The Rebel Black Dot Songs of the Day
Seu Jorge, "Life On Mars?" from The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, Disc Two: The Supplementals (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: "Life On Mars?" comes to us directly from my D.V.D. of The Life Aquatic, the first time a song has come from neither a compact disc nor my iTunes library (into which I've ripped nearly all of my C.D.s, but a few are locked and unrippable [reasonably sure that isn't a word], for example "Weird Al" Yankovic's Straight Outta Lynwood). Adding to the unique character of the moment, who'd like to wager that time will prove "Life On Mars?" to be the first, last, and only David Bowie tune chosen as a R.B.D.S.O.T.D.?

Freitag, 25 April
Dan Potthast, "Stepping Stones to CA" from Sweets and Meats (T.L.A.M.)

Commentary: Happy!

Believe: Red Wings 5-1 Avalanche
Six down, ten to go. Best of seven: Detroit 2-0 Colorado.

Franzen earned a hat trick, McCarty was at his pugilistic best, Jose Theodore was chased from his net for the second straight game, and it had been far, far too long since I'd heard that grand old tradition of The Joe, the grateful, affectionate chants of "Ozzie! Ozzie! Ozzie!" What a perfect way to while away a Saturday afternoon.

Almost precisely a year ago, during my time in Texile, Johan Franzen was incorrectly identified on E.S.P.N.'s Pardon the Interruption as "Johan Frazier." Franzen. Frazier. Worse still, P.T.I. has a segment of the show dedicated specifically to correcting errors - almost always innocent misstatements - but on this occasion naught was said. There are times when I sincerely hate everyone and everything associated with E.S.P.N.

I choose to be self-indulgent, here is the full text:

Gents,
One can infer from watching Pardon the Interruption that hockey is not a passion for anyone working on the show. Distressing, but we each have our preferences. But, is it really necessary to denigrate hockey by not treating the N.H.L. with the same laudable professionalism displayed when the N.F.L., N.B.A., or M.L.B. are discussed? During Monday's P.T.I., Mr. Wilbon spoke of "Johan Frazier" of the Detroit Red Wings, the player who was slashed on Saturday afternoon and scored the series winning goal on Sunday night. He meant Johan Franzen. Mistaking Franzen for the more common Frazier is an easy mistake to make, but what really surprised me is that Mr. Reali made no mention of this slip of the tongue during the review of errors at the tail end of the broadcast. Had Alex Rodriguez been called "Alex Rodrigo" would the error have passed unnoticed? If Peyton Manning was called "Peyton Manningham" surely someone would pip up.

It is sad that Mr. Wilbon and Mr. Kornheiser deign the Stanley Cup playoffs to be of lesser importance than what Tiger Woods has for breakfast, but on those rare instances when hockey is mentioned, would accuracy and attention to detail be too much to ask?

Yours,

Mike Wilson
fan of the Red Wings

Unsurprisingly, no on-air correction was ever issued, nor a direct response given. Ladies and gentlemen, the arrogance of power.

After a particularly disheartening second half collapse against, if I recall correctly, Purdue, I once sent an email to Lloyd Carr asking him to please remind his team that football games are sixty minutes in length, not thirty. I further suggested that remembering this vital detail might produce positive results on the playing field. (No response.) I also once sent an email to Drew Henson asking him to please leave college early to chase those Yankee millions. (No direct response, but a season later he did as I asked, the blighter.) After an overhanging deck was added to the student side of Yost Ice Arena (formerly Yost Fieldhouse), greatly obstructing views in the student section, I mailed my ticket and a venomously vitriolic letter to Athletic Director Bill Martin, accusing him of failing utterly to take into account the needs of the loyal season ticket-holding students when drawing up the plans for his overhanging deck. (I received an invitation - summons? - to his office in Weidenbach Hall, and had a one-on-one, face-to-face sit down with a millionaire. Neat!)

I come from a long line of cranks and fully expect, entirely against my wishes, to lose my sanity shortly after my fiftieth birthday. Judging by the pattern set by my father and grandfather, I will become increasingly egomaniacal, paranoid, and bigoted. Lovely. However, I will never become a regular correspondent to my local newspaper's editorial page, because that way lies madness. Should the lobbing of such literary bombs become a habit, you will know that I am well and truly lost; the Mike you know will be dead, even if this body persists.