Sometime in early January 2007, I woke up at the crack of 10:17 AM. I put on my slippers and threw on my Slanket. I asked my servant to fetch the mail for me, and as he bowed and scraped his way back into my palatial efficiency, my face lit up.
Like Rick Majerus sucking down an Ol' 96er, I grabbed my copy of the New Yorker from my servant's calloused hands
On the way home from a small get together for the Super Bowl, I was tuned in to Westwood One's post-game coverage. Lo and behold, there was a voice that I had not heard in quite some time, a voice of disdain, smugness, and holier-than-thou all rolled into one tight and wiry package of brooding passive-aggressive behavior.
Yes, Jim Gray was back amongst the living of broadcasters. I always marveled at his
I am still crippled with depression over the MNC. So this is my attempt at catharsis;