Editor's note: This will be the final TML. As Doc retires, so does this blog on Cincinnati.com.
And still they lead me back. . .
Mornin’, Mobsters. Anything going on?
I just got up, made some coffee, sat behind the desk in my office and started typing. Nothing to see here. It’s all a snow-globe daydream, yeah? Doc got conked on the head in the tornado. (Lookitup, kids). He’s fine now. How did the Reds do?
Excuse me? Am I missing something?
Oh.
That.
I pondered saying nothing. I hate goodbyes. The worst thing about vacations is leaving them. The Morning Line has been a 17-year vacation, if you believe doing what you love four days a week is a vacation. I do. I do believe that. Most days.
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I’m proud of all of youse. You’ve done good work. For most of a generation, you’ve kept TML sane, civil and fun. The times you strayed were mostly my fault. No Trump references today, I promise.
TML endured. Seventeen years! More than 3,000 posts. How many blogs make it that long? Not only that, we’ve never lost our fastball. We’re going out on top.
Mother Gannett tried to wreck us. Paywalls, actual names, censors. In the early days, 100 comments a day was the norm. The virtual sports bar was packed as if the Super Bowl were on every TV. We’ve rebuilt that, from next to nothing. The community rallied and grew anew.
TML had a personality all its own. It was yours, collectively. The wise snark of Greg B. (aka Pogo, aka Pogoshtick), the gentle sensibility of Kathy B. (aka Bluegrass Kat), the chippy smarts of Pat and Greg G. The incendiary (and enlightening) thoughts of the late, great Glenn (aka GW, Avondale’s Finest, Mason Mauler, Swiggle Wiggle) may he rest in peace.
In heaven right now, Glenn is ckin-us-out.
The civil yet pointed takes from Jay B., who also became our foremost Friday Hemingway, which is saying quite a lot.
You were TML.
I was the moderator, the conductor, the keeper of the zoo. You set the tones. Without the music, there is no band.
The Morning Line helped the Traditional Media column. It provoked ideas that could be expanded upon. A 200-word TML topic could be expanded to a 750-word TM tome.
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TML had more personality than the column, if not as much depth. Most days, it was a 1,500-word cruise through the attic of my head. See Breaking Bad last night? Drink any good (cheap) beer? Where is my damned cigar? Should we fire Mike Brown? Half the fun of the experiences was being able to talk about them here.
I especially enjoyed the Trip Reports. I love to travel. It’s what I’ll miss most about the job. I researched towns before I went to them. That’s how I knew I had to get to Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, when I went (two years in a row) with UC to Spokane, WA, for the first weekend of the Madness.
It’s how I ended up atop Diamond Head on Oahu in February 2006, where I wrote the first Morning Line. TML sez ckitout.
A photo I took from Marin County, of the sun rising over the Golden Gate Bridge, hangs on a wall of my home. Praise be to jet lag and a body on Eastern Time.
I’ve been to South Korea, Spain, Australia and Greece, to say nothing of St. Andrews, Pinehurst, Pebble Beach and, of course, Augusta. New Orleans, more times than I can count. I saw a mountain lion east of San Diego because I Google-d “state parks near San Diego’’ and it came up Cuyamaca Rancho State Park. All these places Johnny Thinwallet went, he did so on the company dime. Glorious.
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Being able to tell youse about these places made my (two) typing fingers happy.
We’ve had a time here, yeah?
If you are like me – and most of you are, to a certain extent, whether you admit it or not – you don’t mind a good fight, so long as it’s fair and we understand that in the end we’re all rowing the same boat. I’m good buds with Jay B., even as our politics are polar-ly opposite most of the time.
Polar-ly, Doc?
I never took it personally. I hope you didn’t, either.
That said, TML was personal. At least to me. It was a 17-year relationship with lots of people I knew well and never met. You gave me your trust. I tried not to break it. I never took youse for granted.
The hard part about leaving isn’t the physical act of the departure. It’s knowing a sizeable chunk of my life is ending, never to return. You know how hopelessly Irish-melancholic I can be about such things. As Jim Seals and Dash Crofts sang, “We may never pass this way again.’’ Somebody get me a Van tune, please.
TML has introduced me to people. One morning at least a decade ago, I wrote that I’d be playing the back nine at Hickory Woods that day, should anyone wish to join me. Damned if Pogo didn’t show up on 16. We’ve been big pals ever since.
Pint Night next Friday at JJ’s, my friend?
Everyone’s welcome.
I owe you my gratitude. How much of life is simply showing up? You showed up. This past week, I’ve gotten a couple thousand virtual notes (I’m not kidding) more than a few from people living elsewhere, who just wanted to say how The Morning Line made them feel closer to home and partnered well with the K-cup at dawn or the brown bag at noon.
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The praise was humbling (and accurate, LOL). It actually made me think a little about changing my mind. Retirement is a great career move, when you’re feeling unloved.
I am also pondering taking TML private, to my own site. Would youse follow?
I want to step back awhile first, though. I want to know, for the first time in more than 40 years, what it’s like to wake up without wondering what I’m going to write that day. I loved my job, but it could be tyrannical.
Stay in touch, please. I will have more of what all of us want but don’t often get: Time. Time to walk the dog at Kelley Nature Preserve, time to read a good book, time to sleep that extra half-hour, to linger over a sunset, to work the garden, to learn to cook. Time to work on my damned golf game.
Time to hang with friends. You folks very much included. Please stay in touch: [email protected].
William Faulkner wrote this. My friend Skip Prosser liked to quote it:
“Sometimes, you have to say goodbye to the things you know and hello to the things you don’t.’’
Yes.
TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . The ultimate Desert Island tune.
Early morning sunshine tells me all I need to know.
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