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  • Bye bye, Bret

    December 5, 2012
    Badgers

    I was finishing my blog for today yesterday, and then I saw news that must have been made up: Wisconsin football coach Bret Bielema is leaving to become the head coach at Arkansas.

    The Wisconsin State Journal’s Tom Mulhern and Andy Baggot report:

    Some of the people closest to Bret Bielema had absolutely no idea before the news broke on Tuesday afternoon that the University of Wisconsin football coach was leaving for Arkansas.

    The news stunned not only Badgers fans but several people in Bielema’s inner circle. …

    One person close to Bielema used the word “blindsided” to describe the reaction of people inside the UW athletic department to the coach’s departure.

    That’s a good description, although the number of Badger fans really upset about Bielema’s departure appears to be a minority.

    Why is that?  Bielema was 68–24, with three Big Ten titles, most recently Saturday, and three consecutive Rose Bowl berths, including Jan. 1. That’s something no Badger coach has ever accomplished, including his boss, Barry Alvarez. (Yes,  Bielema lost two, but losing the Rose Bowl is better than not getting to the Rose Bowl.) The last coach to accomplish three consecutive trips to Pasadena was Michigan’s Bo Schembechler. Camp Randall Stadium is full, and the Badgers regularly send players to the NFL, including, as Packer and Bear fans know, last year’s quarterback, Russell Wilson.

    The Capital Times’ Paul Fanlund explains from a season-ticket-holder’s perspective why Bielema’s departure isn’t of the level of, say, Vince Lombardi’s leaving Green Bay:

    Consider this contrast: Former coach and current Athletic Director Barry Alvarez not only resurrected an awful program two decades ago, but he routinely seemed to make excellent adjustments during games and excelled, when given time to prepare, at winning the biggest games, as he did in three Rose Bowls.

    Not so Bielema.

    His in-game decisions often seemed to perplex many fans I know. It is not just the fact that he lost the last two Rose Bowl games, but that he seemed to be outcoached each time.

    To wit:

    In the Rose Bowl against TCU two years ago, the Badgers reached about the 30-yard-line with a half minute left in the first half and, instead of taking a shot to get it deeper or even score a touchdown, Bielema inexplicably let the clock run down and UW missed a long field goal attempt.

    Then, late in the game, down by 8 points, he seemed in no rush to get his offense down the field. UW eventually scored, but consumed most of the clock. When the 2-point conversion failed, they were left to try a futile onside kick.

    Last season, there was the sense among some fans that the Badgers underperformed with a once-in-a-lifetime talent at quarterback in Russell Wilson. UW lost two Big Ten games on late-game Hail Mary passes (Michigan State and Ohio State), possibly costing Wisconsin a shot at a national title.

    Later, in the rematch against Michigan State in the Big Ten title game at Indianapolis, the Badgers could have sealed the victory with a late first down. Instead of trusting Wilson, now an emerging NFL star, to roll out and either run or pass, the Badgers tried a slow-developing sweep, came up short, and were forced to punt. …

    And then there are the three losses in overtime this season.

    To be fair to Bielema, he doesn’t make the offensive play calls; former offensive coordinator Paul Chryst did and current offensive coordinator Matt Canada does. (More about Chryst later.) But as the head coach, Bielema is responsible for them, and he is responsible for clock management, whether good or bad. On the other hand, Fanlund appears to have selective memory about the conservative nature of Alvarez’s teams. The last UW coach to miss a bowl game entirely was Alvarez.

    Some would argue Badger football fans have become spoiled. There is probably an element of that. On the other hand, when you consider the major investment buying UW football tickets now entails (including the mandatory–voluntary contribution to keep your seats where they are), long-time football fans probably feel entitled to feel entitled.

    I wonder myself what the hell Bielema is thinking. Yes, he’s reportedly getting a pay raise from $2.2 million to $4 million. But if Bielema’s critics are correct that he’s an overrated coach, he’s going to get his clock cleaned in the Southeastern Conference, which is better than the Big Ten, or T1e2n, or whatever number it not is. (I’m predicting Bielema will be looking for a new job within five years, in part because I doubt Arkansas can compete with the SEC’s Alabama, Georgia, LSU or Florida.)

    Fanlund and numerous other critics notwithstanding, UW was just fine with Bielema’s work because of one number — each home game’s attendance at Camp Randall. Even though UW generates much more revenue from athletics than it did (thanks to former athletic director Pat Richter and former chancellor Donna Shalala), if football gets a cold, every other UW sport gets the shakes. Camp Randall generates revenue, but not if people aren’t going to games.

    Wisconsin has a, shall we say, interesting history in pursuing football coaches. In 1966, UW interviewed Schembechler,  then coach at Miami of Ohio. Schembechler picks up the tale from beyond the grave:

    After we won our conference title in my third and fourth seasons at Miami–1965 & 1966–Wisconsin called. From the outside, it seemed like a pretty good job. Wisconsin’s a good school in a great league. It was about ten o’clock on a Sunday when I walk into this meeting room to face twenty guys sitting around–and some board member falls asleep, right there in front of me! Now what does that tell you?

    They also had a student on the committee, and this kid asks me how I would handle Clem Turner, a Cincinnati kid, who was always in trouble. Well, how the heck do I know how I would handle Clem Turner? I’ve never met him! And that’s exactly what I told that kid. But I’m thinking, Who the hell’s running this show?

    The whole thing lasted maybe forty minutes, and the second I was out that door I walked to the nearest pay phone and called Ivy Williamson, the Wisconsin athletic director, and told him to withdraw my name from consideration.

    Former Badger quarterback John Coatta got the job. A 23-game winless streak followed. Coatta was replaced by UCLA assistant John Jardine, who had only one winning season, but was one of the biggest UW boosters you’d ever see after his resignation.

    Jardine was replaced by Ball State coach Dave McClain, who had four consecutive winning seasons and three bowl berths. McClain’s 1986 team looked to be quite good, but McClain didn’t live to see it, dying of a heart attack two days after the spring game. McClain’s interim replacement, Jim Hilles, went 3–9.

    Hilles was one of the five candidates to replace, well, himself after the 1986 season. The other four were West Virginia coach Don Nehlen (whose Mountaineers lost to Notre Dame the year of the Fighting Irish’s last title), Northwestern coach Francis Peay (who had beaten Wisconsin in McClain’s last season), Wyoming coach Dennis Erickson (who had beaten Wisconsin in Madison in 1986, and who would go on to win a national title at Miami of Florida), and Tulsa coach Don Morton, who had been successful at Division I-AA North Dakota State running the veer option offense.

    Clearly, Wisconsin should have hired Nehlen or Erickson. Instead, Wisconsin chose Morton over Hilles, in a situation where either choice was a bad choice. (That may have been destiny because three positions — football coach, athletic director and chancellor — became open in that order. There was a rush to name a new coach because Wisconsin wanted to grab an attractive candidate before some other college did. Morton was hired, after which his old boss Ade Sponberg was hired to replace Elroy Hirsch as athletic director, after which Shalala was hired to replace Irving Shain. Shalala then fired, in this order, Sponberg and Morton.)

    Moron (for some reason I keep forgetting to put the T in his last name) won three games his first season, including Ohio State (which ended up excusing coach Earle Bruce from further employment). He then sank backward to one win, over Minnesota in a game in which the offense was shut out (the two Badger scores were a punt return and an interception return). Despite doubling the win total to two one season later, Shalala decided she had seen enough of Don Mor(t)on and his efforts to drag down the entire UW athletic department with him. (Proof that the Peter Principle exists in college athletics: Mor(t)on never coached college football again.) Don’t like the fact that UW doesn’t have baseball anymore? Don’t blame then-athletic director Pat Richter; blame Mor(t)on.

    (My father and I attended Mor(t)on’s last game. Attendance was listed at 19,000; actual bodies in seats were no more than half that. At the pregame Union South pep rally, I yelled out, “LECKRONE FOR FOOTBALL COACH!”, which got a big cheer. UW Band director Mike Leckrone’s sport is basketball, not football, but a Leckrone-coached football team would have every gadget play in the playbook, and some that aren’t.)

    I had not known this until reading this, but apparently there was one other coaching candidate to replace Mor(t)on besides Alvarez — Michigan assistant Lloyd Carr. (Who has one thing Alvarez doesn’t, a national championship as a head coach.) Alvarez, however, had the pedigree — Nebraska linebacker, Iowa defensive coordinator and Notre Dame defensive coordinator. Whether it was Alvarez or Richter or Shalala or all three, everything you see in Madison now — Rose Bowl wins, NCAA basketball tournament trips, hockey national championships, the Kohl Center and renovated Camp Randall — all stem from hiring the right guy (Alvarez) and not the wrong guy (Alvarez’s predecessor, if that’s what you want to call him).

    Of course, UW’s had adventures in hiring for other coaches. Basketball coach Bill Cofield was fired in 1982 and replaced by UW–Eau Claire coach Ken Anderson instead of, among other potential candidates, Wisconsin native Tom Davis, who ended up beating Wisconsin like a drum when Davis went to Iowa, Anderson went back to Eau Claire after a few days, and Ball State coach Steve Yoder was hired instead. After Yoder (who did as well as he could at UW, a couple of National Invitation Tournament teams) was fired, his replacement, former NBA coach Stu Jackson, lasted two seasons before Jackson returned to the NBA. Jackson’s replacement, Stan Van Gundy, lasted one season. Van Gundy’s replacement, Dick Bennett, quit during the 2000–01 season; his replacement, Brad Soderberg, lasted the rest of the season.

    (If you’re thinking the preceding paragraph means UW will avoid coaches with NFL connections, that would be a reasonable conclusion.)

    Cheesehead TV has the first definitive list of potential Bielema successors, including, interestingly, Alvarez. (Bill Snyder, also a former Iowa assistant coach, retired from Kansas State, then unretired four years later.) It wouldn’t surprise me if Alvarez, instead of one of Bielema’s assistants, coached the Badgers in the Rose Bowl. For what previous history is worth, UW has gone after assistant coaches (Coatta, Jardine, Alvarez and Bielema) less often than they’ve gone after head coaches (McClain, Yoder, Bennett and Bo Ryan, plus hockey coaches Jeff Sauer and Mike Eaves).

    Being a major college football coach isn’t easy today. Fans want (1) a winner that (2) plays a fun-to-watch game. (Winning is always the priority; if you can’t achieve either, your name is Don Mor(t)on.) The Athletic Department wants a team that puts fans in the stands. Academic administration wants a team that does well in the classroom and doesn’t violate NCAA rules. The sports media wants a quote machine such as late basketball coach Rick Majerus or, for that matter, UW’s Bo Ryan. (Probably the best Badger coach by any standard was hockey coach Bob Johnson, who excelled at all phases of his job, including media availability.) And the athletic marketing people would like the team to look  more stylish (thus leading to increased merchandise sales), such as …

    The most obvious candidate is Chryst, a UW grad and former assistant. Much of Bielema’s success can be tied to Chryst, who was probably the best offensive coordinator Wisconsin has ever had. The question will be whether Chryst can be persuaded to leave Pittsburgh after one year.

    Some would argue Bielema is the best coach UW could have gotten, and letting him leave means the current glory days are over. I recall sitting next to a fan at a UW game in 1988 who said he thought McClain should have been fired, presumably because McClain couldn’t get over the seven-win hump. (Well, neither did Mor(t)on, since he won six games in three years.) I’ve seen situations where coaches were fired because they couldn’t get over “the hump,” however that was defined, and their replacements couldn’t even get to “the hump.” This is different, though, since Bielema chose to leave his $2.2 million and pretty much guaranteed employment to get more of the former but less of the latter.

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  • Presty the DJ for Dec. 5

    December 5, 2012
    Music

    The number one album today in 1960 was Elvis Presley’s “G.I. Blues” …

    … which is probably unrelated to what Beatles Paul McCartney and Pete Best did in West Germany that day: They were arrested for pinning a condom to a brick wall and igniting it. Their sentence was deportation.

    The number one single today in 1964:

    The number one single today in 1965 wasn’t a single:

    (more…)

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  • The GOP message

    December 4, 2012
    US politics

    The Las Vegas Review–Journal’s Glenn Cook believes Republicans need better delivery of their message:

    Democrats are extraordinarily, annoyingly disciplined when it comes to campaign messaging, especially at the federal level. Candidates for the Senate and House have stuck to the same script for years, hammering away at Republicans with concise talking points that have been repeated so many times most Americans now take them as truth. They absolutely, positively will not deviate from those party messages, and they’re not bashful about answering completely unrelated questions with those lame responses if it helps them avoid statements that could hurt their election chances. …

    Why is such a cynical strategy so effective? Because the counter-arguments take too long, and unlike Democrats, Republican candidates largely don’t answer to a top-down power structure that tells them how to talk. So they provide all kinds of different answers, all vulnerable to attack by the aforementioned talking points. It all adds up to messaging loss after messaging loss. Really, there are too many to count.

    – Big Oil “subsidies.” One of the lamest liberal talking points is one of the most effective. Democrats have succeeded in convincing Americans that the Treasury collects taxes from them, then takes those revenues and sends them to ExxonMobil and other oil giants in the form of big, fat checks. In fact, there are no such checks. Oil companies can claim deductions available to other American manufacturers, thereby reducing their tax bill in the same way individuals do. But explaining the difference between tax deductions and subsidies puts voters to sleep.

    – Taxes. This issue is almost hopeless. How do you convince the masses that an already tilted tax structure isn’t progressive enough? By arguing that the wealthy can always afford to pay more. By arguing that the middle class and the poor, many of whom don’t pay any federal taxes at all, actually subsidize the rich … It’s essentially the same approach as the Big Oil lie.

    – Deficit and debt reduction. This is an extension of the tax issue. President Obama’s re-election campaign claimed that not only could tax hikes on the rich pay down the budget deficit, but balance the budget and pay down the national debt. … There isn’t enough wealth in this country to balance the budget, pay off the national debt and pay for all the goodies Washington has promised. But again, once you start talking about the math of unfunded liabilities, most voters stop paying attention. Which brings us to …

    – Entitlement reform. This ranks as the most frustrating messaging battle. Every federal budgeting agency and every credible think tank has reported over and over that Medicare and Social Security are insolvent and on track to consume every tax dollar Washington collects. So the GOP – remember, this is the party with no ideas – urges action and actually puts forward ideas to better control those future costs without affecting current beneficiaries. And Democrats savage them. Democrats say Social Security and Medicare do not need reform. Democrats say Republicans will collapse programs that, if left unchanged, will collapse on themselves. And Americans believe them.

    So how do Republicans combat these messaging woes? Especially when, as I pointed out two weeks ago, the left controls schools, colleges, the media and entertainment?

    Republicans do need to be more like Democrats – but not in ideology. They need to be on the same page, communicating the same ideas. They need to make Democrats own the failures of public schools, the declining value and increasing expense of a college degree, the devastating U6 unemployment rate and the staggering joblessness and economic hopelessness of young minorities.

    Of course, do what Cook  suggests, and Democrats savage the Republican as being “mean.” Ronald Reagan was accused of being mean. It didn’t seem to bother him.

     

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  • Presty the DJ for Dec. 4

    December 4, 2012
    Music

    Imagine being a fly on the wall at Sun Studios in Memphis today in 1956, and listening to the Million Dollar Jam Session with Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny Cash and Carl Perkins.

    The number one single today in 1965:

    The number one British album today in 1971 was Led Zeppelin’s ” the Four Symbols logo“, alternatively known as “Four Symbols” or “IV” …

    (more…)

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  • Death of a coach, and a character

    December 3, 2012
    media, Sports

    Just before kickoff of Saturday’s Big Ten football championship came the sad news of the death of college basketball coach Rick Majerus.

    Anyone who ever met Majerus has a story about Majerus, who successfully coached four college teams, beginning with Marquette.

    Let’s start with Bob Wolfley of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, published where Majerus attended Marquette and first coached:

    Majerus, who died Saturday in Los Angeles at the age of 64, belongs in there with guys like Abe Lemons or Al McGuire. Eccentrics. Basketball heads who had something more to offer, something other than an expertise about basketball.

    They had a sense of humor, the gift of self-deprecation, which is not part of the job description for high level Division I college basketball coaches these days.

    You tended to think about Majerus as a kind of Friar Tuck character – exuberant and dangerous in battle. He would entertain you while he was figuring out a way to knock you off the bridge and into the water below.

    He never said anything about being Friar Tuck. He preferred thinking of himself as Uncle Fester in the “Addams Family.”

    But, according to some accounts, he could be demanding to the point of being hard-hearted. And he was cavalier about his health that was entertaining on one level, but disconcerting and darker on another. Heart bypasses in the high single digits.

    Using your poor eating habits for 40 years as comedy has its limits, but Majerus never stopped with the jokes.

    “I’m in Hawaii all this month and Santa Barbara all of July and August,” he said to reporters in May 2004. “That’s a pretty good schedule. My biggest concern is people keep pushing me back into the water. I don’t mean the coaching water. I mean when I lay out on the beach, they think I’m a whale and give me a shove back in.”

    Majerus was one of college basketball’s most reliable candidates for a job he did not occupy. He was college basketball’s favorite candidate.

    Former Milwaukee Journal sports editor Bill Dwyre:

    The man with the huge heart and similar body shape, the man who knew more about basketball than 99.6% of the human race and coached it every day of his adult life as if it were the Gospel, left us Saturday afternoon. The heart that was so gigantic, that gave so much of itself, in and out of the sport, could carry the load no more.

    He had been at Cedar Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles for months. The lining of his heart was too thick, had carried the burden of well over 300 pounds for all too long. He awaited a new heart, but never got healthy enough to stay long on the active recipient list.

    It was a quiet ending. He had a world of friends, including this typist who knew him from childhood days in Sheboygan, Wis., and newspaper days in Milwaukee. But few were allowed to see him in his final months. He was too proud. …

    The weight was his scourge. When Majerus was an assistant at for Al McGuire at Marquette, including on McGuire’s 1977 national title team, McGuire was often merciless about the weight. It was a labor of love and futility. One day, McGuire took one look at what Majerus called progress and labeled it, “A deck chair off the Titanic.”

    Majerus loved hosting friends at dinner. He would often start by ordering a dozen entrees. If you liked something, he’d order three more.

    He single-handedly kept pizza stores in business. His life mantra was, “Never eat anything green.” …

    He made his big splash at Utah, where he coached the likes of Keith Van Horn and Andre Miller and got to the 1998 Final Four.

    On game day, he invited a friend to the pregame walk-through. When it ended, he called his players together and invited the friend to listen. Utah was about to play lightning-quick North Carolina in the semifinals. Utah consisted of huge, slow guys and Miller, soon to be a superb pro guard. Majerus told his team the strategy was to rebound, make an outlet pass and go, because “we are quicker than they are.” He said that once they wore down North Carolina, coach Bill Guthridge would have to call a timeout, go to a zone and then they had them.

    The big, tall, slow Runnin’ Utes looked at him as if he had finally lost his mind.

    That night, Utah got the ball off the boards and ran. Soon, Guthridge called timeout and went to a zone. Majerus had been right. He just hadn’t been specific. What he meant was that Miller, who took most of the outlet passes and dashed to the basket, was quicker than North Carolina.

    The next night, Utah stopped running with a lead and about seven minutes left in the game and lost to Kentucky. Most of Majerus’ important NCAA Tournament losses came at the hands of Kentucky.

    “They ought to just bury me at the finish line of the Kentucky Derby,” he said after one particularly galling loss, “and let those horses just keep trampling me.”

    Retired Journal Sentinel sportswriter Dale Hofmann starts with this photo:

    https://i0.wp.com/media.jrn.com/images/660%2A456/gmti-photoj2000q4m11t16h13304100.jff%282%29.jpg

    There’s Al McGuire hunched over, near tears, looking like the other coach should be looking, and there’s Hank Raymonds with his left arm draped around Rick Majerus’ neck, a rolled up program in his hand. And then there’s Majerus in a coat and tie and those pants.

    If the picture of the Marquette University coaching staff celebrating the last minute of its national championship season isn’t the best college basketball bench shot ever to run in a newspaper, it’s clearly in the top 10 and a lock as the runaway leader in Wisconsin. Dominating it is the No. 2 assistant on a three-man staff.

    In extremely plaid pants.

    The last of the three men died over the weekend, and with him went an appreciable swatch of the local social fabric. The fabric was polyester in 1977, and even then Majerus was stretching it to its limit, a warning from the menace that would kill him 35 years later. …

    The literature is rich with stories of Majerus’ relationships with his players, more good than bad, but plenty of both. There were the four-hour practices balanced by the all-night session with the kid who’d just lost his father. You read lots of adjectives ranging from “demanding” and “earthy” to “compassionate” and “insightful,” but “complacent” never enters the discussion.

    Majerus was simply passionate about his trade, and few people ever understood it or taught it better or loved it more. By all accounts, it cost him his one brief marriage. …

    Ah yes, the food. As the tributes flooded in, it seemed like every coach, commentator and media member in America shared at least one meal with Majerus. It makes you wonder if he did all his coaching from a booth in the nearest pizza parlor. But that’s going to happen when a high-profile figure in any area of endeavor tops out near 370 pounds.

    There’s another picture in the Majerus photo gallery of Ric Cobb, a one-time Marquette assistant who later coached at UW-Milwaukee, restraining Majerus as he came roaring off the bench to dispute an official’s call. I remember that because Cobb told me later that he’d never do it again. Majerus, he said, was so strong he almost broke an arm trying to hold him back.

    Like everybody else, I had my own restaurant experience with him. It was breakfast at the Pfister, and as I recall, he ordered dry toast or something like it that wouldn’t satisfy a sparrow. He was on one of his many diets at the time, and even when Majerus couldn’t eat food, he talked about it.

    A dedicated swimmer, he explained that it was his exercise of choice because fat people were more buoyant than skinny people. He also claimed that whenever he entered a pool everybody else left because there was never any water left when he jumped in. No one ever accused Rick Majerus of not having a sense of humor. Unfortunately, it was gallows humor sometimes.

    After Marquette, the Bucks (as an assistant to another character, Don Nelson) and Ball State, Majerus went to Utah, where he coached the Utes to the NCAA championship game in 1998.

    The Salt Lake Tribune’s Gordon Monson:

    Rick Majerus was described once as … an interesting bunch of guys.

    It was my description and I stand by it because that’s exactly what he was. In the middle of his time running Utah basketball, I joked with him that he was a man of many chins and many faces, and he guffawed about that. It was one of the few times we shared a laugh together. Often, we were at one another’s throat over one thing or another.

    But, good lord, the man could coach. And he will be remembered for that.

    He didn’t always use attractive language or imagery on the court with his players, and sometimes he was downright crude and verbally abusive, but his basketball methodology was a thing of beauty. If you needed a coach to get you a win, or get you 25 wins, his name would be near the top of anybody’s list. …

    One thing about Majerus, when he grabbed a hold of any discussion topic he deemed worthy, you had best get comfortable. I talked with him for seven hours, all on the phone, that day and night, the last call coming from him at midnight and ending at 2 in the morning. We never came to any agreement, and I wrote my column expressing my point of view.

    He phoned me the day the column ran to thank me for my fair treatment of him in our disagreement. It’s something he never did again. …

    We had our battles. But Majerus always returned phone calls. If you asked him the simplest of questions, he fired off on a circuitous verbal journey that had about 20 pit stops for subject changes along the way. Our discussions and disagreements were almost always fascinating. I asked him about zone defense and we ended up talking about labor unions. I asked him about transition defense and he waxed on about constitutional law. …

    “Rick is tough to read because he’s a lot of different things,” Chris Hill once said. “He’s a guy who is absorbed mentally in a lot of interests, but who gets totally engulfed in coaching basketball. His practices are the most organized in the world, but his office is a mess. The way he prepares a team is very organized, but you look at his car, and he can’t even find his keys. He loves to win, but he takes pleasure from his players succeeding academically.” …

    The man was a tyrant and a bully, a genius and a virtuoso.

    I never interviewed or covered anybody else like him, like all the guys that were him.

    Rest in peace, Rick Majerus. Rest in peace.

    One of the great what-ifs came in 2001, when, after leaving Utah, Majerus was briefly a candidate to replace Brad Soderberg at Wisconsin. (Soderberg went to Saint Louis, where Majerus ended up replacing him.) I’m sure Madison-based sportswriters were disappointed when Majerus decided against pursuing the job, even though Bo Ryan, himself a quote machine, ended up with the job.

    After Majerus worked a while for ESPN, he became the head coach at Saint Louis.

    The St. Louis Post–Dispatch’s Bernie Miklasz:

    If you had a problem? Rick to the rescue. If you had a medical issue, he was on the phone with names of doctors and recommendations for treatment. (One time I had to tell him: Coach, I have a head cold. I think I’ll be OK in a couple of days. I don’t need to fly to Los Angeles to see a specialist. But thank you.)

    If you didn’t have a father, or a trusted friend to guide you through a troubling stretch of life, the big man filled the void. As a basketball man, he coached “help” defense. As a human being, Majerus was help defense. …

    Majerus was there for Keith Van Horn, his brightest star at Utah. The coach received a late-night call in 1993. It was Van Horn’s mother. She had shocking news: Keith’s father was dead. A sudden heart attack took his life. And Van Horn’s mom didn’t know how to tell her son. She asked Coach Majerus to do it.

    Majerus, of course, was there. At 2 a.m., he took Van Horn to a diner. They sat down. The coach told the freshman the worst words imaginable: Your father has died. Van Horn broke down in tears. Majerus consoled him. They sat there all night, telling happy stories about their late fathers, eating breakfast, and handling the pain. They cried together. They shared bagels. They hugged. They talked some more.

    When Van Horn finally walked into the morning light of Salt Lake City, he was ready to face the tragedy. Van Horn said he entered that diner as a kid, and by the time he left, he’d become a man. Majerus pulled him through.

    Majerus never had kids of his own, but he raised plenty of them through basketball. On the court, off the court, whatever was necessary. Whether the player needed calm advice, or an old-school cursing out, Majerus was there. He was always there.

    That’s why senior St. Louis University power forward Brian Conklin sobbed in the interview room in March, after the Billikens competed like crazy only to get eliminated by Michigan State in the NCAA Tournament.

    It was Conklin’s final game for SLU. The finality of the occasion overwhelmed his emotions. Most of all, Conklin knew he’d never have another chance to play for Majerus, to learn from Majerus. The inevitable change that’s inherent in life’s passages would take Conklin away from the coach he loved. And Conklin cried. Majerus was always there for him. What would Conklin do from now on?

    “He’s a great coach,” Conklin said that day. “I couldn’t imagine playing for a better coach, a better person. He doesn’t just teach you about ball, he teaches you about life.” …

    I hope Rick Majerus knew how much he was loved. I hope he realized that he’d made a tremendous, positive impact on so many lives. You’re going to have to forgive me for making this personal, which I don’t do often, but I cried on Saturday night, and I don’t even know how I pulled myself together to write this wholly inadequate tribute to Rick.

    In a previous column, written in late August, at the time Majerus took his leave of absence, I explained our friendship. And how we tried to help counsel each other as we each trudged through our lifelong conflict with obesity. Majerus knew what I was going through. I knew what he was going through. It was our bond. It was a bond I wish we didn’t have.

    When I received word of Rick’s death, I was sitting in the living room of our home. My wife was nearby. I lost it. And I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but I want to share what I told her: “I know you probably understand this, but I want to say it anyway. You and anyone else that cares about me owe a lot to Rick Majerus, because he played a major role in my turnaround. He was a factor in my decision to do whatever I had to do to get healthy and lead a better life. Without Rick Majerus, I don’t know if I’d still be here.” …

    We know about the basketball stuff, but I’ll always treasure Majerus for his teaching, his lessons. The way he helped the Millers, the Van Horns, the Conklins and even the lowly sportswriters. When we were together, I could feel his immense desire to live, and somehow he transferred that to me, before it was too late.

    Majerus was there for me. He was there for anyone who needed him. This sad day doesn’t end our relationship. Rick Majerus will be there for me forever.

    Sports Illustrated’s Seth Davis:

    If you’re a college basketball reporter of a certain age, you almost certainly have a go-to Rick Majerus story.

    Here’s mine.

    It was the fall of 1996, barely a year after I got hired by Sports Illustrated. The magazine assigned me to write a scouting report on Utah for our college basketball preview issue. So I flew to Salt Lake City to watch the team practice and interview a few players as well as its charismatic, enigmatic coach. Before I left, I asked my veteran colleague, Alex Wolff, for some advice. “Talk to Majerus about stuff other than basektball,” he said.

    Unfortunately, when I got there, Majerus didn’t want to talk at all. It’s not that he was opposed to being quoted — Lord knows, he liked being quoted — but rather because he was in a rush to get to a Utah Jazz game. “You’re only going to use one or two sentences, right?” he said. “So let me just give you one or two sentences.”

    I told him as politely as I could that my magazine had paid the expense of flying me across the country to interview him, so I was hoping to deliver more than a couple of sentences. Majerus offered to let me ride with him back to his hotel and interview him while he got ready for the game. First, however, he was concerned that I might be hungry.

    “You’re Jewish, right?” he asked.

    “Yes, coach.”

    “You want a bagel?”

    “No thanks, coach.”

    So we rode in Majerus’ car back to his hotel. That’s where he lived — the Salt Lake City Marriott. He had his own suite. It wasn’t anything extravagant. He simply liked the convenience. Majerus didn’t want the hassles of renting an apartment or owning a home. At the Marriott, he could come and go as he pleased, order room service, have the place cleaned every day. As I often joked with him over the years, he must have accrued more Marriott Rewards points than any customer in the history of the franchise.

    Anyway, Majerus jabbered about his team all during the car ride, the walk through the lobby, the trip up the elevator. I kept my tape recorder running the whole time. He continued to talk as we entered his hotel room. Having just left practice, he was still wearing his sweatsuit. He took of his jacket. He took off his shoes. He took off his shirt. He took off his pants. He took off his socks. He took off his underwear.

    And there stood Rick Majerus, all 350 pounds of him, quite literally a man in full. Just the way God made him.

    “Gee, I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” he said.

    Over the years, Majerus would laugh whenever I reminded him of that first close encounter. He was a man with many quirks and warts, as well as a total lack of self-consciousness. He was also quite smart. I just looked up the scouting report I wrote on the Utes that week, and darned if I didn’t use two sentences from our entire conversation.

    If you’re a college basketball reporter of a certain age, you probably also have some eating-with-Rick-Majerus stories. The man was always eating, always too much, often late at night. There was the time when I rode with Majerus and a couple of his buddies back and forth to the Utes’ game at BYU in Provo. (Majerus preferred not to travel with his team. He figured the players could use a break from him.) He told me that I could ride back to Salt Lake City with him as long as the team won. If they lost, he would ride with his assistants, and I would have to find another way back.

    They won. He drove me back to Salt Lake and we ended up at a downtown diner at 1:30 a.m. As I reported in my story, Majerus ordered the super stack of pancakes topped with blueberries, bananas and chocolate chips (with extra butter and syrup), two eggs over easy, a toasted English muffin and two orders of bacon. “A lot of people say hunger is the best seasoning,” he told me. “I think winning is.”

    Majerus won a lot, and he ate a lot. I remember another occasion when we had dinner in a restaurant with about a dozen people. I don’t remember where it was, but I do recall that Wayne Embry, who at the time was the general manager of the Cleveland Cavaliers, sat between us. I couldn’t get enough of listening to the two of them talk ball. I also remember that when the waitress came over to take our order, Majerus laughed and said, “Just keep bringing us food. I’ll let you know when to stop.” …

    When the news broke Saturday night that Majerus had died of heart failure at the age of 64, those of us who have covered him for a long time were sad but hardly surprised. We knew Majerus had been in the hospital since he stepped down two months ago as the coach at St. Louis. This very public man had disappeared from view; even his closest friends had not talked to him. Nobody knew the extent of his health problems, but what little they found out wasn’t good.

    Furthermore — and let’s be honest here — we have always known that this was not a man destined to live a long and healthy life. He liked to project himself as a jovial, Falstaffian figure, but it is obvious he was also a sad, depressed, lonely man. He had lots of acquaintances but few close friends. He loved two things: Basketball and food. In the end, those things consumed him, not the other way around.

    Majerus was more complicated than all these colorful anecdotes would suggest. He was charming, affable and available for national writers like myself, but the local beat guys couldn’t stand him. You always heard horrible stories about Majerus’ antics in practice, his treatment of people in the basketball office, especially his assistants. He belittled his players so badly that they transferred at an alarming rate. During one time-out huddle, he famously challenged a player’s manhood by grabbing his testicles.

    And yet, when his St. Louis team lost to Michigan State in the round of 32 in last season’s NCAA tournament, senior Brian Conklin broke down in tears at the postgame news conference. He wasn’t crying just because his team lost. He was crying because he wouldn’t get to play for Majerus anymore.

    It was all a part of the great Rick Majerus dichotomy. Another of my SI colleagues, S.L. Price, put it best at the end of his lengthy 2008 magazine profile of Majerus: “There goes the happy coach, back in his element. There goes the saddest man you ever saw.”

    ESPN.com’s Gene Wojciechowski:

    They say Rick Majerus died of heart failure. They’re wrong.

    The Rick Majerus I knew was all heart. His life, all 64 years of it, was a breadcrumb trail of random acts of kindness. I’m not sure I can recall a conversation with him that didn’t begin or end with, “How can I help?” …

    I read the wire story lead on his death, the one that described him as “the jovial college basketball coach who led Utah to the 1998 NCAA final and had only one losing season in 25 years with four schools.”

    He wasn’t jovial in practices. Or games. Those were intellectual cage matches for him. Whatever the spread was in those games, Majerus was worth at least three points, probably more.

    That year Utah (Utah!) reached the national championship game and actually led Kentucky at halftime, Majerus and the Runnin’ Utes had to beat No. 1 seed Arizona in the West Regional final and then No. 1 overall seed North Carolina in the Final Four semis. I was embedded with Utah as part of an ESPN The Magazine assignment.

    Usually after wins, Majerus would hunker down with a postgame pizza and game video of the next opponent. But after the 25-point victory against Arizona and its NBA roster, Majerus could be found in the hotel whirlpool, sipping on an umbrella drink.

    That was the same night, as he floated off the court in Anaheim, Calif., he spotted me in the tunnel and said, “Give me a hug, Polish Falcon.”

    The Columbia Journalism Review might not like it, but when the 300-pound Majerus cornered you for a hug, well, you were getting a hug.

    And it was the same night the coaching staff and players sprayed each other with soft drinks and stood happily in the shower area for an impromptu team photo. The innocence and joy on their faces still makes me grin involuntarily.

    Majerus was 10 of the smartest people I’ve ever known. The Jesuits educated him well. He was a coach, but he could have been a councilman. He lived in a hotel during much of his career, but his suites often were filled with books. He’d call at night just to talk about a Maureen Dowd column he had read an hour earlier.

    He won games, lots and lots of them, but I swear he cared more about seeing his players get diplomas than victories.

    He could charm an entire national press corps. He could alienate an entire local media corps. He could hold court. He could hold grudges.

    Majerus didn’t suffer fools. He was brilliant, complex and demanding to a fault. He also was loyal, caring and giving to a fault.

    He thought the NCAA was dumber than a chia pet. He despised the hypocrisy of rules that lacked a gram of common sense. So, sure, Majerus would take a doggie bag of leftovers to a foreign player on his roster who was alone and homesick in a dinky off-campus apartment during the Christmas holidays. If it was a violation, Majerus could live with the shame.

    I too have a Rick Majerus story because of one of my sports announcing highlights, the 1999 Utah game against “tiny Ripon College.” (Majerus and former Ripon coach Bob Gillespie were friends, and Gillespie once was briefly hired as an assistant for Majerus before he changed his mind and returned to Ripon.)

    Why did Utah play Ripon? Because, said Majerus, “I know the guy from Ripon, I’m from Ripon, I used to eat a lot of Ripon good cookies and I hope he brings me some Ripon good cookies. We’re throwing a party for him. We’re going to make a lot of money and he’s going to make what he thinks is a lot of money. It’s a great friendship and that’s why we’re playing the game.”

    I interviewed Majerus after his New Year’s Day practice the night before the game. (Practice started right after the 1999 Rose Bowl, the end of which I saw in our hotel room — the University Marriott in Salt Lake City, the same hotel Majerus lived in during his years coaching the Utes — to which I ran up to get my tape recorder. The sequence was: Go in, turn on the TV, find the recorder, watch the game-ending quarterback sack, cheer, and run out the door.)

    I asked Majerus seven questions. I got 15 minutes of answers. I had to run half of the pregame interview during halftime, because the answers were just priceless. You could tell right away that whenever Majerus had had enough of coaching, some TV sports operation would welcome him with open arms and a lunch or dinner buffet.

    The story goes beyond Majerus, because on the morning of the game, we discovered we had outsmarted ourselves. We made our plane reservations through O’Hare International Airport in Chicago, because, we reasoned, O’Hare never closes due to bad weather. The morning of the game, the first thing we heard on TV was the 23 inches of snow hitting Chicago, with plane flights already being diverted several days later. So our first activity the day of the game was to go to the  Salt Lake City airport and reschedule our flight from Sunday to the following Wednesday. (Happily, the University Marriott extended our group rate for the next three nights, including their epic daily breakfast buffet. I’ve been a fan of Marriotts ever since then.)

    That same blizzard dumped 18 inches of snow in Ripon.  The game was not on TV, so the radio station’s news and sports director claimed that that was the highest rated program in the radio station’s history, with a captive audience listening. Ripon scored the game’s first eight points but lost 74–49.

    Ripon fans congregated in the hotel’s restaurant after the game. So did Majerus, where he ordered a club sandwich. Which he apparently forgot about, resulting in the mother of one of the players and ourselves eating Majerus’ club sandwich.

    We didn’t run into Majerus after that, but we had an extremely pleasant three days after that being “stranded” in Salt Lake (temperature 50 degrees) due to “bad weather.” When we got back to O’Hare, our car was encased in two feet of snow and ice, and the temperature was below zero.

    Majerus should get the last word, or words, from this collection:

    “Nobody thought I’d be a great coach. I’m the kind of guy you’d expect to be driving an 18-wheeler through town.”

    “We’re at the WAC tournament and they want us to show the kids a film on gambling. And we’re staying on top of a casino. I asked them where do they want me to show the tape, at the blackjack table, the craps pit or when the boys are checking out their Keno numbers?”

    “I like practice, I love teaching, I love to see a kid get a degree and an education. I enjoy the college campus. I love the theater in our campus. I like the campus life. There’s a travel club on our campus, and I’ll go to those lectures. In an NBA player’s life, how can you make a difference? I mean, you might be able to make a little bit of a difference, but I think I’ve impacted all my players more than any pro coach they’ve ever played for — both from a basketball standpoint, but more importantly, from a lifestyle standpoint. (Keith) Van Horn just asked me to be the godfather for his baby. It was fun to sit through Andre (Miller’s) graduation, to see his mom smile. It was fun to see Hanno (Mottola) come from Europe and realize his dream. It was fun to see Drew Hansen get in Stanford Law School. The other night, one of my players had a really bad family problem and I really did enjoy offering a perspective on it and seeing if I could help him out. A lot of people that are very wealthy throw money at their problems, but it’s fun to help them work through it. I love the fans and the college students. I like the alumni association deal. I like the rah-rah and all that. I like the band rather than that fabricated music. I like the fact that we have students that are cheerleaders that really care, as opposed to a dancing girl team of hired mercenaries.”

    “In the late 1990s with Utah, we were in a regional, and coach [Al] McGuire was there and I asked him to talk to my team. He talked to them and then asked for any questions. Someone said to him, “How good was coach as a player?” He said, “Let me explain something to you, ‘We had an Indian mascot named Willie Wampum when coach played. I would have put the mascot before I put coach in the game.”

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    2 comments on Death of a coach, and a character
  • Crushed corn and vanquished Vi-queens

    December 3, 2012
    Badgers

    Had I told you Friday that the final score of Saturday’s Big T1e2n football championship game would have been 70–31, you probably would have called for the firing of Badgers head coach Bret Bielema.

    In the words of the late Howard Cosell: But no!

    The people calling for the firing of their team’s coach would be Nebraska fans, after the Badgers turned the Cornhuskers into ethanol 70–31. And it wasn’t that close.

    Here is one view of the game, from the Troglopundit:

    http://troglopundit.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/automotivator_montee-ball-stiff-arm.jpg

    The opposite view comes from the Lincoln (Neb.) Journal Star:

    https://journalstar-dot-com.bloxcms.com/app/branding/sports/huskers/images/Big.jpg

    Few people predicted a Badger win, and no one predicted that kind of win. Yes, the Badgers lost five games (three in overtime) by a total of 19 points, but does that reflect a team that’s almost there, or a team good enough to lose close games?

    Bucky’s 5th Quarter captures the air of unreality:

    As much fun as I was having in the first half of Saturday’s game–and I still postulate that it was the most fun half of Wisconsin football I have ever seen–I didn’t feel like it was going to last. Even 35-10, with Good Feelings tiding over everyone following Montee Ball’s super-heroic dive for the record, didn’t feel safe. Badger Football in 2012 taught me that good things won’t last, that ecstacy is fleeting, that overtime means a loss and 17 points isn’t a real lead. I won’t say that Wisconsin was bad during the regular season, but they were sad in a lot of ways. Against the best teams they faced, they ultimately crumbled after an inspired start, crushed by the inevitable. …

    I spent the second half in a titter, culminating in a fit of outrageous laughter as Bret Bielema gave an impromptu wet-windbreaker show after a Gatorade bath. After learning all season that all that’s great will turn to dust in a moment, Wisconsin fans were let loose to regale in pure atavistic pleasure, in the simple idea of smash=fun. I was drunk off everything, and touchdowns more than anything else.

    A third straight Rose Bowl is a beautiful thing. Yeah Bret I agree, the team still needs to win the damn thing. Until then, WOOOOOOOOOOO.

    The Wisconsin State Journal’s Tom Oates:

    People will debate whether one impressive victory will erase the memory of five close losses, but they can’t argue with how thoroughly UW dispatched Nebraska. For the first time against a really good team, the Badgers kept their foot on the accelerator after taking their usual early lead. At no point did they go into the conservative shell that frustrated fans during their close losses. …

    Offensive coordinator Matt Canada, who has come under some fire for UW’s offensive struggles, had a creative game plan that had Nebraska guessing from the start. As usual, Canada emptied his playbook by the end of the second drive. Then he pulled out another one and emptied it, too. By then, Nebraska was finished. …

    Whether that showed real growth or was one fleeting moment of success won’t be known until UW meets Stanford in the Rose Bowl. But for one night anyway, the Badgers had nothing to apologize for. And if they can reprise the way they played, they will be a worthy Big Ten representative in the Rose Bowl.

    It must be said that with all the accomplishments of Barry Alvarez, Bielema’s predecessor and boss, there is no game in Alvarez’s career that compares to this one. Alvarez beat teams either by having (eventually) superior talent or superior execution of the game plan. And nowhere in all of Alvarez’s seasons, including the three Rose Bowl-winning seasons,  was there a game where Wisconsin crushed a quality opponent. For all the criticism Bielema has received in this and previous years, it’s obvious Bielema was smart enough to figure out it was going to take something different to beat Nebraska.

    The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel’s Dave Heller got to write about the offense:

    Anyone listening to nay-saying Wisconsin fans over the past few weeks could hear complaints about Matt Canada’s play-calling, with the word “vanilla” often used.

    Against Nebraska in the Big Ten championship game Saturday night, vanilla was the last word you would use to describe the Badgers’ offense. In fact, Canada pulled flavors out of the freezer that people probably didn’t know existed. …

    “I didn’t fear (the fans’ protests), but I’m not naïve. I understand we haven’t scored enough points,” Canada said. “It’s been a tough year, but it was a rewarding game.” …

    Canada unveiled the “Zebra” play, with Wisconsin lining up with seven players wide left, with only center Travis Frederick, quarterback Curt Phillips, tight end Jacob Pedersen and fullback Derek Watt lined up with the ball in the middle of the field. Phillips hit Watt for a 10-yard gain on second and 9 for a first down to help set up a James White 9-yard touchdown.

    White scored from the “Barge” formation, in which Wisconsin brings in extra linemen and puts them all up front, of course. And Canada wasn’t done. Far from it.

    In the second quarter with UW leading, 21-10, Phillips handed off to wide receiver Jared Abbrederis on an end around, but Abbrederis – a former high school quarterback at Wautoma – threw his first collegiate pass to an uncovered Phillips, who got to the 1. …

    Canada even added some wrinkles to the Barge formation. With UW ahead, 28-10, White, who takes a direct snap out of the Barge, handed off to Montee Ball, who scored from 16 yards – the last 4 via a remarkable dive to the end zone.

    With 6 seconds left in the half and Wisconsin leading, 35-10, with the ball at the 3 – after yet another Gordon long run for 60 yards – Wisconsin went for a score instead of a field goal and had White throw out of the Barge for the first time this season. He found tight end Sam Arneson open in the end zone for another UW touchdown.

    Wisconsin tied a record for points scored in a conference championship game. Yes, conference title games are less than two decades old, but that remains impressive given the offensive juggernauts that played in some of those games.

    To put it mildly, the Husker fans are not happy. Nor are their sportswriters, beginning with the Journal Star’s Steven M. Sipple:

    There’s absolutely no excusing the manner in which 14th-ranked Nebraska lost in the Big Ten Championship Game.

    Bo Pelini’s squad somehow dropped a 70-31 decision to a five-loss Wisconsin team that is down to its third-string quarterback.

    Nebraska somehow allowed a boatload of yards (640) to a Wisconsin outfit that entered Saturday night’s game ranked 84th nationally in total offense and 72nd in scoring at 27.5 points per game. …

    Pelini apologized to everyone — including Husker fans — for the performance. Unfortunately, Bo has gotten pretty good at making such apologies. Yes, it pains me to write that, because I believe he is a good head coach.

    Wisconsin’s game plan didn’t catch Nebraska’s defense off-guard, Pelini said.

    “We practiced 99 percent of what they showed us,” he said. “For whatever reason, we didn’t execute. We didn’t make tackles. We didn’t make plays. Obviously, we didn’t coach them well enough.”

    The Journal Star’s Brian Christopherson was sentenced to write the game story:

    Ever taken a test where you keep going from question to question hoping you’ll run into one where you know the answer? You realize soon enough you’re in a world of hurt. You’re guessing. You’re toast.

    That’s how the Nebraska football team looked Saturday night in a game that was equal parts stunning and embarrassing for the Huskers.

    Burnt toast. The kind that leaves a smell in the kitchen that won’t leave for a while. …

    They were playing a 7-5 team that finished third in its division. They were playing a team they beat in September in a game where they held the Badgers to just 56 rushing yards. They were playing a team with the 84th-ranked offense in the country.

    Eighty four. That’s how many the Badgers could have probably scored if they wanted.

    By game’s end, Wisconsin had 539 rushing yards, the most ever allowed on the ground by Nebraska. …

    The Badgers continually burned the Huskers on a jet-sweep play, effortlessly getting outside the hash marks and making Nebraska’s defenders look like they had lead in their cleats. But Wisconsin ran the ball up the gut with success, too. It ran the wildcat with success. It ran playground-style tricks with success.

    Whatever, wherever, success.

    Husker fans on the Journal Star’s live blog were even less pleased as the Husker meltdown proceeded. Several predicted Pelini’s “we didn’t execute” comment, and suggested he be fired if he said that. In fact, some wanted him fired during the game. There were also two who suggested Pelini commit suicide during the postgame press conference, which seems a bit extreme.

    On that blog Sunday night, someone named “bilybob” summed up his feelings, by posting, 10 times:

    FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!FIRE BO PELINI!
     One loves the snark of Twitter if one agrees with it. For instance:

    @cbfowler (Chris Fowler, host of ESPN College Gameday): Can’t watch Fox game, but must be a game cast glitch. It says WIS has put 63 on NEB midway 3Q. How absurd, this faulty technology.

    You know things are going bad when your own former players start dumping on you:

    @jasonpeter (Jason Peter, former Husker defensive tackle): Its a simple “zone cutback”! Can the backside end please squeeze down! How many times will it take!

    @CoryRossRB (Cory Ross, former Husker running back): 3 different backs over a hundred yards by the end of this one! wow where did our swag go!!!

    @croucheric (Eric Crouch, Husker Heisman Trophy winner): Is this a nightmare. Someone wake me up.

    Alvarez won three Rose Bowls. Bielema will be trying for his first Rose Bowl win after losing the last two. The point, however, is that getting to the Rose Bowl and losing is better than not getting there at all. Ask Nebraska fans.

    And then … to make Wisconsin football fans’ weekend perfect, there was the Packers’ 23–14 win over Minnesota,  which, coupled with Da Bears’ 23–17 overtime loss to Seattle (isn’t that ironic?), puts the Packers back in first place (by tiebreaker) in the NFC North.

    The question is what happened to the Vikings after they led 14–10 at the half? (Grade-school math: 14 points the first half, zero in the second half.) It is rare indeed to lose a game when one running back rushes for 210 yards, but that’s what the Vikings managed to do.

    Some blame Vikings quarterback Christian Ponder, whose day was as the St. Paul Pioneer Press chronicled:

    Without Percy Harvin to cover, the Packers blanketed the Vikings’ underwhelming receiving corps, which accounted for just two receptions and failed to shake loose from coverage and give its quarterback something to target.

    It was so dire that Peterson ran a deep sideline route only to have Ponder overthrow him. Ponder also threw a pair of costly interceptions in Green Bay territory, including one in the end zone to start the second half.

    Peterson eclipsed 200 yards for the third time in his career, and first since his 2007 rookie year, breaking Robert Smith‘s franchise record with his sixth straight 100-yard plus game. He became just the seventh running back since 1960 to run for 200-plus yards in a loss.

    Or perhaps it was the defense, as the Pioneer Press’ Brian Murphy notes:

    To think the Vikings had Green Bay and quarterback Aaron Rodgers right where they wanted, relatively contained and on the run. Yet it was never enough to avoid the inevitable 24-13 loss at Lambeau Field.

    Too many Packers playmakers on the field made it too difficult for Vikings defenders to get off it. Mix in several inexcusable penalties and Minnesota was left to spend another afternoon ruminating about what might have been. …

    Sure, the Vikings limited Rodgers to 286 yards passing and intercepted him once. But he managed to sidestep pressure, buy time in the pocket and connect with 10 different receivers to extend drives. …

    Rodgers played catch and release with Minnesota’s defensive front, using a hard count and different cadences at the line of scrimmage to draw four Vikings offsides penalties.

    Williams, Everson Griffen, Letroy Guion and Christian Ballard all fell victim. A fifth foul was negated when Rodgers hit James Jones for a 32-yard first-quarter touchdown.

    About Da Bears’ loss, the Chicago Tribune’s Steve Rosenbloom shot the corpse the most often:

    This might not be a full-blown disaster, but you can see it from here.

    The Chicago Bears let a rookie quarterback on one of the worst road teams in the league go 97 yards on 12 plays late in the fourth quarter to blow what should’ve been an easy home win.

    But wait. It got worse. After a Jay Cutler-to-Brandon Marshall miracle that helped the Bears get to overtime, the defense died.

    The defense that is supposed to be the best part of the team gave up another inexcusable 12-play drive to a rookie quarterback on one of the worst road teams in the league, this one in overtime, this one covering 80 yards, this one giving the Seahawks a 23-17 win.

    Players got tired — tired of not catching Russell Wilson, who ran a college-like read-option that pantsed Lovie Smith’s defense.

    Smith took the blame for not having his team ready to beat a team that almost everybody beats at home. Smith also took the blame for the decision to go for it on fourth-and-inches instead of taking the field goal in the first half.

    Smith called that the play of the game. Smith was wrong, but then, he was wrong a lot on Sunday.

    Truth is, there were 24 “plays of the game,’’ the ones that Wilson engineered on those last two stunning Seattle possessions.

    A 97-yard drive at home? An 80-yard drive right after that in overtime? First place teams don’t allow that to happen. Super Bowl teams don’t allow that to happen.

    The Bears allowed that to happen.

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  • Presty the DJ for Dec. 3

    December 3, 2012
    Music

    We begin with what is not a music anniversary: Today in 1950, Paul Harvey began his national radio broadcast.

    The number one song today in 1956:

    The number one British single today in 1964:

    (more…)

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  • Presty the DJ for Dec. 2

    December 2, 2012
    Music

    The number one album today in 1967 was the Monkees’ “Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones Ltd.,” the group’s fourth million-selling album:

    The number one single today in 1978:

    Today in 1984, MTV carried the entire 14 minutes of “Thriller” for the first time:

    (more…)

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  • Presty the DJ for Dec. 1

    December 1, 2012
    Music

    The number one single today in 1958:

    The number one British single today in 1966:

    The number one single today in 1973:

    Today in 1987, a Kentucky teacher lost her U.S. Supreme Court appeal over her firing for showing Pink Floyd’s movie “The Wall” to her class over its language and sexual content.

    (more…)

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  • -30-

    November 30, 2012
    media

    The headline is the traditional end of a newspaper story back in the old days when news stories were typewritten on single sheets of letter-sized paper, and then manually typeset back in the press room.

    I chose this headline not because it’s the last headline I wrote for the late Marketplace Magazine, but because I am saddened by this news (from Madison.com):

    The wife of a longtime Monona and McFarland newspaper publisher died Tuesday — hours before her husband also passed away — after she hit her head in an ambulance that braked abruptly while transporting her husband to a Fitchburg hospice, police said.

    Laurel Huibregtse, 85, of Madison died at UW Hospital from injuries she suffered Monday while accompanying her husband to Agrace HospiceCare, said Fitchburg police Lt. Chad Brecklin.

    Her husband, Donald Huibregtse, 86, former publisher of the Monona Community Herald and McFarland Community Life, died several hours later at the hospice.

    There is great irony, at least to those of us with the black humor of journalists, that instead of reporting the news, Don was the news. (Journalists think in such a warped fashion, you see.)

    Don Huibregtse (pronounced “HEW-brets”; it’s Dutch and one of the few names harder to spell than “Prestegard”) was my first journalism employer. I was a college student working at a Mexican restaurant (not named Taco Bell, though similar). I had applied for a part-time sportswriting job there earlier in 1985 and not gotten it. The guy they hired, though, was allergic to photography. (However, he ended up covering the Packers, so journalism worked out fine for him.) For whatever reason, Don called me in August 1985 and offered me a job, giving him two part-time sportswriters for one weekly newspaper. (Except that the second of the two also got to cover Cottage Grove village and town government, back when each was much more rural than now.)

    So for nearly three years, I was paid $3.75 per hour to put in 15 to 20 hours a week covering the sports of my alma mater, Madison La Follette, shooting La Follette and Monona Grove sports, covering the Cottage Grove governments, and doing whatever else was required. That eventually expanded into layout, headline-writing, feature-writing, sports column-writing (the Herald was pretty much half sports and half everything else), and even such oddities as covering a senior-citizen fashion show, having just come from UW Marching Band practice and dressed for same.

    Don owned the Monona Community Herald (from which he lopped off “Monona” when he started covering the La Follette High School attendance area), McFarland Community Life, and Good News shopper. It was sort of appropriate that the Herald hired me, because I had been in it at least twice before, when I won the 1977 and 1979 Madison city spelling bees. (The reporter who interviewed me both times later purchased a newspaper in northern Wisconsin with her husband.)

    This was back in the days when desktop publishing as it’s known today didn’t exist. (While I was at the Herald Don purchased an Apple Macintosh computer. It had a four-inch black-and-white screen.) Stories were typed into Compugraphic machines, which saved the story (unless you accidentally deleted it, which was known to happen) onto a five-inch floppy disk. That disk was taken to another machine, which (to make a long description shorter) printed the story onto sheets of photosensitive paper six inches or so wide. That paper then was cut up and run through a machine that applied hot wax onto the back side (assuming you put it in correctly or didn’t cut it so small that  it got caught in the rollers). The story, or headline, or cutline (“caption” for you non-journalist readers), was put onto layout sheets that had photo blue lines, which didn’t print when the newspaper was printed.

    Photos were taken with the Canon AE-1 camera I had purchased with high school graduation money, on black-and-white 35-millimeter negative film. Once the film was developed, you would put the film onto a light table and use a lens to choose the shots you wanted to develop. You hoped you had chosen one that was not blurry, or had odd facial expressions on it. In fact, you hoped as you waited for the film to develop that you had any usable prints at all. (Sometimes there weren’t because of photographer error or insufficient light, particularly when shooting sports outdoors at night.) Shots were developed as “halftones,” with little dots allowing the photo to be printed.

    Compared with today, the preceding two paragraphs seems like an arduous process. And we haven’t even gotten to the part about learning what questions to ask and how to convert those answers into a story usually starting with the inverted triangle lead (most general information first, more specific stuff later). For a while I taped interviews, but I stopped doing that because I found writing the story took more than twice as long as doing the interview. I think it made me a better writer because I had to learn it the hard way. It certainly made me a better headline writer (which is quite helpful for Twitter) because you had to get the headline to fit mostly through writing, not merely changing kerning or leading or width of the character.

    I am absolutely convinced that working at a weekly newspaper is the best way to get into print journalism. (For those who really want to …) You do a lot of different things, because you have to. Journalism students I knew worked at one of the UW student newspapers, the Daily Communist — I mean Cardinal — or the Badger Herald. (I did a bit of writing for the latter.) The difference between working at a weekly and working at a student newspaper is that you are both paid and professionally judged at a weekly.

    Through working at the Herald (the second in a streak of newspapers named Herald for which I worked — after the Badger Herald and Community Herald, the Grant County Herald Independent and the Tri-County Press, formerly the Cuba City News–Herald) I learned about the joys of getting paid twice for the same work. Toward the end of my UW days I took a public affairs reporting class with Ray Anderson, a reporter for the New York Times. That class required me to do several government stories, including covering meetings, and a profile piece. Pretty much all the stories I was required to write became Herald stories, or vice versa — coverage of the aforementioned village and town board, a three-part story about a proposed landfill expansion, a feature about the  local state senator. I also was assigned to cover a Dane County Board meeting for a group of Dane County weeklies, for which I got a nice additional check.

    I was given a lot of rope at the Herald, or got a lot of opportunities to learn from my mistakes from the Herald and Life editors, the reporter who worked for both, and the other adults at work. I was once castigated by a candidate for a town board because, he claimed, I had taken out of context something he said. (Even though I believe I quoted him accurately.) I never heard from him again, because he lost the election. I also learned that in at least one case, a member of the American Legion did not appreciate being called a member of the VFW. A baseball coach (a former teacher of mine) did not appreciate my talking to his team during a game they lost 19–0. (Given the conditions of 40 degrees, wind and rain, I didn’t appreciate being there either.) I had to not only talk to people who claimed mistakes in things I had written, I had to write the corrections. And then there was the reader who did not appreciate my use of the term “old fart” to describe myself marching in a La Follette Homecoming football game.

    Don was, surprisingly to me, hands-off about the editorial side of the papers. I didn’t particularly understand the publisher role vs. the editor role, but he did occasionally say he liked something, or didn’t like something, but always after it appeared in the paper. He was, for lack of a better term, Dutch gruff. Early on he got on me for wearing cutoff shorts to work. He also woke me up one morning when I had put names in a cutline for a photo that weren’t in any order. That taught me the importance of attention to detail without getting fired for it.

    Even though I had gotten bylines in other publications (The Lance, the La Follette student newspaper, and the aforementioned Badger Herald), it was still a thrill to see “by Steve Prestegard” in newsprint, accompanied by actual paychecks. And then, as now, I’d be covering a baseball game in glorious spring or summer weather, or covering a fantastic finish in a basketball game, or talking to someone doing something really interesting, or look at the ideal combination of story, photos and headlines on a page as the result of my work, and think to myself, I’m getting paid to do this.

    I said before that the Community Herald was half sports and half everything else. We indeed covered the hell out of La Follette and Monona Grove sports, along with summer baseball and swimming, and whatever else came our way. (The funniest story we elected to not cover was a 15-year-old singer, accompanied by her mother, on what was being called the Shopping Mall Tour. You may have heard of her: Tiffany.) We wrote a sports column, one time suggesting that one of Madison’s daily newspapers was covering Monona Grove boys basketball well because the son of the editor was MG’s point guard. The editor was not amused. (And in retrospect we weren’t clear enough that we were joking and not complaining. As people who use social media discover, the meaning of something in print doesn’t necessarily get read as you intend.) My great-aunt was a cooking columnist for the Little Falls, Minn., newspaper, and she exchanged recipes with our typesetter/cooking columnist.

    I commented earlier this week that it was Don’s fault that I’m still doing this, because he didn’t fire me. In fact, sometime after I started, my parents and I ran into the Huibregtses at the late Burke Station restaurant, where he told everyone at the table what a great job I was doing for the Herald. When I got the offer to go to the Herald Independent, he talked to the editor about promoting me to full-time, but was informed he wasn’t likely to agree to pay me what I was getting paid to head west. (Don was frugal. I didn’t understand that until I owned a newspaper myself.) I ran into him at a Wisconsin Newspaper Association convention a few years later to pick up the Tri-County Press’ Most Improved Newspaper award, and he was clearly glad to see me in the editor/publisher world. I hope he gets a nice tribute at this year’s WNA convention.

    All the preceding led me to my first full-time journalism job, which led me out of the world of suburban journalism into the world of rural journalism. I wouldn’t say I went to Lancaster by any means a finished product, but my Community Herald experience did allow me to hit the ground running at the Herald Independent, particularly in headline-writing. The places I’ve worked from the Community Herald onward have developed my style as a writer, whatever that is, as well as the stylebook between my ears that covers how whatever is written in a publication that has my name in it should and should not appear.

    I had forgotten that Don had sold the newspapers the same year I left, 1988. (The Community Herald apparently was combined with another newspaper to form, ironically enough, the Herald Independent.) Another Dane County weekly owner bought him out. A year or so later, I interviewed for the Herald editor position, but was unenthused about taking a pay cut to move up from reporter to editor. A different newspaper group now owns the Herald Independent.

    There are two reasons why weekly newspapers, and increasingly daily newspapers, are owned in groups. The first is that being in business is increasingly expensive and complicated, and the smaller you are, the worse it is. Grant County used to have seven weekly newspapers with six different owners. Grant County now has six weekly newspapers owned by the same company. (Fortunately, that company believes in weekly nameplates; other owners would have combined them into one or two or three newspapers.) Group ownership allows office functions like billing and circulation to be combined, allowing resources to be put into editorial; it also allows group ad purchases.

    The other reason is that weekly newspapers are decreasingly family operations. Ralph Goldsmith owned the Boscobel Dial for 36 years. His children worked at the Dial at one point or another, but none of them apparently wanted to own the newspaper. Rex Goldthorpe owned the Tri-County Press for 27 years, after he purchased it from the estate of his father, who owned it for 64 years. Rex’s kids also worked at the Tri-County Press, but didn’t want to buy it either. Richard Brockman owned The Platteville Journal for 31 years, eight fewer than his father owned the newspaper. There was no next generation there. At least one of Don and Laurel’s children worked at the Herald/Life/Good News.

    I suspect children of newspaper owners like Ralph and Rex saw how hard their parents worked — nights, weekends, late nights, holidays, etc. — and noticed as well how often their parents were criticized for not doing enough, or not covering something well enough, or not covering something at all because they couldn’t be in more than one place at a time, and decided there was no way in hell they wanted to do that for their working lives. (On the other hand, one of Ralph’s sons became a graphic design professor.) Being a small-town newspaper editor is a job you never really stop doing as long as you have the job — that is, if you’re doing the job the right way. Your workplace is wherever you are within your newspaper’s circulation area, whenever you’re there, daytime, nighttime, weekdays or weekends or holidays.

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Steve Prestegard.com: The Presteblog

The thoughts of a journalist/libertarian–conservative/Christian husband, father, Eagle Scout and aficionado of obscure rock music. Thoughts herein are only the author’s and not necessarily the opinions of his family, friends, neighbors, church members or past, present or future employers.

  • Steve
    • About, or, Who is this man?
    • Facebook
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    • Adventures in ruralu0026nbsp;inkBack in June 2009, I was driving somewhere through a rural area. And for some reason, I had a flashback to two experiences in my career about that time of year many years ago. In 1988, eight days after graduating from the University of Wisconsin, I started work at the Grant County Herald Independent in Lancaster as a — well, the — reporter. Four years after that, on my 27th birthday, I purchased, with a business partner, the Tri-County Press in Cuba City, my first business venture. Both were experiences about which Wisconsin author Michael Perry might write. I thought about all this after reading a novel, The Deadline, written by a former newspaper editor and publisher. (Now who would write a novel about a weekly newspaper?) As a former newspaper owner, I picked at some of it — why finance a newspaper purchase through the bank if the seller is willing to finance it? Because the mean bank lender is a plot point! — and it is much more interesting than reality, but it is very well written, with a nicely twisting plot, and quite entertaining, again more so than reality. There is something about that first job out of college that makes you remember it perhaps more…
    • Adventures in radioI’ve been in the full-time work world half my life. For that same amount of time I’ve been broadcasting sports as a side interest, something I had wanted to since I started listening to games on radio and watching on TV, and then actually attending games. If you ask someone who’s worked in radio for some time about the late ’70s TV series “WKRP in Cincinnati,” most of them will tell you that, if anything, the series understated how wacky working in radio can be. Perhaps the funniest episode in the history of TV is the “WKRP” episode, based on a true story, about the fictional radio station’s Thanksgiving promotion — throwing live turkeys out of a helicopter under the mistaken belief that, in the words of WKRP owner Arthur Carlson, “As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.” [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ST01bZJPuE0] I’ve never been involved in anything like that. I have announced games from the roofs of press boxes (once on a nice day, and once in 50-mph winds), from a Mississippi River bluff (more on that later), and from the front row of the second balcony of the University of Wisconsin Fieldhouse (great view, but not a place to go if…
    • “Good morning/afternoon/evening, ________ fans …”
    • My biggest storyEarlier this week, while looking for something else, I came upon some of my own work. (I’m going to write a blog someday called “Things I Found While Looking for Something Else.” This is not that blog.) The Grant County Sheriff’s Department, in the county where I used to live, has a tribute page to the two officers in county history who died in the line of duty. One is William Loud, a deputy marshal in Cassville, shot to death by two bank robbers in 1912. The other is Tom Reuter, a Grant County deputy sheriff who was shot to death at the end of his 4 p.m.-to-midnight shift March 18, 1990. Gregory Coulthard, then a 19-year-old farmhand, was convicted of first-degree intentional homicide and is serving a life sentence, with his first eligibility for parole on March 18, 2015, just 3½ years from now. I’ve written a lot over the years. I think this, from my first two years in the full-time journalism world, will go down as the story I remember the most. For journalists, big stories contain a paradox, which was pointed out in CBS-TV’s interview of Andy Rooney on his last “60 Minutes” Sunday. Morley Safer said something along the line…
  • Food and drink
    • The Roesch/Prestegard familyu0026nbsp;cookbookFrom the family cookbook(s) All the families I’m associated with love to eat, so it’s a good thing we enjoy cooking. The first out-of-my-house food memory I have is of my grandmother’s cooking for Christmas or other family occasions. According to my mother, my grandmother had a baked beans recipe that she would make for my mother. Unfortunately, the recipe seems to have  disappeared. Also unfortunately, my early days as a picky, though voluminous, eater meant I missed a lot of those recipes made from such wholesome ingredients as lard and meat fat. I particularly remember a couple of meals that involve my family. The day of Super Bowl XXXI, my parents, my brother, my aunt and uncle and a group of their friends got together to share lots of food and cheer on the Packers to their first NFL title in 29 years. (After which Jannan and I drove to Lambeau Field in the snow,  but that’s another story.) Then, on Dec. 31, 1999, my parents, my brother, my aunt and uncle and Jannan and I (along with Michael in utero) had a one-course-per-hour meal to appropriately end years beginning with the number 1. Unfortunately I can’t remember what we…
    • SkålI was the editor of Marketplace Magazine for 10 years. If I had to point to one thing that demonstrates improved quality of life since I came to Northeast Wisconsin in 1994, it would be … … the growth of breweries and  wineries in Northeast Wisconsin. The former of those two facts makes sense, given our heritage as a brewing state. The latter is less self-evident, since no one thinks of Wisconsin as having a good grape-growing climate. Some snobs claim that apple or cherry wines aren’t really wines at all. But one of the great facets of free enterprise is the opportunity to make your own choice of what food and drink to drink. (At least for now, though some wish to restrict our food and drink choices.) Wisconsin’s historically predominant ethnic group (and our family’s) is German. Our German ancestors did unfortunately bring large government and high taxes with them, but they also brought beer. Europeans brought wine with them, since they came from countries with poor-quality drinking water. Within 50 years of a wave of mid-19th-century German immigration, brewing had become the fifth largest industry in the U.S., according to Maureen Ogle, author of Ambitious Brew: The Story of American Beer. Beer and wine have…
  • Wheels
    • America’s sports carMy birthday in June dawned without a Chevrolet Corvette in front of my house. (The Corvette at the top of the page was featured at the 2007 Greater Milwaukee Auto Show. The copilot is my oldest son, Michael.) Which isn’t surprising. I have three young children, and I have a house with a one-car garage. (Then again, this would be more practical, though a blatant pluck-your-eyes-out violation of the Corvette ethos. Of course, so was this.) The reality is that I’m likely to be able to own a Corvette only if I get a visit from the Corvette Fairy, whose office is next door to the Easter Bunny. (I hope this isn’t foreshadowing: When I interviewed Dave Richter of Valley Corvette for a car enthusiast story in the late great Marketplace Magazine, he said that the most popular Corvette in most fans’ minds was a Corvette built during their days in high school. This would be a problem for me in that I graduated from high school in 1983, when no Corvette was built.) The Corvette is one of those cars whose existence may be difficult to understand within General Motors Corp. The Corvette is what is known as a “halo car,” a car that drives people into showrooms, even if…
    • Barges on fouru0026nbsp;wheelsI originally wrote this in September 2008.  At the Fox Cities Business Expo Tuesday, a Smart car was displayed at the United Way Fox Cities booth. I reported that I once owned a car into which trunk, I believe, the Smart could be placed, with the trunk lid shut. This is said car — a 1975 Chevrolet Caprice coupe (ours was dark red), whose doors are, I believe, longer than the entire Smart. The Caprice, built down Interstate 90 from us Madisonians in Janesville (a neighbor of ours who worked at the plant probably helped put it together) was the flagship of Chevy’s full-size fleet (which included the stripper Bel Air and middle-of-the-road Impala), featuring popular-for-the-time vinyl roofs, better sound insulation, an upgraded cloth interior, rear fender skirts and fancy Caprice badges. The Caprice was 18 feet 1 inch long and weighed 4,300 pounds. For comparison: The midsize Chevrolet of the ear was the Malibu, which was the same approximate size as the Caprice after its 1977 downsizing. The compact Chevrolet of the era was the Nova, which was 200 inches long — four inches longer than a current Cadillac STS. Wikipedia’s entry on the Caprice has this amusing sentence: “As fuel economy became a bigger priority among Americans…
    • Behind the wheel
    • Collecting only dust or rust
    • Coooooooooooupe!
    • Corvettes on the screen
    • The garage of misfit cars
    • 100 years (and one day) of our Chevrolets
    • They built Excitement, sort of, once in a while
    • A wagon by any otheru0026nbsp;nameFirst written in 2008. You will see more don’t-call-them-station-wagons as you drive today. Readers around my age have probably had some experience with a vehicle increasingly rare on the road — the station wagon. If you were a Boy Scout or Girl Scout, or were a member of some kind of youth athletic team, or had a large dog, or had relatives approximately your age, or had friends who needed to be transported somewhere, or had parents who occasionally had to haul (either in the back or in a trailer) more than what could be fit inside a car trunk, you (or, actually, your parents) were the target demographic for the station wagon. “Station wagons came to be like covered wagons — so much family activity happened in those cars,” said Tim Cleary, president of the American Station Wagon Owners Association, in Country Living magazine. Wagons “were used for everything from daily runs to the grocery store to long summer driving trips, and while many men and women might have wanted a fancier or sportier car, a station wagon was something they knew they needed for the family.” The “station wagon” originally was a vehicle with a covered seating area to take people between train stations…
    • Wheels on theu0026nbsp;screenBetween my former and current blogs, I wrote a lot about automobiles and TV and movies. Think of this post as killing two birds (Thunderbirds? Firebirds? Skylarks?) with one stone. Most movies and TV series view cars the same way most people view cars — as A-to-B transportation. (That’s not counting the movies or series where the car is the plot, like the haunted “Christine” or “Knight Rider” or the “Back to the Future” movies.) The philosophy here, of course, is that cars are not merely A-to-B transportation. Which disqualifies most police shows from what you’re about to read, even though I’ve watched more police video than anything else, because police cars are plain Jane vehicles. The highlight in a sense is in the beginning: The car chase in my favorite movie, “Bullitt,” featuring Steve McQueen’s 1968 Ford Mustang against the bad guys’ 1968 Dodge Charger: [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GMc2RdFuOxIu0026amp;fmt=18] One year before that (but I didn’t see this until we got Telemundo on cable a couple of years ago) was a movie called “Operación 67,” featuring (I kid you not) a masked professional wrestler, his unmasked sidekick, and some sort of secret agent plot. (Since I don’t know Spanish and it’s not…
    • While riding in my Cadillac …
  • Entertainments
    • Brass rocksThose who read my former blog last year at this time, or have read this blog over the past months, know that I am a big fan of the rock group Chicago. (Back when they were a rock group and not a singer of sappy ballads, that is.) Since rock music began from elements of country music, jazz and the blues, brass rock would seem a natural subgenre of rock music. A lot of ’50s musical acts had saxophone players, and some played with full orchestras … [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CPS-WuUKUE] … but it wasn’t until the more-or-less simultaneous appearances of Chicago and Blood Sweat u0026amp; Tears on the musical scene (both groups formed in 1967, both had their first charting singles in 1969, and they had the same producer) that the usual guitar/bass/keyboard/drum grouping was augmented by one or more trumpets, a sax player and a trombone player. While Chicago is my favorite group (but you knew that already), the first brass rock song I remember hearing was BSu0026amp;T’s “Spinning Wheel” — not in its original form, but on “Sesame Street,” accompanied by, yes, a giant spinning wheel. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qi9sLkyhhlE] [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OxWSOuNsN20] [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9U34uPjz-g] I remember liking Chicago’s “Just You ‘n Me” when it was released as a single, and…
    • Drive and Eat au0026nbsp;RockThe first UW home football game of each season also is the opener for the University of Wisconsin Marching Band, the world’s finest college marching band. (How the UW Band has not gotten the Sudler Trophy, which is to honor the country’s premier college marching bands, is beyond my comprehension.) I know this because I am an alumnus of the UW Band. I played five years (in the last rank of the band, Rank 25, motto: “Where Men Are Tall and Run-On Is Short”), marching in 39 football games at Camp Randall Stadium, the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome in Minneapolis, Michigan Stadium in Ann Arbor, Memorial Stadium at the University of Illinois (worst artificial turf I had ever seen), the University of Nevada–Las Vegas’ Sam Boyd Silver Bowl, the former Dyche Stadium at Northwestern University, five high school fields and, in my one bowl game, Legion Field in Birmingham, Ala., site of the 1984 Hall of Fame Bowl. The UW Band was, without question, the most memorable experience of my college days, and one of the most meaningful experiences of my lifetime. It was the most physical experience of my lifetime, to be sure. Fifteen minutes into my first Registration…
    • Keep on rockin’ in the freeu0026nbsp;worldOne of my first ambitions in communications was to be a radio disc jockey, and to possibly reach the level of the greats I used to listen to from WLS radio in Chicago, which used to be one of the great 50,000-watt AM rock stations of the country, back when they still existed. (Those who are aficionados of that time in music and radio history enjoyed a trip to that wayback machine when WLS a Memorial Day Big 89 Rewind, excerpts of which can be found on their Web site.) My vision was to be WLS’ afternoon DJ, playing the best in rock music between 2 and 6, which meant I wouldn’t have to get up before the crack of dawn to do the morning show, yet have my nights free to do whatever glamorous things big-city DJs did. Then I learned about the realities of radio — low pay, long hours, zero job security — and though I have dabbled in radio sports, I’ve pretty much cured myself of the idea of working in radio, even if, to quote WAPL’s Len Nelson, “You come to work every day just like everybody else does, but we’re playing rock ’n’ roll songs, we’re cuttin’ up.…
    • Monday on the flight line, not Saturday in the park
    • Music to drive by
    • The rock ofu0026nbsp;WisconsinWikipedia begins its item “Music of Wisconsin” thusly: Wisconsin was settled largely by European immigrants in the late 19th century. This immigration led to the popularization of galops, schottisches, waltzes, and, especially, polkas. [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yl7wCczgNUc] So when I first sought to write a blog piece about rock musicians from Wisconsin, that seemed like a forlorn venture. Turned out it wasn’t, because when I first wrote about rock musicians from Wisconsin, so many of them that I hadn’t mentioned came up in the first few days that I had to write a second blog entry fixing the omissions of the first. This list is about rock music, so it will not include, for instance, Milwaukee native and Ripon College graduate Al Jarreau, who in addition to having recorded a boatload of music for the jazz and adult contemporary/easy listening fan, also recorded the theme music for the ’80s TV series “Moonlighting.” Nor will it include Milwaukee native Eric Benet, who was for a while known more for his former wife, Halle Berry, than for his music, which includes four number one singles on the Ru0026amp;B charts, “Spend My Life with You” with Tamia, “Hurricane,” “Pretty Baby” and “You’re the Only One.” Nor will it include Wisconsin’s sizable contributions to big…
    • Steve TV: All Steve, All the Time
    • “Super Steve, Man of Action!”
    • Too much TV
    • The worst music of allu0026nbsp;timeThe rock group Jefferson Airplane titled its first greatest-hits compilation “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane.” Rolling Stone magazine was not being ironic when it polled its readers to decide the 10 worst songs of the 1990s. I’m not sure I agree with all of Rolling Stone’s list, but that shouldn’t be surprising; such lists are meant for debate, after all. To determine the “worst,” songs appropriate for the “Vinyl from Hell” segment that used to be on a Madison FM rock station, requires some criteria, which does not include mere overexposure (for instance, “Macarena,” the video of which I find amusing since it looks like two bankers are singing it). Before we go on: Blog posts like this one require multimedia, so if you find a song you hate on this blog, I apologize. These are also songs that I almost never listen to because my sound system has a zero-tolerance policy — if I’m listening to the radio or a CD and I hear a song I don’t like, it’s, to quote Bad Company, gone gone gone. My blonde wife won’t be happy to read that one of her favorite ’90s songs, 4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up,” starts the list. (However,…
    • “You have the right to remain silent …”
  • Madison
    • Blasts from the Madison media past
    • Blasts from my Madison past
    • Blasts from our Madison past
    • What’s the matter with Madison?
    • Wisconsin – Madison = ?
  • Sports
    • Athletic aesthetics, or “cardinal” vs. “Big Red”
    • Choose your own announcer
    • La Follette state 1982 (u0022It was 30 years ago todayu0022)
    • The North Dakota–Wisconsin Hockey Fight of 1982
    • Packers vs. Brewers
  • Hall of Fame
    • The case(s) against teacher unions
    • The Class of 1983
    • A hairy subject, or face the face
    • It’s worse than you think
    • It’s worse than you think, 2010–11 edition
    • My favorite interview subject of all time
    • Oh look! Rural people!
    • Prestegard for president!
    • Unions vs. the facts, or Hiding in plain sight
    • When rhetoric goes too far
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