had expressed his appreciation for the formidable job I was doing. Having been ousted from my own creation, I refused to return in a diminished capacity. Instead I would wait to see if the organization could survive without me, which it did. Fortunately, my persistent hounding of ESPN resulted in a summer internship in their NYC offices where I confirmed that I would one day be the world’s foremost sports journalist.

But something funny happened on the way to the L.A. Forum (Where the Lakers used to play). I realized that my vivid personality was far too vibrant to be contained within the 2 dimensional pages of newspapers and magazines. In addition, I had at an early age discovered a love for the stage, for the pressure of the lights and the jubilation of a satisfied audience. That summer my career plans matured, as I decided that I would start my own television show to be called, “The Scarsdale Sports Reporters” (E-mail me at to purchase the back-collection of Scarsdale Sports Reports, on sale for the introductory price of, $10.99 per DVD, and receive another classic episode every month for the next 7 months (at which point if you wish I will send the same episodes dubbed over in Spanish for only $29.99 – everything is funnier in Spanish)).

My plan for the TV show was simple yet revolutionary. Soon after establishing the structure of my show I discussed my plans with my then boss, the Editor-in-chief of ESPN the magazine himself. My show would be an hour long, and cover 10 sports-related topics. There would be a panel of several speakers with varying sports-backgrounds and specialties. We had a college football guy, a baseball guy, a hockey guy and a guy once so endearingly referred to as “No-Turn”. The broadcast was to have a display in the top right corner of YOUR TV screen stating the current topic, as well as the duration of that topic’s related discussion. Beneath this info bar would be listed the remaining topics of the day, listed in the order they were to appear.

The idea was simple but novel. A show that told viewers what was coming and when, that eliminated the common requirement of watching an entire show to see the one segment you were interested in seeing. With Scarsdale Sports Reporters, you would know exactly when your segment would be on, and what segments would precede it.

Needless to say my boss thought that the idea was great and more so, one that I would be foolish not to effectuate. So we effectuated; Me, H-Eisman, Jake, Ian, no-turn and various other members. We even had a trivia-babe (thank Jenny) who would end each episode by offering our dedicated public access audience with a stifling trivia question while wearing a short skirt. We even furthered gender-equality by featuring our very own Linda Cohn, only much much cuter (thanks Jen… it was Scarsdale, all girls were either named Jen, Rachel or Ali and all the guys named David or SheQWUAn). The show was a hit. We got a local rapper to do a theme song which to this day remains #1 on the all-time scarsdale theme-song billboard charts. We even had a “production guy” who turned our VHS copy into raw T.V. entertainment. Of course this required me telling him every second of the tape that should be edited out as bloopers, but nonetheless, we had a production guy. Unfortunately, as my high-school education came to an end, so did the Scarsdale Sports Reporters. However, its impact would be felt for generations and generations of fruit fly offspring (average lifespan 6 minutes).

Soon after I began production of my television show, my former ESPN boss received a promotion to Vice President of Programming for ESPN (also entirely true), where he was made responsible for the rejuvenation of ESPN’s original sports entertainment. One of the first shows my former boss introduced to the new ESPN line-up, later to become fondly known as P.T.I., was Pardon The Interruption. P.T.I. became famous for, and by no coincidence: having a display in the top right corner that stated the current topic, as well as the duration of that topic’s related discussion. Beneath that info bar was listed the remaining topics of the day, listed in the order they were to appear.

While I never received written confirmation of what I believed was beyond a reasonable doubt certain, I to this day am ABSOLUTELY POSITIVE that P.T.I. is my brainchild. That Wilbon and Kornheiser (get him off MNF… quickly!!!!!!!!) are my messengers. That ESPN is my avenue of communication, like motha-uckin star-crossed lovers or something.

So now that I’ve got you hooked on my blog, convinced of my credentials as the best in the biz, and yearning for my next post, I beg you to keep in mind that what you read on these here pages is an extension of the genius that brought you the show that helped you mourn the death of SportsCenter (another post as well). I am proud to bring you your daily dose of MISGUIDED SPORTS GENIUS, right from the fingertips of DC himself.

Other Notes

I am creating a registry for myself. I’m not getting married and my birthday is not coming up. However, I think that I am entitled to gifts from my friends. You may ask, “DCMSG, why should I buy you gifts”? Ah young apprentice, your questions indicate wisdom beyond your years, yet I assure you that there is in fact a simple and logical explanation for what would otherwise fall into the “conundrum bin”. From now on I will be ranking my friends on a bi-weekly basis. If you are interested in moving up the rankings, simply knock a gift or two off of my registry (Lizzie the Beast, 494 U.S. 323 at 496 (2007)) –See also Swizzie the MONSTER

I do not buy DVD’s unless they come from the wal-mart $5 bin. However, once I see the $5 bin, I am guaranteed to buy DVD’s which is why I own three copies of Total Recall and four Martin Short movies.

I don’t wear watches. I’m important enough to “sport” time-pieces.

Oh play me, some mountain music like grandma and grandpa, used to play.

Then I’ll float on down the river to a Cajun hideaway.

Drift away like Tom Sawyer, ride a raft with Ol’ Huck Finn.

Take a nap like Rip Van Winkle, daze dreamin again.

Quick, staring contest, you and me. YOU WIN AGAIN… you always do!

I have been listening to Puff The Magic Dragon on repeat for an hour. I tried to shut it off but Puff blew fire at me.

1 comment:

can't beat my meat said...

total times i was mentioned by name thus far: 3

i hang out with you too much