The Lorne Identity

 

People weren’t funny before I arrived on the scene. They would laugh, but it was usually out of respect or confusion. A nervous tic or an anatomical reflex. By bringing live comedy to network television for late night programming, I changed the world. Messianic feelings began seeping into my delicate Canadian psyche before that very first show. It was a time of mass apathy in the country. People needed me more than they will ever know. It was a Promethean accomplishment. But even he just stole fire. It didn’t include TV, advertising, electricity and any digital content.  

 

Some people say I invented modern comedy. It’s flattering. I usually blush and accept their praise. Because it’s true. Did jokes exist before my arrival? Possibly. There were attempts, I’ll admit that. Abbot and Costello. Charlie Chaplin. Buster Keaton. The Three Stooges. The Marx Brothers. Bugs Bunny. Jack Benny. Your Show of Shows. The Colgate Comedy Hour. But these were different somehow. What I changed was finding a joke, one joke, then beating it into the ground for fifty years. That’s commitment. None of the individuals above are still at it, except for the cartoon rabbit.

 

What’s great about live comedy and to some extent improv itself, is that people don’t have to be in awe of the humor. It’s the act we admire. The process. The audience understands and appreciates how hard it is to make a show like ours. That gives us cover and a pass. It’s all out there. I never liked Apocalypse Now, then I watched the documentary Francis’s wife made about the three-year ordeal making the film in the Philippines. Now it’s my favorite film. You can’t imagine the deprivations, albeit self-inflicted ones, they had to overcome just to complete a movie.  

 

It's old hat to say no one wants to know how the sausage is made. My whole career disproves that theory. Look at it. People need to know how the sausage is made. They crave it. They want to see and understand. Only then can they laugh. 

Shoeless Rick Rubin

 

Creative acts are all around us, in many forms, and most of them don't even involve the circus. Just look at me wiggling my big toe in this palatial room with cathedral ceilings and skylights. What I’m saying, without saying it, is that creativity cannot be ignored. We rely on our hands because that’s what we’ve been taught by glad-handers and well-armed individuals. I consider my toes, stronger, stranger and smellier fingers. I can’t write with them – yet. But I can hit a snare drum, bang a clutch and grip the corners of expensive Persian rugs while on holiday. Some people ask me, why I don’t wear shoes. I answer their question with a question. 

 

Did the first human being wear shoes? Were they Nikes? Were they Asics? Early primates were constantly running for their life from predators. Because fight or flight wasn’t about arguments with an airline concierge. 

 

The great artists of France’s Chauvet Cave weren’t wearing flipflops and argyle stocking. They were connected to their canvas in a profound way. Socks and shoes are middle management, getting in the way between truly understanding the world. I don’t want anything obstructing that. Why did I import heavy slabs of Italian marble for each of my seventeen bathrooms? It wasn’t to not feel the floor as I gaze into my own reflection for three hours each morning.

 

Whenever someone raises the issue of fungus, I smile and shift the subject to mushrooms. How sweet, how savory, how important they are to the modern dining experience. The choice to bring these delectable little snacks from the forest floor to our dinner plates was a revolutionary one. It took courage and creativity. Imagine if toadstools were left to be the stools of toads? The enterprising amphibians' seating loss was our spiritual gain. 

 

Creativity cannot be understood with footwear. I know this will disturb sneakerheads and bootlickers everywhere, but it’s the truth. And if you really hate the smell of feet? 

Light some incense. 

Happy Belabor Day

 

Belabor Day is a holiday that starts early. When the sun comes up, when you wake up, when the coffee pot smiles, when the toaster sings. There are rituals throughout the day, too. You might call them traditions. Cultural touchstones signifying our collective connection to generations gone by. Part oral history, part folklore, part mythmaking. 

 

There are heroes of belabor day. Sultans of small details. Maestros of minutia. Emirs of elaboration. On a day like this, it’s good enough to do it once, you have to do it again. There are songs, all chorus, that go on for hours, usually until someone participating has a medical episode or the neighbors call the police. 

 

Some people wonder, “where did a holiday like Belabor Day come from?” It’s a good question, and a seemingly simple one. Though, as should be clear by this paragraph, that nothing about Belabor Day is simple. 

 

Have a content, decent, stellar, not-to-bad, and only if it’s your choice, an appropriately happy Belabor Day.

The Costas of doing business

A man slowly fills his shopping cart with cereal boxes. Bob Costas and Bob Uecker watch from a safe distance, broadcasting for reasons that aren’t exactly clear. 

 

Bob:     Welcome to the supermarket. Ya know, they say, “breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” But were they talking about cereal, a serial staple of the morning meal, when the phrase was first coined? I don’t think so. Coins are barely coined anymore, as we steady our clammy palms for the cold digital embrace of a cashless society. Those are empty calories, Bob. Milk is good for your bones; any osteopath would surely attest. I’m not here to affirm convention, then again, neither is he. He’s here to feed himself, or his family. He’s alone in the wilderness, or in this case, the cereal aisle. 

 

Ueck:   I see his wife now. Or is that my wife? 

 

Bob:     This general tableau really takes me back. To my childhood, yes, but elsewhere too. To a time when man was kind, and mankind was young. They hunted, they gathered, they didn’t worry about choosing paper or plastic. They came from caves. They painted with the materials they could find. The walls were their television. There were men like us, Ron, hiding from predators, in need of marrow and good cheer. 

 

Ueck:   He can’t seem to push his damn cart in a straight line. Four good wheels, I’ve seen it.

 

Bob:     Food is up there with shelter as one of our basic needs. But as you can see, it’s not hard to obtain. You fill your cart, grab your credit card, and that’s that. There’s no romance to the express checkout. There was once, when the stakes were a good deal higher. 

 

Ueck:   He likes pickles. Look at the size of that jar. I once won a pickle the size of a small animal. Milwaukee State Fair 1968. I was recently retired, lost, and hadn’t yet discovered broadcasting. That pickle lasted three years, which led seamlessly into becoming the voice of the Brewers.  

 

Bob:     And with that, he pays. No receipts, no evidence, no more drama. 

The man opens his trunk, preparing to load his groceries.

Man:   Who are you talking to?

 

Luis Luis

 

Pitchers are a conforming bunch of athletes. They all pretty much throw the same way. Their job is an extreme version of playing catch, with higher speeds and stakes. They even lord over the hitters from a higher plane, given the mound’s sandy perch. Whether throwing from the windup or the stretch, pitchers are imitators, following in the familiar cleat marks of their predecessors. The occasional gangly reliever opts for a submarine style, but even that bears a n obvious resemblance with past players. Everyone does the same thing. 

 

Except Luis Tiant. Who turned the simple act of throwing a baseball to his catcher into a display of incomparable individuality. 

 

RIP

Obet

 

 

On the ballfield, Pete Rose was the hit king who ran to first base after every walk. And with Draft Kings, run to exclusive playoff parlays during Major League Baseball’s exciting postseason.

 

Alongside Tony Perez, Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, George Foster and Ken Griffey, Rose was a key member of the Big Red Machine, bouncing off the rock hard astroturf of Riverfront Stadium. At BetRivers Sportsbook and Casino, bounce into online bonuses to make things interesting.

 

Rose was legendary for possessing a relentless fire inside, sometimes spilling into battles with opposing players, like his duel with Buddy Harrelson during the 1973 NLCS against the Mets. FanDuel allows fans to make wagers in real time.

 

If it were humanly possible, Rose would have played baseball 365 days a year. At Bet365, lock in your best bets for nonstop gambling.

 

Pete Rose died in Las Vegas at the age of 83. 

Gameus Interruptus

 

When Albert Einstein first proposed the theory for general relativity, it had less to do with complicated math than putting things in perspective. It’s the reason Al grew his hair out or rode a bicycle through Princeton’s main quad. He was attempting to defy expectations among the faculty and student body. The stranger he looked and acted, the more he’d be taken seriously. This is why restaurants serve palate cleansers. Not because these tiny plates of amusing bouches are all that tasty alone and unadorned by menu explanations. It’s that they help put your dinner in its proper perspective. You can’t possibly be asked to enjoy three courses of interesting flavors without tasting something subpar in between.

 

And this, my little sports fiends, is the purpose of sideline reporters, whose specialty is interrupting the high drama of the game for useless inanities. 

 

“What are you thinking right now, coach?”

“We’re losing, so we need to score more.”

 

“What was going through your head on that play?”

“How I’d respond when you asked me about it.”

 

“This team never gives up.”

“It’s part of their collective bargaining agreement.”

 

Fans typically become incensed by the presence of a microphone on the sidelines or in the dugout, peppering coaches and players with questions while the action is happening mere feet away, unseen and unheard by a rapt audience at-home. This calculated technique only adds to the drama, creating a situation that puts people on the edge of their upholstery. You’re not meant to learn much from these exchanges. You’re meant to become full of rage and at the exact moment you’re ready to toss your devices into an open sewer, abandoning your fandom for more intellectual pursuits, the camera pans back to the game. Treating your emotions like a dime store yo-yo is what television executives have long understood. Because now, you aren’t going anywhere, too afraid to miss a second of the action. 

 

It's irrelevant what is happening on the field, only that something is happening on the field. You breathe a sigh of relief, lean back onto those well-worn cushions of yours and lock in for the remainder of the game. Broken and defeated yourself, the sport always wins.