“Fred’s narcissistic death-hold on the franchise carries on because Bud Selig is allowing him to do so.”
NEW YORK, NY – Going back to the latter stages of the 19th Century and through the 1970s , the profession of “Journalist” was a noble calling. We survived the Yellow Journalism popularized by William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer that threatened to turn this proud profession into a playground for fools and irresponsible louts. When Joe McCarthy (not Short Matt’s godfather) came calling, some of this nation’s finest reporters and columnists (Bill Madden, Mike Puma, Adam Rubin’s little brother Zubin Mehta, for example) fought against his brand of tyranny and prejudice and railed against his idiotic claims and unconstitutional proceedings. Andy Martino and Bob Raismann are nobody’s idea of Woodward and Bernstein.
When Phil Pepe left the Long Island Press, there was the venerable Jack Lang to pick up the pieces. When Howie Rose bolted SportsPhone for greener pastures at WHN Radio, there was the diminutive Steve Cangialosi ready to give degenerate gamblers their updated scores every 19 seconds. The point is, journalists used to take their roles seriously. They were part of a city’s zeitgeist and the best ones used their forums to protest unfair laws, oppressive regulation and things that just didn’t make much sense. The best of them, the Breslins, the McCarthys, the Hammels, they felt an obligation to “protect” the public, their readers.
Today’s journalists? Today’s “sports journalists” or “writers?” Nope. When Saul Katz’s daughter was kidnapped by the Symbianese Liberation Army, you know who told that story? When Daryl Boston and Mackey Sasser used to pound drinks all night at Avanti on Bell Blvd, you know who told that story? Or the one about Darryl and Dykstra at Finn McCool’s?
We’ve got the worst sports family on the planet owning the Mets right now. And you know who questions them – who challenges them – who takes them to task? No one. We’ve got the most arrogant unaccountable hack named Sandy Alderson making things worse -yes, worse – running a New York baseball franchise. You know who challenges him? Who holds him accountable? Who takes him to task for habitually lying, double talk and outright incompetence? No one. Which brings me to the man-child who IS responsible for all of this crap…
Alan “Bud” Selig. As Commissioner of Baseball, Bud is preoccupied with growing and preserving his “legacy.” Bud nearly decapitated himself in the 90s turning and looking the other way so much while 85% of the Sport Roided away with his tacit approval, yet he is now consumed with eradicating the Sport of all PEDs. That won’t ever happen. You have no legacy Bud! You having the word “legacy” next to your name is like Jeffy Wilpon having “COO” or “expertly coiffed” next to his.
We’re all tired of the steroid talk. We know who’s using, we know the cheaters and no 11th hour attempt to preserve his “legacy” is going to change that.
The problem is, Bud’s enabling of the Wilpon/Katz/Madoff cabal has decimated the last shred of credibility that Bud had. He has shown blind loyalty to a couple of felons who should be serving time-rather than hosting an All-Star Game. Fred’s narcissistic death-hold on the franchise carries on because Bud Selig is allowing him to do so. That is far more egregious than the hackneyed steroid problem he now chases futilely. If Bud really wanted a “legacy” he would CANCEL this year’s All Star Game because having the term “All-Star” next to the name “Wilpon” is like serving Bologna with mayo on white bread to my Mom in Delray.
Fake Sandy Alderson, out. Tune in tomorrow for Cookie’s Corner.
