by Jack Kerwin | ydkjack1@gmail.com
An idiot with an idea. A blogosphere-fueled firestorm of emotion. Two radio stations fighting for ratings. Philly sportstalk, you win again. Not for nothing, but where else can you find a semi-routine fake phone caller gain such a following that his “outing” creates such outrage among the listening masses and, at minimum, a day’s worth of programming? Heck, both the Fanatic and WIP benefitted from this one. Gotta admit, never got the interest in “Dwayne from Swedesboro,” an over-the-top black character created and portrayed by Fanatic producer Pat Egan, who is as white as his name suggests, or the rise he seemed to get out of afternoon host Mike Missanelli. Always seemed to be much ado about BS. Stereotypical silliness being forced into every conversation that, for me, was neither funny nor the least bit intriguing. If anything, his “calls” had me racing down the dial in search of some kind of actual sports fix, even if it just came in the form of hearing former Eagles defensive tackle Hollis Thomas chuckle at something Mikey Miss’ competition, Josh Innes, may have said. Then came the bombshell unloaded in the last 24 hours that “Dwayne” wasn’t real. What, say it ain’t so? Oh, the humanity … Sorry, just not inspired to rip Missanelli, Egan or anyone else at the Fanatic for either making it happen or being oblivious to it happening. The whole idea of the show, or any other sportstalk show, is to entertain, and for many, “Dwayne” did just that. Obviously, we’re not talking about some of the finest members of Mensa following M2’s stuff. Still, listeners determined that “Dwayne” had a place on the show, and am having a hard time grasping why his legitimacy matters so much to anyone. Before or now. If the Fanatic were claiming a caller to be, oh, say, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell and the whole thing was a ruse, that might be real cause for alarm. But a fictional character from the get-go? Don’t see the harm. Frankly, don’t see how anyone bought a black guy being from a lily-white South Jersey town in the first place. Then again, we’re not exactly the most knowledgeable “shoppers” anyway. You almost have to wonder how long Missanelli and Innes will try to cash in on DwayneGate, each moving effortlessly between offensive and defensive positions, depending on that day’s pre-ordained narrative. Doesn’t get any better ... or worse.
by Jack Kerwin | ydkjack1@gmail.com
Never got the fascination with the guy. Yeah, obviously, he had talent, good looks and the unyielding support that only fans of an elitist, non-major sport can supply with such nose-held-high-in-the-air disdain. But he was a bore. A spoiled kid with the personality of a statue decked out in a Hawaiian shirt and several loads shy on the required amount of brain cells to be labeled “intelligent.” Seriously, from the moment Ryan Lochte wafted into the periphery of my consciousness a decade ago, thanks to my arrival in his hometown of Port Orange, Fla., and the hero-worshipping done on his behalf there, one word just kept coming to mind: Mimbo. Yeah, that’s right. Mimbo, a male bimbo. Coined in “Seinfeld,” it was the perfect description of puffed-up nothingness in a man and perfectly depicted by MTV refugee Dan Cortese. The object of gals, and guys, swooning, he was a classic example of the superficial dwarfing substantial. A talking head with zilch worthwhile coming out of his mouth. But did you see that smile, or those eyes, or that outfit he was wearing …? If Lochte displayed himself as anything aside from a swimming savant, it was as a mimbo – just not as cool as Cortese’s version of him. Not for nothing, but why anyone adored Lochte, or discussed him, outside of what happened in the pool is a mystery to me. Perhaps they all didn’t want to follow the crowd after Michael Phelps. Or they found mind-numbing commentary or actions to be fascinating stuff. Don’t really care. His “look at me” act was tired the moment it was unfurled in all its grill-covered, Olympic glory, devolving from gold to American flag shade and then, finally, this year’s coup de grace, a silver-haired tribute apparently to Tom Cruise’s assassin role in the 2004 thriller “Collateral.” Ugh. Color me not impressed. Oh, his medal tally is. No doubt. Anyone ripping his ability is way off base. An argument could be made that his biggest flaw in that regard was coming around the same time as Phelps. But him, what he says, what he does, what he wears … uh, no. Funny thing is, seems the same people who built him up, who made the abysmal “What Would Ryan Lochte Do?” possible, if only for an egregious five-week run on cable TV in 2013, are the ones most upset about his latest testimony to attention whores everywhere – act like an idiot, come up with some lame story to cover it up even though no one was going to report it, cling to the lie for days, disgrace, offer the pointless, full-accountability apology and then, gulp, lose a sponsorship. Enough already. Let it go. Let him go. The rest of us could use a break from the stupidity, and the calling attention to it – once and for all. |
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