Southwest Florida is a place many autoworkers go to retire, and also where the Red Sox spring eternal. The tee shirt of choice this season is something titled “Life is Crap”, with various examples of misfortune sketched on the shirt. The sentiment is more than just a recession-era moniker, or a spoof of “Life is Good”, for at the end of an American life many elder Floridians seem to be bitter at best, and resentful at worst. Much about life has recently lost its meaning; money, politics, religion, the press and now baseball. Yes, Spring is almost here, but will the steroid-addled national pastime go the way of UAW symbol Clint Eastwood in “Gran Torino”?
A long time ago, there used to be a difference between talk radio and tv talk. No more. Now talk radio is tv, especially in news, and now in sports, and especially on cable here in Boston. Sure, the local news ain’t what it used to be, but now the haloed ground of sports journalism is sliding in the wrong direction too…screaming conversations on local tv sports shows should go back on the radio where they belong, where at least, mercifully, the blowhards aren’t reinforced by what they look like on tv. Or to put it another way, Rush Limbaugh is fun to listen to, but don’t make us watch him too.
The Grammy’s are the World Series of Music, and a hopeful crossroads for politics, business and sport. The spectacular show on Sunday night, in Los Angeles, was a multicultural and multipolitical event for all the right reasons. Unlike the absurd and often sadistic movie industry-soon to be on display at the Academy Awards-or the culture of endless criticism in politics and sport, the business of music put on a display of integrated styles, personalities, ages, and the totality of the industry was better served for it. The music was earnest in all it’s forms, and connected to the lives and emotions of the fans supporting the industry-something to remember as no Republican can seem to side with Obama and the baseball world prepares to crucify one of it’s own, Alex Rodriguez.
Here we are in the middle of a very serious economic crisis, but you wouldn’t know it from the front lines of business activity-the Super Bowl commercials. The common theme and tone throughout the ads was absurdity and outrageousness-in that sense very much in step with the trillion-ka-jillion economic stimulus (or is it crisis) plan? Still, Madison Avenue can expect an admonishment from the White House, because conspicuous commercials beget conspicuous consumption (we’re only as thrifty as our Super Bowl ads tell us to be!). Only the one-second Miller Beer ad got it right, affording the company pitchman to just yell out “High Life”…
Familiarity does not breed contract... There is barely a peep regarding a long term contract for Jonathan Papelbon. Too bad. He is more than a good player. He is a great player. A pressure performer and stud pitcher, and Papelbon is fun-which counts for something, especially to the paying fans at Fenway where he is lustily cheered and has deservedly become a 9th inning institution for the Red Sox. But familiarity breeds contempt, among some fans and management. The team blithely signs unknown quantity John Lackey to a $70M deal it could have given to known quantity Papelbon. Josh Beckett gets handed an even better deal and is arguably only the third best pitcher on the staff behind Lester and Bucholtz. Other older players such as Big Papi and JD Drew may be coming off the books soon, and that money should go to retain one of the most popular, clutch and great pitchers of recent Red Sox history.
Careful Mr. Henry, or he’ll put on the pinstripes and take Mariano’s place!
(0)