To all the local sports media “personalities” who are laughing at former Pitt basketball player for making himself eligible for the NBA draft only to get picked 42nd in a 60 player draft, “Kiss my ass!”. I’ve listened to everybody’s talk show, I’ve read everybody’s article on the subject and you guy’s just don’t get it. When you ask why did he leave Pitt, look in the mirror. When you lay into an 18 year old kid for a full season. When you tell him he’s not playing hard enough. When you tell him he’s not living up to his potential. When you point the finger at him personally for what you consider a disappointing season. You pretty much hand him the ink pen that he uses to sign with an agent. What would he come back to for his junior season? More criticism? You guys suck the life out of college athletics. You do it with the football team and the basketball team. I’m surprised you didn’t call the baseball team chokers for losing to Notre Dame in the Big East Championship. But , then again, maybe you didn’t realize Pitt had a baseball team. Criticize the guys that get paid . The professionals. If you have to attack the college programs, criticize the coaches and athletic directors. Don’t criticize the student athlete. Remember what you jackasses did in college . Just think if every incident you ever had on or off campus was front page news. Just think if every poor test score you posted was critiqued by the local newspaper editor.

So next time a big time talent comes to one of our local schools make him feel welcome, make him feel wanted and maybe he’ll stay and avoid the same mistake Chris Taft made.

I was perusing the Post-Gazette online and noticed that there was a concert review of Dionne Warwick’s appearance with the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra at Heinz Hall Friday night. Besides wondering why it would take three days for someone to write a review of a Dionne Warwick concert (perhaps it took that long for the writer to come out of the comatose state induced by the concert), I also wondered why anyone would care to read a concert review of a Dionne Warwick concert. I mean, really. Dionne Warwick’s career isn’t exactly on the upswing and anyone who is a big enough fan to be interested in a review of the concert probably went to said concert. Folks, there’s no gray area when it comes to Dionne Warwick—you either like her or you don’t—and the enticement of the prospect of hearing “Do You Know the Way to San Jose” with full orchestral accompaniment isn’t a big enough enticement for the anomalous fence sitters out there.

Reading about the former Psychic Friends Network pitchwoman in concert got me to thinking about concert reviews in general. What insight have I ever gained from reading a concert review really? None. If I love a band, I’ll go to the concert and don’t need to read about it since I was there. If I didn’t go to a concert, it means that I either don’t like the act enough to pay money to see them in concert or another commitment prevented me from attending. If I don’t like the band enough to go see them, I don’t need a newspaper review telling me how the concert turned out. And if I missed a concert I really wanted to attend but couldn’t because of a conflicting commitment, why would I want to read an article rubbing my nose in it by telling me how great the concert was that I missed?

Besides all of that, personal musical tastes are so varied that the subjective nature of concert reviews causes me to further question the need for them. I’ve been to concerts that I enjoyed only to read a review the next day panning the performance, causing me to wonder if the “journalist” was at the same concert that I was. Music critics have biases just like anyone else, and therefore I put little value into their analysis. If I hated Metallica (which I do), I know that I wouldn’t be capable of writing an honest Metallica concert review. (My review would be as follows: “If you like bad songs about wizards and dungeons, you were in for a real treat last night. As expected, that Lars dude didn’t wear a shirt again and got all sweaty. Also as expected, the concert sucked ass. The only purpose seeing Metallica in concert served was to remind me just how unfair life is; Stevie Ray Vaughan and John Lennon are dead and these bastards are still alive and making money to boot.”)

To be fair, concert reviews are not the only reviews found in newspapers of which I take umbrage. I find restaurant and book reviews to be one step above useless only because they may contain very basic information that will determine whether or not I will try out a restaurant or buy a particular book. Forget the commentary on the service or décor; if one of the entrees sampled is something like pork chops in a roasted garlic-infused reduction served with a raspberry and mango chutney, that is a big enough indicator to me to not try that place. And if a book review describes a story of a mystic wiccan fighting cave-dwelling wombats from the future or something about the Kennedy’s, then the chances are I’m not going to enjoy reading that novel. Otherwise, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not the writer liked the book.

Everyone’s tastes in music, literature and food are all so very different, but I suppose the sorry local newspapers have to fill the pages with something. Maybe some people find them valuable, like people who can’t think for themselves. I don’t know. But I do know one thing–Dionne Warwick is frightening.

I think I’m going to start watching TV like Elvis used to—with my Glock sitting on the table next to me. Unlike Elvis however, I’m not going to shoot the TV every time Robert Goulet’s face or name is shown or mentioned. I hold no ill will towards history’s greatest Man of La Mancha. But I swear, if I see one more story on the news about Steelers quarterback Big Ben Rottenburger riding his motorcycle without a helmet, I’m going to empty an entire magazine into the TV screen.

Over the last few months on local newscasts, I’ve seen far too many interviews from the likes of legendary NFL quarterbacks Terry Bradshaw and Joe Theisman, strongly advising Big Ben to stop riding his motorcycle. Even Bill Cowher has not been able to avoid the issue in interviews and at press conferences. Most recently, Myron Cope weighed in at the press conference announcing his retirement telling both Big Ben and Tommy Maddox, “Namely, if they still have a brain in their head, the brain God gave them, they’ll take their motorcycles to the nearest bridge and push them off — if for no other reason that they have 50-some teammates depending on them. And I don’t know that that’s ever crossed their minds.”

OK, let me get this straight. When a promising young athlete who has 50 teammates depending on him rides a motorcycle and without a helmet, he’s behaving in an irrationally risky way. It’s so crazy that countless celebrities feel the need to publicly comment on the matter and local news coverage devotes an unwarranted amount of time to the subject. But when your average slob who works as a telephone company repairman and has three young children and a wife depending on him takes his Harley out on a weekend joyride without a helmet, it’s not that big of a deal. I understand. If the average slob gets run over by a bus, there are plenty of other telephone repairmen out there and his wife can remarry. But if Big Ben dies in a fiery crash on his Fat Boy, Jerome Bettis may reconsider his decision to play for one more year and we’re all in for a series of boring-ass Sunday afternoons, not to mention possibly another 25 year wait to win a Super Bowl. That makes sense.

I’m not really clear on whether the big fuss over Big Ben is because he rides a motorcycle or because he rides one without a helmet. If riding a motorcycle without a helmet is such a terribly risky endeavor, then I welcome the public conversation and debate. But frame the conversation in the context of a public health or public safety issue, not as a single case of a daredevil quarterback with cheesy facial hair. I see no logic at all in having a law requiring automobile passengers to wear seatbelts while not requiring motorcyclists to wear helmets, but that’s the law. Big Ben isn’t breaking any laws; he’s a big boy and can make decisions on how he lives or dies. So will everyone shut up already and quit making such a big-ass deal out of Ben Rottenburger riding a freakin’ motorcycle without a freakin’ helmet?!

The biggest kicker to this whole “controversy” is that everyone is making such a big deal over Big Ben riding a motorcycle. I’ll bet a gazillion dollars that riding a motorcycle without a helmet is not the riskiest behavior a 23 year-old millionaire bachelor football star is partaking in. Yeah, Ben is most likely doing a lot of “riding,” but I’m betting that what he’s riding is a lot softer, smells a whole lot better, and has larger breasts than a Harley. Therefore, if everyone is genuinely so damned concerned about Big Ben’s well-being, maybe everyone should put their energy into convincing Ben to get his penis laminated instead of trying to convince him not to ride his motorcycle or to at least wear a helmet.

Thank ya, thank ya very much.

-Farewell Myron Cope. What will a Steeler game be without a “Yoy”, “Hum,Hah”, and “double Yoy”? I do appreciate the honesty of Steeler Executive Joe Gordon. It appears that Myron asked Joe Gordon to let him know when it’s time to hang it up. Joe obliged. Joe do me a favor and speak to Dick Enberg. Good Luck to new Steeler color analyst and Co-Go’s pitchman Joe Gordon Jr.

-Mario Lemieux needs to do a better job advertising his Celebrity Golf Tournament. I read an ad in the Weekend Magazine that invited me out to see the celebrities play. The ad pictured Dan Patrick from Espn, Carson Daly from MTV and a man who looked an awful lot like former Olympian Dwight Stones. I’ve stood at urinal troughs with a more distinguished bunch.

-Do yourself a favor and buy Dwight Yoakam “Blame the Vain” you’ll be thanking Doyle for getting the band back together after hearing the delicious “Lucky That Way”.

(This post is alternately titled “Just Another Phallic Monday.”)

The big news story over the weekend was Tom Cruise getting squirted in the face with water from a gag microphone while giving an on-the-spot interview at the “War of the Worlds” premiere in London. I don’t know why Cruise got so upset; I’m sure it wasn’t the first time he was squirted in the face by a long, shaft-like object.

West Virginia Senator Robert Byrd’s new 770 page memoir addresses his involvement in the KKK and explains that after recruiting 150 members to form a local KKK organization, he was unanimously elected “Exalted Cyclops.” Oddly enough, “Exalted Cyclops” was my nickname in high school but had nothing to do with the KKK.

A puppy with six legs and two penises was found sleeping outside a Chinese temple in a Malaysian town. Nature never ceases to amaze me—the dog was given an extra pair of legs to prop up his hind quarters when he lifts both legs to relieve himself from his two penises. Members of the temple view the dog as an omen of good fortune and have named him Ong Fatt, or the Lucky One although townspeople have taken to calling the pooch “Octopus” and “Double Trouble.