It’s been a long week so with your permission, I’d like to rant for a bit. Can you please tell why the Emmy’s are recognizing reality shows as pillars of small screen excellence? What level of excellence does a reality show actually reach during its given shelf life? What’s next, the Emmy panel starts nominating any who can walk and talk in front of a camera successfully? What is it with this trend of stripping everything down to its lowest point? We have Shakespeare to go and books written for people who can just about spell their own names. Everyday people refrain about the lost generation that doesn’t take an interest in reading and then we reduce the art of enjoying a book to something akin to ordering a meal ala carte on line. Nominating Ryan Seacrest for an Emmy is like having Miley Cyrus perform at the Met. Not to be besmirch the merits of the most quaffed metro sexual of our time, but does anyone really marvel at Ryan Seacrest and his broadcasting excellence when he’s introducing the next cater walling karaoke singer on “American Idol?” The Emmy’s are essentially bestowing an award on Ryan Seacrest for a being cognitive pitch man.
If you haven’t heard, people are up in arms about Rolling Stone editor Jann Werner putting one of the Boston Marathon bombers on the cover in lieu of a piece about how this particular young man came to carry out acts of terror in Boston. Let me say this. Rolling Stone is simply trying to make sense of why this young did what he did. Rolling Stone is simply putting a name with a face; they’re simply giving you the who and the why. It’s not like they’re defending this young man’s deadly course of action. It’s called Journalism and Journalism is about reporting on what’s topical for the purpose of enlightening a given audience. Those people who are running around accusing Rolling Stone of milking a tragedy for headlines and a bump in readership have obviously been asleep for the past month or so. This tragedy became a catch phrase and a t shirt and god knows what else in the days after it went down and you know what? Everyone on the eastern seaboard and across the nation ate it up with a spoon. Yet, Rolling Stone is suddenly the one with the agenda? How many times did MLB, in the days after the tragedy, stock their website with stories about “Boston Strong.” Rolling Stone suddenly has the agenda but there wasn’t five minutes that went by when some sporting team in Boston wasn’t using the Boston Marathon tragedy as a bumper stick of some sort or a rallying cry of some sort.
Finally……. I want to call out Yankee fans. You have the nerve to call up talk radio in New York and complain because your team isn’t winning the division. You ingrates were given a billion dollar palace to enjoy your beloved Yankees in and what do I see when yet another game Yankee game is shoved down my pie hole in my home market of Chicago? I see empty seats. Yankee fans don’t have any reason to be apathetic; it’s absurd I tell you. Look at what you have Yankee nation. You have a multibillion dollar palace with every amenity you could ever want. You have an ownership group that spends obscene amounts of money in the name of winning championships and yet you ingrates stay home. I’m a Cub fan, why don’t you live my baseball existence for awhile. My team has won’t a championship since electricity was invented and I get to watch games with a concrete slab in front of my line of sight. Yankee nation, you’ve had guys like Sabathia and Jackson and Petite walk through your hallowed baseball halls over the years. You know who I grew up watching in Cub land? I grew up watching Candy Maldonado and Jeff Blauser and Dave Smith and the human torch known as Mel Rojas. You’ve watched October baseball with nothing buy joy over in Yankee land. Me? I got to watch my team blow a trip to the World Series…… TWICE. Your former owner was a tiger and a capitalist at heart. You know who ran my ball club for x amount of years, a soul less corporate entity called Tribune Company. Before Tribune Company my Cubs were run by a frugal business magnet named PK Wrigley who didn’t know a damn thing about baseball. My team couldn’t even play night games until 1988. Why? Because the financial albatross aka Wrigley Field had no friggin lights in it until that time. You have a second generation Steinbrenner running your team. You know who Bud Selig sold my team to after some Gordon Gecko wanna be became owner and bankrupted the parent company? He sold my team to Fredo from the Godfather. Resist Tyranny!!! Toot!!! Toot!!!!
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