It’s pledge week again on public radio – they call it the �public broadcasting network� here in Maine now. I reckon it’s probably pledge week where you are, too, if you’re in the USA. Broadcasters financed by plain begging instead of spamming. And the begging is in full cry.

I couldn’t stifle my bark when one of those chirpy voices proclaimed “You don’t have to listen to advertising� as one of the benefits of my public radio pledge. Along with world peace and the cure for the common cold. Come back, milady? What about those “supported by� messages that roll up every ten minutes?

Used to be, those sponsorship mentions gave you a name and moved on. Now, you get the name, a slogan, and a website where you can spend your mon … er, get more information. Yes, we’re spared the dancing cornflakes and the endless urgent repetition: “Call 1 800 G-O-2 H-E-L-L today!! That’s 1 800 G-O-2 H-E-L-L. 1 800 …� For now. But it’s only a matter of time.

Ever notice how short of time an advertiser is? Everything’s urgent. It’s gotta happen this minute! Even the public radio pledge pushers do it. Eternal youth and the best sex of your life can be yours. But you must act now!!!

Sorry. My time isn’t as plentiful as it used to be either. I’m reaching (dammit!) the stage of life where, as the old ball player said, you don’t buy any green bananas. When I hear “you must act now!�, I do.

I change the station.

If possible.

There are times of day when it’s not possible. The fifth or sixth time I punch in a station and hear “Call 1 800…�, the next move is to the “off� button.

And, as often as not, that radio stays off. Except when I’m driving, I can barely stand the thought of ever turning it on. And when I am driving, the radio mostly serves the function of masking the engine noise, so I’m not reminded how old Hotel Subaru is, and how perilously close I am to having to buy a new car. With my no money.

It’s not like there’s a whole lot of options here in Maine when public radio goes pledge mad.

Talk radio. Evidence that the art of verbal communication doesn’t require the participation of the central nervous system, Mr. Savage.

Classic hits. Sheesh. Maybe the music really did die in 1971, Don. You’d think not one note has been written or performed since. And if you actually paid attention to any of this stuff, Tom Dooley, you’d hang your head and cry. And maybe you’d have insisted that we stay the hell out of Iraq. Guess you haven’t been listening. You probably weren’t really listening in 1971, either.

Sports.

Y’know, I’d really, really like to be a sports fan. Even though I look and move like a Thanksgiving turkey. But I lettered in basketball in high school. Yes I did. As the manager. This white guy couldn’t jump, even if I’d wanted to. But I guess I was the only one on the team who could count high enough to keep the scoring and rebounding stats without taking his socks off.

And I grew up glued to the radio, listening to play-by-play.

The Red Sox. I know, I know – brain damage.

The Celtics. Hey, they were good then. Havlicek Stole The Ball!!

The Bruins. Jesus Saves! And Esposito Scores On The Rebound!! No, I did not make that one up. See??

The Patriots …

Oh well, two out of four. Not too bad …

But they’re sure making it hard for me to follow sports today. Turn on the radio to hear the scores, standings, and the latest exploits on the field, and what do you get? Bimbo sex stereotypes. DWI convictions. Players trashing coaches, and vice versa. Steroids. Fingers in the face.

Felonious assaults.

The sporting airwaves have had almost nothing else to talk about these past few days but last Saturday’s (15 October 2006) brawl game, between two college football teams in Florida. The one where the benches emptied, 300-lb. “men� in cleats were stomping on each other, and one guy charged out onto the field swinging his helmet – a deadly weapon.

Everybody’s been yapping about the event, its aftermath, and what the aftermath should be. As if there oughta be any debate about that. The two schools involved play no more football games this year. The players engaged are kicked off the team, if not out of school. Permanently. And they’re ineligible to play anywhere else. The coaching staffs get the sack. Right?

Ha.

The schools are playing their full schedules. The coaches still have their jobs. Thirteen players on the bigger school’s team have been suspended. For one game. One. And that game is against the school’s second weakest opponent this year.

Duke University.

Which – have you heard? – has decided (or perhaps the public has decided for it) that there was no basis for the rape allegations against its lacrosse players last year. Which means that the punishments meted out against the team, its players, and its coaches, were unfounded and wrong, and you’d better reinstate them all.

Excusez-moi? With all the sexual and domestic violence in this country and this world right now, you’re throwing a stag party, with strippers? As a team function?!? That, by itself, gets players and coaches expelled, in my book.

And then there’s the case of the broadcaster who made some remark that practically all his colleagues thought was perfectly innocuous – until Fox abruptly and unceremoniously canned him. “What did I do?�, he’s pleaded publicly. On talk radio … “How many letters did the network receive? Three? Three hundred? I’ll apologize. I don’t understand what this is all about!�

I do, Steve. And I’ll bet you do, too. But neither you nor any of your colleagues has the balls, or the stupidity, to say so on the air.

Only one phone call was needed. From a big advertiser who told Fox, “Sack Levy, or we pull all our accounts. And we’ll get our friends to pull theirs.�

Yep. That’s how come the University of Miami is getting to keep its players. Why that university’s TV network is going to broadcast the brawl game over and over and over – less the foul mouth of its color commentator. Why Duke University’s gone soft on its lacrosse program.

It’s all about money. Any of these people do “the right thing�, they’re going to lose money. The one unpardonable sin.

And where does that money come from?

Let me put it to you this way. If the stadia were empty, if the TVs were off, if the radios were silent, if the sales of sports advertisers were way down, all of this would vanish. Like the proverbial puff of smoke. Where there’s no profit, there’s no action.

What’s that? The pro leagues (this means you, NCAA) are making more money than ever before? The sports machine is making a mint off this brawling and bashing and finger flipping? Rape, murder, and mayhem, baby! Give us more! Right now!! We want it!! We’re buyin’!!!

And meanwhile, public radio goes begging.

   - O Ceallaigh

Copyright © 2006 Felloffatruck Publications. All wrongs deplored.

All opinions are mine as a private citizen.