The Yang Slinger: Vol. LXXVI

On the 20th anniversary of V.J. Lovero's death, it's time to ask: What happened to the sports photographer?

Back in 2001, shortly after the Sept. 11 attacks shook America, I was sitting with my mother in her New York home when she offered up a thought that—all these years later—I have yet to forget.

“I am glad,” she said, “Grandma isn’t alive to see this.”

My grandmother, the beloved Marta Herz, had died two years earlier. She was 87, and one of my all-time favorite people. On the night of her passing, I rushed to her apartment on 181st Street in Washington Heights. She had always been there for me, and—in this final moment—I wanted to be there for her. So I entered, walked toward Grandma’s bedroom and saw her, eyes closed and body lifeless, atop the sheet.

Sigh.

The years passed. Things happened. Came. Went. Marriage. Kids. Highs. Lows. This job. That job. And through it all, I never forgot my mom’s sentiment; the idea some things are so seismically awful that maybe, just maybe, one is better off gone than alive and well but forced to witness it.

Which, clumsily, leads me to V.J. Lovero.

If you’re reading this Substack entry on Friday, Jan. 12, you are doing so on the 20th anniversary of V.J.’s death. He passed in 2004, on a Monday morning inside Hoag Memorial Hospital Presbyterian in Newport Beach, California. Though the official cause was “complications of pneumonia,” V.J. had spent the last four years of his life battling a cancer that commenced in his lungs and metastasized throughout his body. You can read his Los Angeles Time obituary here.

Along with being a husband and father of two boys, V.J. was a photographer. But not merely a photographer—click, click, snap, snap. Nope, V.J. was on the short list for greatest baseball photographer who ever walked the planet. Thirty nine Sports Illustrated covers. His own insert set in Upper Deck’s baseball card collection of 1996. A reputation that brought whispers when he entered a stadium. “He found positions to shoot that never occurred to other photographers,” says Steve Fine, the former Sports Illustrated director of photography. “That was the thing that made him great, and the thing that made so many of our photographers great. They knew what to look for that most others did not.”

Back in the late 1990s, when I was covering the Majors for Sports Illustrated, I worked alongside V.J. a lot. He began shooting for the magazine in 1985, at the same time he also served as the then-California Angels’ team photographer. And what “working alongside” meant back in the day was a writer and photographer would take some time to figure out the mission at hand. If it was a profile on, say, Royals third baseman Joe Randa, the writer might break down the interesting parts of the man’s life, and the shooter would come up with ways to deftly illustrate them. If it was a big, oh, Yankees-Red Sox series, the writer could drop five names he was thinking of focusing on (Jeter, Bernie, Ortiz, Pedro, Leyritz), but inevitably say to the photographer, “Eh, fuck it, I have no idea. Let’s just talk later.”

And V.J. … man, V.J. was a special sort of dude (if you don’t believe me, devote 30 minutes to watching, “Fallen Classic: The V.J. Lovero Story”). Enormous laugh. Blinding smile. As warm and fun and generous and spirited and enthusiastic of a colleague as I’ve ever known. I still crack up thinking of V.J. sending then-San Francisco Giants slugger Will Clark a beer in a bar, and Clark approaching to say, in his trademark cackle, “Thanks for the beer, B.J.!” (V.J. lived to tell that story).

I liked baseball, in the way a chronicler of the sport should like baseball. But V.J. loved everything about the game. Seriously—everything. The smells and the sounds, the pacing and the strategy. He liked guessing with managers, predicting what was about the transpire. Along with natural skill and instincts, what made V.J. such a tremendous talent was he often thought two or three steps ahead of his peers up and down the dugout photo wells. “He could get inside the heads of the players” says Scott Clarke, the longtime sports photographer and close V.J. chum. “So much of the job involves anticipation. V.J.’s ability to anticipate was unmatched.”

Even though journalists are implored to remain impartial, that same standard never really applied to Sports Illustrated photographers. And V.J.—tied to the Angels for more than a decade—was an enormous Halos fan. He’d seen the franchise forever suck and choke and choke and suck, so when they finally won the World Series in 2002, V.J. was overcome with emotion. Inside the clubhouse, he simultaneously shot images of the victors and lathered his thick dark hair in bubbly.

Yes, he was fighting a brawl with cancer that he could never overcome.

But he was, that October, in heaven.

I was talking with Brad Mangin a few days ago.

Mangin is a friend and colleague, as well as a veteran Bay Area-based freelance photographer who has shot 10 covers for Sports Illustrated. Back in the day, whenever I saw V.J, I’d usually see Brad. “He really made my career,” Brad says. “I was shooting for the Fremont Argus, and V.J. was in charge for assignments for Upper Deck (baseball cards). He asked me how much I was making at the paper, and I told him $550 a week. He said, ‘Quit, and I’ll guarantee you that much work [shooting baseball cards].’ So I quit—and it changed everything.”

That was in 1993, and over the next three decades Brad shot for outlets from SI to ESPN to Major League Baseball. Like V.J., he digs everything about the process. Setting up alongside a field. Anticipating what might transpire. The path of a baseball from release point to catcher’s glove. The flight of a golf ball off Tiger Wood’s driver. Sports photography is all about movement, and people like V.J. and Brad live for the movement.

Yet Brad is also the one who recently caused me to think of my Grandma Marta and the aftermath of Sept. 11, because—of V.J. Lovero—he said to me, “I’m sorta relieved he’s not here for this.”

And, to be clear, Brad Mangin is not happy V.J. Lovero is gone. He misses his friend with a rawness that lingers years later. But when he says “this,” what he means is something that V.J. Lovero could have never seen coming. Something V.J. Lovero would have detested. Something V.J. Lovero would not have understood. Or comprehended. Or digested. Or accepted.

What he means is the death of sports photography.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking. The death of sports photography? Stop exaggerating. There’s plenty of sports photography. Just go to ESPN.com—they have pictures! The NFL and NBA and MLB and NHL websites—they have pictures! How is sports photography dead? And by those narrow measures … OK, sports photography exists. There are people with cameras and iPhones at events. Those people press buttons. The result of said button pressings are pictures.

But sports photography as an art, as an expression, as a staple of coverage … well, it all but wrote its own obituary on Jan. 23, 2015, when Sports Illustrated—the king of athletic imagery dating back to its 1954 debut—announced it would no longer employ staff photographers. For decades, SI was home to artists whose excellence made them near-household names. John Iacono. Heinz Kluetmeier. Manny Millan. Walter Iooss. Peter Read Miller. Ron Modra. Chuck Solomon. Al Tielemans. Tony Tomsic. On and on.

When you see photographs like this …

And this …

And this …

And this …

And this …

… you’re looking at pictures taken by the kings of kings You see the end result, but what you can’t witness (and what I actually did have the pleasure of witnessing) was the planning behind it all. Setting up strobes throughout an arena five hours before tipoff. Slipping a sideline kid $20 to save you the best spot. Studying charts, layouts, designs. Marking where certain players take certain shots. Charting the path of the sun. Lugging around tons of equipment. “People are so used to digital now that they either forget or don’t know what it was like back in the day,” says Chuck Solomon, another great former SI photographer. “If we shot something during the week, we could send the film to the office in New York using FedEx. But if it was getting toward the weekend, we’d ship counter to counter. Literally, we’d rush to the airport with the film. There was a guy in New York, Bob Ryan, whose job was to go to the airport and pick up the film. On busy football weekends he’d go to the airport, get film, bring it in to the office. Go back to the airport, get more film, bring it in.”

Nowadays, one can look at his camera and immediately know whether he nailed a moment. Back then, however, a photographer shipped off his film simply hoping (praying?) for the best. “You’d think you got a great shot at home plate,” Solomon recalls, “and the ump’s leg would be in the way. Digital has removed the guesswork that we had to suffer through.”

It’s easy to pinpoint Sports Illustrated shedding its staff as the turning point. As a vaunted publication more or less saying to its readers, “Yeah, we’re tapping out.”

I mean, I sorta just did.

But there’s more.

If we’re being honest, the demise of print and rise of digital has made visual imagery (weirdly) not quite as visual. Or, put different: We don’t look at photographs the way we once did. When, in 1965, Neil Leifer took this shot of Muhammad Ali standing over a prone Sonny Liston, some 3 million readers opened their Sports Illustrateds and stared at the details, studied the intricacies, digested it as one would a bowl of soup. For most, that was their closest view of the heavyweight fight. The photo burned itself into America’s temporal lobes.

But times changed, and access to sports changed, and while a sweet photo still popped (and still pops), it doesn’t do so nearly as much. Truth is, we’re busy people with too much to do and far too much to see. Look, a Kardashian just posted a photo of her new Dandie Dinmont Terrier! Look, Ja Morant is flashing his Glock! Look, Lauren Boebert is giving that dude a handy! Look! Look! Look! We don’t pause. We don’t stop. We crane our necks from left to right, then back right to left, because we can’t miss any … single … detail. As a result, we miss so many details.

Also, not for nothing, places like Sports Illustrated (and ESPN the Magazine, to a lesser extent) got soft and indifferent to quality. Back during my early days at the magazine in the mid-1990s, the editors and power brokers would do whatever it took to secure a great article accompanied by great images. If that meant spending $20,000 for a writer/photographer combo to trek to, oh, Greenland for two nights, it would happen. Why, I remember an endless number of times when a photographer would fly to Cincinnati to shoot, say, Sean Casey for a half-page slot, then head to Los Angeles to capture Shawn Green, then Toronto for Carlos Delgado and Arizona for Tony Womack. Thousands upon thousands of dollars, because quality was a top priority, and every photograph carried enormous weight.

Before long, sadly, you could see the thinking start to change. “The end result still mattered,” says Fine, “but not as much.” The folks in charge began to ask themselves: Are readers even noticing? Is there that big of a gulf between the SI photographer snapping Raptors-Knicks and a (less-qualified, less-skilled, far-cheaper) freelance photographer handling the task? Fine recalls one magazine big gun asking him why they bothered to send a star photographer to an NFL game. “If he’s standing next to the Getty photographer,” the man said, “they’re taking the same picture anyway.”

Fine nearly lost his shit. “No!” he replied. “The difference is our guy is the best fucking football photographer in America!”

It was a battle Fine couldn’t win, and he knew it. By the mid-2000s, sports photographers were no longer valued—anywhere. “The leagues made a deal with Getty or AP and they handed out the credentials and therefore controlled who gets into games and who has the best access,” Fine says. “It became very exclusive and limited. Back when times were good, the freelance world was people showing up and making their own pictures. Then earning decent money selling them. Those days ended a good 20 years ago. As soon as the leagues started making deals with the agencies, opportunities dried up.”

Print was dying. Corporate greed was infectious. Back in the day, the major American leagues cut a pretty sweet deal with photographers, where if the league optioned or sold one of your pictures you would earn 50 percent of the commission. In other words, if a photographer shooting 49ers-Rams snagged an eye-catching moment of Jerry Rice crossing the middle, he could show it to the NFL, then have the league peddle it on his behalf for a 50/50 split. “It was great for everyone,” says Tielemans. “They got people to shoot for free, with the understanding there was a lot of money to be made for both NFL Photos and the photographer.

“Then the NFL (and other leagues) realized they could hire some guys for a set free for. game and not have to pay commissions. And the reality was that the things that we were being requested to shoot nowadays were pretty generic and easily obtainable from a younger, more novice photographer. Auto focus and digital cameras commoditized a good bit of the nuts and bolts skills of photography ”

And if the quality suffers?

“I think,” says Tielemans, “the expectations are so far reduced that that higher level of quality or expectation is not the same as it once was.”

Of the different photographers I spoke to for this piece, Tielemans probably made me the most, eh, depressed. I mean, very few of my contemporaries work regularly any longer (“For what?” says Clarke. “You can get $150 to shoot a game and transmit it. That’s not a realistic living wage.”), but Al seemed like someone who would defy time. In my days as a Sports Illustrated staffer, the man was a giant. Not only did his images sizzle, but so did his mojo. He was a guy you wanted shooting your stories, because you knew how much he put into it.

Nowadays, he lives in Pennsylvania and runs the office for his wife’s marriage and family therapy practice. Much of his photography equipment has been sold. Some sits in a corner. “I’m so out of the loop,” he says, “I wouldn’t even pretend to know what’s going it.”

He insists he’s not glum. Insists he enjoys life and doesn’t miss the crazy existence of the sports photographer. “Honestly,” he says, “outside of the Phillies, I don’t watch games anymore. It’s not who I am. I’ve moved on.”

And I believe him.

Truly, I believe him.

But on the anniversary of V.J. Lovero’s death, I can’t help but wonder how my friend and former colleague—who, had he lived, would be a 64-year-old grandfather right now—might feel were he to take a quick gander at modern times.

I imagine he’d be sad and confused and more than a bit bewildered.

I also imagine he’d instinctively reach for his camera.

The Quaz Five with … Mike Nabors

Mike Nabors is a veteran broadcaster and author of a book, “The Brees Way: The best of my hundreds of interviews with #9 complemented with perspective from those who know him best.” You can follow him on Xitter here.

1. Mike, you're the author of The Brees Way, and you spent a ton of time with the former Saints quarterback. By your estimation, why did the guy have such a dazzling career?: The secret to Drew Brees' success was timing. He and Sean Payton were the perfect marriage. Payton's offense was tailor made for Brees, and Brees's work ethic and skill set were just right for Payton. Brees' best trait is the number one asset for any NFL quarterback—accuracy and he arguably is the most accurate quarterback in NFL history which served his head coach well. If Drew had gone to Miami over New Orleans as a free agent in 2006, Nick Saban never would have gone to Alabama, but I don't think Brees would have had the same career. Conversely Payton needed Brees. If he hadn't come along, he may have drafted a Vince Young, Matt Leinart or Jay Cutler. Payton needed Brees and Brees needed Payton.

2. From afar, Drew Brees has always struck me as a bit ... dull. Tell me why I'm wrong: Brees is a guarded celebrity quarterback. In this day and age of social media and camera phones, where everything is picked apart in a millisecond, he is aware of that, careful about what he says to the media and protective of his image. Behind the scenes, I have seen a different side of him where often we would have fun doing a skit for our postgame show or even sending a prank video to one of my friends or family members. He has a tight inner circle and shows his personality more to them—in fact, not many people know this but a few years ago he was in Spain running with the bulls with some buddies. He just keeps those moments away from the spotlight.

3. This is gonna sound weird, but your bio begins, "Mike is an Emmy award-winning veteran broadcast journalist ..." And this is taking nothing away from you, because you've had a fantastic career. But I feel like every other TV person I know IDs as "Emmy winning ...." something and something. What does an Emmy mean? How big of a deal is it?: Ha ha I get it! I've never been an awards person but I am proud of my Emmy as it came during a pivotal time in my broadcast career. I went through a period where I was laid off three times in four years, a time when both of my daughters were born and I had to grind to keep my career going. During that period, I accepted less money to work for a network where I did numerous stories which led to me getting a great job as TV host with the Tampa Bay Lightning. During that time, I did a story having fun with the National Spelling Bee—I went to an elementary school and had third grade kids spell challenging MLB players names like Doug "Mientkiewicz" and then had the players from the Tampa Bay Rays attempt it. I never thought about it, but the network entered it and it was the first Emmy they every won. It means a lot to me because it symbolized a vulnerable time in my career and motivated me to never give up on the dream.

4. You teach Business of Sports Media at Florida Southern’s Barney Barnett School of Business. What does that entail? What is the business of sports media, per se?: I always wanted to teach, but I wanted to do it later in my life when I could pass on my experience to complement the required curriculum. I went back to school during the pandemic and got my Master's, and I appreciate Florida Southern College offering me such a unique opportunity. They liked the fact I had a media and business background as I started my production company 14 years ago. Initially I created two courses: Sports Innovation/Entrepreneurship which spotlighted creative entities all over the country from apparel to collectables, Pickleball and those fun "Noggin Boss" hats. From there I created the Business of Sports Media course which dove into the changing trends we see in our field—it was a chance to bring in great guests from all over the country and give my students a quality perspective. I currently teach Media, Marketing and Management classes, and it's honestly the best and most fulfilling job I've ever had. Looking back, I always wanted to be a sportscaster and thought I would teach in a communications department, but now being a professor in sports management has expanded my reach. I think it's the perfect major for anyone wanting to find a career in the sports world.

5. You've been doing sports media for a long time. Do you still care who wins, who loses? Do you still have the oomph?: I really don't care who wins anymore. I grew up a diehard Florida Gators fan, but working in the media for many years I have found you root for people over games. I worked in Tuscaloosa, Tallahassee, Jacksonville, Tampa and New Orleans since going to the University of Florida, and root for people from every stop. I think the great thing about being a journalist is getting to know your subjects and finding something about them they have never shared before—that is what interests me over who wins and loses. I feel with social media, we have lost a lot of the one on one interaction as reporters, I started a series called "Errands" which is hybrid from "Cars Comedians and Coffee" and "Carpool Karaoke." It was a chance to get to know people where we started it with Dick Vitale and then did 25 episodes with people like Archie Manning and recently Jameis WInston.

I covered Jameis at Florida State, with the Bucs and then the Saints—I got to know him better driving around New Orleans for two hours than I had in all of those previous years. Getting that kind of access which enables you to build relationships is what still gives me the "oomph."

Bonus [rank in order—favorite to least]: Kojak, Bobby Hebert, onion bagels, black tea, Tyler the Creator, Sharpies, tightie whities, the Tampa Bay Lightning logo, "All the President's Men," line dancing: (1) Bobby Hebert: one of my favorite people of all time. If you are in New Orleans and attend a Saints game., make sure you listen to his postgame show on WWL afterward. It's a must-listen. I have never met anyone like him, what you see and hear on the radio is what you get in person. (2) "All the President's Men": I am fascinated by the Watergate story and love this film. (3) Tampa Bay Lightning logo: One of the best organizations in sports and the most popular team here in the Tampa Bay area. (4) Sharpies: Always a teaching go-to. (5) Onion Bagels (6) Black Tea: Only sweet tea for me. (7) Tyler the Creator. (8) Kojak: Love lollipops though. (9) Line dancing: I'm a terrible dancer?! (10) Tightie whities: Sorry, I’m a boxer guy.

Ask Jeff Pearlman a fucking question(s)

From SpiceOne: This substack seems like a lot of work, and I doubt you make a ton of money. Why do you bother?: That’s actually a great and fair question, and the answer is pretty basic: I love journalism. Like, I love, love, love journalism. And I hope this substack inspires others to love it, too. This has never been about dough or prestige or fame. It’s about sharing a passion.

That’s truly it.

[But if you’d like to order a paid subscription, I won’t complain].

From CodyWitt: Do you ever get nervous before interviews or have you done it so much it comes second nature? I’ve only done a few so never got to that comfort level.: All the time. Truly, all … the … time. And I’m never scared of the people, per se. Like, you can sit me down with anyone and I won’t be intimidated by their mojo or stature. But I worry about pulling it off, asking the right questions, leading with a left before following with the perfect right. I try and prepare as much as I can, but it’s an imperfect business.

A random old article worth revisiting …

Certain sports names stick with a guy, and for me it’s always been Wayne Krenchicki, the former journeyman infielder. So, in Wayne’s honor, I present this July 14, 1983 Detroit Free Press offering from Mike Downey …

The Madness of Tyler Kepner’s Grid …

So unless you’ve been living beneath a pebble beneath a rock beneath a big hunk of cheese, you’re aware of Immaculate Grid, the daily game that’s drawn thousands of nerdy sports fans (guilty!) to its ranks. And while the NBA grid, NFL grid, NHL grid and WNBA grid are all fun, this game is at its best when it comes to baseball—where the names are endless and the transactions ceaseless.

Over the past few weeks I’ve often discussed the grid with Tyler Kepner, the Athletic baseball writer. And now, for kicks, every week I’m gonna feature one of Tyler’s bonkers grid results. He’s the ultimate baseball geek (I say this with great affection), and his outputs blow my mind.

So …

Tyler thoughts:

• Mike Young had one big year for the Orioles where he hit 28 home runs. They traded him in 1988 to the Phillies, my team growing up, and he didn't really do much. The Phillies traded him to the Brewers.

I• don't know why I remember Doug Johns. Probably because he was arrested a couple of times for marijuana and had a name that sounded like "Doug Jones" (who also pitched for the A's and Orioles, incidentally).

• Mark Williamson was one of the pitchers in the combined no-hitter the Orioles threw against Oakland in 1991. Bob Milacki, Mike Flanagan and Gregg Olson were the others.

• I covered Mike Myers with the Yankees; one of my favorites. He finished up with the White Sox in 2007.

• When I was at Vandy, Scott Sanderson was the only Vandy alum pitching in the majors. He had pitched for Oakland in the 1990 World Series and was then with the White Sox. I interviewed him in Sarasota at spring training during my freshman year and when I listened to the tape, I could hear Michael Jordan bantering in the clubhouse in the background. That day was the only time I ever saw Jordan play sports.

• Joe Cowley pitched a no-hitter for the White Sox in Anaheim at the end of the 1986 season. He walked a bunch of guys and gave up a run. The Phillies traded for him and he developed extreme wildness (the yips). The no-hitter turned out to be his last career win.

• Gus Polidor is just one of those names I remember from old baseball cards. He was murdered in Venezuela shortly after his career ended.

• Rafael Bournigal was a nice guy I covered with the Mariners in 1999. I remember him telling me that he used the same glove for his whole career, something like that. Also I saw him once at the movies ("Big Daddy") on an off night in San Francisco.

• Francisco Barrios was part of a combined no-hitter with Blue Moon Odom for the White Sox in the '70s. There didn't used to be a lot of combined no-hitters, so for some reason I remembered that one.

This week’s college writer you should follow on Xitter …

Ethan Kilbreath, University of Washington senior

The co-sports editor of his school’s student newspaper, Kilbreath delivered a beautiful column following Washington’s setback to Michigan in the national championship clash. In WASHINGTON’S FUTURE IS BRIGHT, BUT NATTY LOSS WILL STING, Kilbreath breaks down the highs and lows, joys and pains of a remarkable season.

He writes: “DeBoer may get another shot at a national championship in his Washington career, along with the Washington fanbase. 

“But there will be no more chances at ultimate glory for Penix, who will go down as the greatest quarterback in program history despite the bitter ending to the season. There won’t be any more chances for junior receiver Rome Odunze, who may equally be remembered as the greatest wide receiver in Washington history. No more chances at being No. 1 for junior defensive end Bralen Trice, or senior tight end Jack Westover, the hometown kid who poured his heart and soul into the program for six years, even when times were tough. The list goes on. 

“To be so close — one game from college football immortality for that special group of players — and trailing by just seven in the fourth quarter before cratering in the final stanza, is a gut-wrenching conclusion to an otherwise heartwarming season.”

One can follow Ethan on Xitter here.

Bravo, kid.

PS: And not for nothing, the UW student newspaper is releasing a book that celebrates the season. You have to love the doggedness and ingenuity.

Journalism musings for the week …

Musing 1: By now most of you have probably watched (or at least read about) Stephen A. Smith’s video drubbing of Jason Whitlock. And while I abhor ol’ J.W. as much an anyone, I thought S.A.S.’s attack was … lacking. First, why the fat insults? We all know the guy is heavy. How does pointing it out/ridiculing weight serve as anything but distracting and unnecessarily cruel (aka: Stephen, don’t you think some of your biggest fans are probably overweight?)? Second, why all the bragging about self? We get it—you’ve had a long and prosperous career. We get it—you’re charitable. The whole thing, while satisfying at times, just felt gluttonous and flat.

Musing 2: That said, Whitlock is a sack of shit.

Musing 3: This Medium piece from Larry Jaffee, MY WORST SEMESTER TEACHING COLLEGE, will resonate with anyone who has ever stood before a classroom overflowing with students who don’t wanna be there.

Musing 4: I don’t know if Fanni Willis, the district attorney of Fulton County, Ga., has been romantically involved with the lead prosecutor she hired for the Trump case. I don’t even care. It has no impact on me and—from a legal standpoint—no real impact on the specifics of the case. But (if it’s true) fuckity fuckity fuckity fuck. Can anyone out here just fucking stay professional and keep your eyes in front of you? Jesus, man, there are enormous things at stake, and perception always trumps reality.

Musing 5: A depressing-yet-important column in the New York Times via Pamela Paul. In WHEN YOU RETURN THOSE PANTS, THERE’S A PRICE YOU DON’T SEE, she explains how the earth is suffering from the endless Amazon returns that (gasp!) usually wind up going nowhere. Writes Paul: “The massive costs of return packaging, processing and transportation are easy to imagine. But what many online shoppers don’t realize is that many returned goods don’t get resold at all.”

Musing 6: I’m an enormous fan of Michael J. Lewis’ weekly blog, and his pain over both living as an eternal New York Jets fan and having to root for Aaron Rodgers is legitimately funny to read. Check out the perfectly headlined, AARON RODGERS JUST WON’T SHUT THE HELL UP, AND SOUNDS DUMBER AND DUMBER EVERY TIME HE TALKS. HOW CAN I ROOT FOR THIS GUY?

Musing 7: I try and stay away from Middle East politics here, but, seriously, can someone explain to me how blocking Brooklyn-bound traffic helps any cause (outside of limiting Brooklyn-bound traffic?).

Musing 8: Awesome news. Donald Trump will end “all wars.”

Musing 9: Look, Xitter blows. But there are still plenty of gems to find—beginning with the myriad posts of Kevin Gallagher, amateur football historian. I genuinely look forward to his offerings, and this—the sideline recordings of former Chiefs coach Hank Stram—is gold.

Musing 10: To really, truly, fully, completely understand the modern madness of college football, read Dave Wilson’s ESPN piece, CASEY THOMPSON COMMITS TO OKLAHOMA, 4TH SCHOOL IN 7 YEARS. Writes Wilson: “Former Texas, Nebraska and FAU quarterback Casey Thompson committed Thursday to Oklahoma, where he will play his seventh season in college football. Thompson was a graduate student at FAU this past season playing for coach Tom Herman, who originally signed him at Texas. He played in three games before tearing an ACL and was granted a medical hardship waiver for one more year. Thompson, the son of former Sooners quarterback Charles Thompson, will return home to Oklahoma where he was a high school star, setting a state record with 12,840 yards of offense and 154 touchdowns.”

Musing 11: OMG! OMG! Ariana Grande’s new single, “yes, and?” is finally out! OMG! OMG!

Musing 12: The New Two Writers Slinging Yang stars Sean Keeler, the tremendous Denver Post sports columnist and Darth to my Luke. Or vice versa …

Quote of the Week