The guy known as Sterling on WLW is pleasantly eccentric on a station that takes itself way too seriously. OGs will remember Gary Burbank fondly. He made us smile nearly every day. The station could use a little more of that now. Sterling does his part. On Saturday, he asked listeners to name a TV/movie star that most reminded them of their dads.
Mine was easy. Frank Barone, pops to Ray on the TV show "Everybody Loves Raymond." The actor Peter Boyle played Frank. My dad, Jim Daugherty, must have given him lessons.
Frank was a cynic, Frank liked to speak loudly. He didn’t need the big stick. My dad owned a framed, 9-by-12 poster of Lucy Van Pelt, with the quote, “If you can’t be right, be wrong at the top of your voice.’’ It was right next to the 9x12 framed Lucy poster that proclaimed, “I’ve never made a mistake in my life. I thought I did once, but I was wrong.’’
Uh, Doc, Father’s Day was yesterday.
I know, but I didn’t write this last Thursday, I’m off TML Friday-Sunday and, frankly, what the hell else is there to talk about today, except the US Open, which half of youse couldn’t care less about. Take it easy, I’m outta here in 10 days.
Sunday was the day for us OGs to get misty nostalgic about our dads. I’ve done it a few times myself, in This Space. It was all true, in that gauzy, predictable, Hallmark kinda way. After my birth mother passed when I was 8, my dad spent the next couple years saving my life. Then he remarried and that purpose became shared.
Here’s what I remember most about my dad. I’m guessing youse can relate. There was a llttle Jim Doc in all your fathers.
When I was 17-18-19 and had been out partying with my friends on a Friday night, I could count on Jim arriving in my room at 8 Saturday morning, first flicking the lights on and off, then lifting the bottom of my bed several inches off the floor and slamming it back down.
“Up-up-up!’’ he’d roar. “Big man can go out late on Friday, he can get up early on Saturday.’’
My dad had been a Marine. That meant several things. One, he didn’t care about “feelings’’ as they related to duties around the house and (A), his language was never less than inventive. OGs who recall Sgt. Carter from the 60s TV show Gomer Pyle USMC will know what I’m talking about.
Whenever I screwed up, which was frequently, my dad threatened to march me to the local Marine Corps recruiting office. Where, he assured, “they’ll make a man outta you.’’
My dad a had a thing about haircuts. He loved ‘em. Another Marine thing. This was the 70s, when boys had long hair. You could putt off the top of my head. When the length of my hair reached the tops of my ears, my dad asked me if I wanted to look “like a little girl’’ before stuffing the $5 bill into my pocket and sending me to the barber.
Any kid coming of age in the 70s will recall Hair Fights. I never won one.
My dad was anti-anything new musically. He saw nothing good in “the longhairs’’ playing the music I liked. Benny Goodman and Will Bill Davison were his guys. He was a Hawk during the Vietnam War. His solution to winning was invariably “Bomb Haiphong,’’ a North Vietnamese port.
He was conservative in appearance, demeanor and deed. He had 20 button-down shirts, all blue. In Florida, where he and Elsye retired, he never wore shorts. I mean, never. Long khaki pants, white undershirt, blue short-sleeve button down. To cut the grass.
I loved him dearly, I’ve missed him more. But he wasn’t a Hallmark dad. I don’t know anybody who had one of those.
Now, then. . .
WHAT A GREAT US OPEN. . . Even if golf isn’t your thing, sports is a little about loving excellence in all its athletic forms. Great shot after great shot Sunday, culminating in the 150-yard 9-iron struck from the fairway bunker at18 by Brit Matt Fitzpatrick.
He was up 1 stroke on Will Zalatoris, with whom he’d been battling most of the afternoon, when Fitzpatrick’s pulled his tee shot landed on the beach. Given the circumstance, everyone assumed a playoff. But Fitz, who’d already drained a couple long and bloodless putts on the back 9, hit the approach from the sand to 18 feet from the hole. He two-putted for the W.
It was a great Sunday, made greater because none of the LIV-ites were involved in anything consequential. I’ve never rooted against anyone in golf. The sport just doesn’t work that way. You applaud great play, regardless. Not now, brudda.
I’m gonna spend considerable time enjoying the mistakes of Phil and the guys. Patrick Reed and Bryson DeChambeau were notably unlikeable before they defected. Now? Whoo boy, something to boo on a Sunday afternoon at a major championship, assuming the USGA/PGA/R&A allows them to compete in the three majors not named Masters.
Here’s the scorecard from the Open, via ESPN.com:
Only four of the 15 players who either competed in the London event or have announced they'll play in the next one in Portland, Oregon, made the cut in the U.S. Open. None of the ones who stuck around for the weekend played very well. Johnson was the highest finisher at 4 over. England's Richard Bland was 8 over, Patrick Reed was 10 over and Bryson DeChambeau was 13 over.
“Our tour is a good tour,’’ Greg Norman said over the weekend. Norman is the point man for the Saudi tour. “It’s supported, it’s got an incredible field.’’
Uh-huh.
SHORTEST STORY IN THE history or the Enquirer bore this online headline today: Who can David Bell rely on in the Cincinnati Reds bullpen without Alexis Díaz?
A few Mobsters have suggested free agency has killed the Reds and franchises like them. One mused about the fate of the Big Red Machine, had free agents ruled the day, the way they do now. Baseball had free agency in ’75, but the era of massive contracts had not yet begun.
. . . Citing a drop in attendance and the need to align payroll with resources, the Reds yesterday declined to exercise the 1975 contact options of Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, Tony Perez and Joe Morgan, causing an angry George Foster to demand a trade to the New York Yankees. Where, Foster said, “they care about winning.’’
Reds GM Bob Howsam defended the moves and promised that a new wave of up-and-coming minor-leaguers would make Reds fans forget all about Bench and Rose. “You wait and see what this young fella Paul Moskau’s gonna do,’’ Howsam said.
AS AFOREMENTIONED, thin soup today, kids. Better tomorrow.
TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . Loved the Spoonful. Wistful, playful, nothing too heavy, in a very heavy era. Even my dad didn’t mind these guys.
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