For what it’s worth, 11/03/15

Facebook Lies 3

KKK, and we’re not talking strikeouts

Have you heard the news? Four – count ’em, FOUR!!! — Republicans in the U.S. Senate are in the KKK. I know this because it was reported by numerous news organizations, all of which got their information on, of all places, the Internet. There is no more reliable source of information than the Internet. If it’s there, you can take it to the bank. Continue reading

2014 – It ain’t over till it’s over

The great American philosopher Yogi Berra famously said, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

Don’t believe it? Ask Jared.

Jared, you should know, was a one-man band at on Christmas Night, 2004. He was flying solo on the news desk for two good reasons:

No. 1, he was very, very bright and very, very good at his job.

No. 2, he was Jewish. And like I said, it was Christmas night. Continue reading

Bronx cheer, 09/24/14

There’s a whole lot of dumb stuff making the rounds today.

For starters, there’s this whole kerfuffle about the Obama salute.

The president, you see, was carrying a cup of coffee yesterday morning when he arrived in New York aboard Marine One. That’s a helicopter, by the way, which means Obama has learned to press his tie against his belt when he walks down the steps so it doesn’t fly around, whip him a few times in the face and make him look silly.  So there goes the left hand. Continue reading




We sure do like our news sugarcoated, don’t we?

The cover of today’s New York Post – which shows American journalist James Foley about to be beheaded by an ISIS terrorist, an act that was captured on video and posted on YouTube – has generated predictable shock and outrage.

That’s because it actually shows the news. Dear god, what might The Post do next?!?! Continue reading

Here’s to you, Dr. Z


Paul Zimmerman won an Emmy the other night.

He shoulda won a Pulitzer.

Grab a bottle of fine Bordeaux and pull up a chair, kids, and I’ll tell you all about the greatest reporter I’ve ever known. You can call him Dr. Z, as they did at Sports Illustrated. Or you can call him Zim, as we did at The New York Post. But, with all due apologies to Bob Dylan, you may not call him Zimmy. You wouldn’t dare.

That’s because Paul was a big man, a bear of a man, a larger-than-life man with an insatiable appetite for great food, fine wine, expensive cigars and a shareable story. He loved combat. He played rugby. And he was the finest football writer in the country. Continue reading



My first real-world boss was Ike Gellis, the legendary sports editor of the New York Post. How I got the job is told in this post. How I kept it will never cease to amaze me.

Ike sat behind a large wood desk in the middle of the sports department, a filthy room in a decrepit fortress of a building on South Street. He was lord of the room, able to see everything, hear everything.

Ike was described in Pete Hamill’s book, A Drinking Life, as “the world’s shortest Jew.” And he very well may have been. He stood about 4-11 in heels. That’s him at the top, in the center, his feet way off the ground, decades before we crossed paths. Ike was much older — and shorter — by the time I met him. (The Post’s longtime and hugely respected executive editor, Paul Sann, is on the right.)

There was a man named “Iggy” in the mailroom down the hall. He would stand on a stool so he could see through the window that separated his room from anyone coming to pick up or mail a letter. That’s because Iggy was a dwarf. Or as we say these days, a “little person.” He was also the only person in the building who was shorter than Ike. He’d stroll into the sports department now and then . . . and Ike would immediately get out of his chair. We’d all fight our best to suppress falling on the floor in gales of laughter. Iggy walks in, Ike stands up. He sure loved being taller than someone.

I held the lofty title of Sports Editorial Clerk, which meant I was a copy boy who could type a bit. When Ike’s glasses were dirty, he’d hand them to me to run to the bathroom and clean them. When Ike wanted to place a bet with the bookie downstairs, I was the one who went down and placed it. When he invited his friends in the building into the sports department to share some Isaac Gellis kosher hot dogs (yeah, he had a background in kosher meats), I was the one who got to clean out the pan Ike cooked them in. And no, I never got to eat a dog.

One of my assigned daily tasks was to compile the Sports on the Air, the listing of what sports were on TV and radio. It was a very serious job. I had to call all the stations and go through large piles of mail daily to collect all the information, and then make sure I got it right in the paper. Get the starting time of the Knicks game wrong, and all hell would break loose.

Here’s what you need to know about Ike. He was a New Yorker through and through. I think he traveled north of 86th Street only for Yankee games. He thought Yonkers Raceway was upstate. He thought Albany was in Manitoba. And TV was in New York, and that was all there was to it.

One day in late January, Ike was reading the Boston Globe. He looked at the Globe’s sports listings and discovered that the Super Bowl was going to air on Channel 7. But it said right there in the New York Post that it was on Channel 4. Clearly, somebody was wrong. And clearly, it was me.

“Hey Geronimo,” he said, motioning me over. “How come it says in the Boston Globe that the game is on Channel 7 and we say it’s on Channel 4?”

I explained that the NBC affiliate in Boston airs on Channel 7, and that the NBC affiliate in New York airs on Channel 4. This, of course, made no sense whatsoever to my boss.

“Better check it out,” he said.

And he watches as I walk back to my desk and ponder my next move. Do I call the top sports guy at NBC, with whom I spoke regularly, and ask if NBC is planning to air the Super Bowl on Channel 4 in New York? Ike is watching. He’s waiting for me to pick up the phone.

Here’s to Sid Friedlander, assistant sports editor, who took pity on me and ambled over to Ike to explain that NBC would, in fact, air the game on Channel 7 in Boston and Channel 4 in New York. It’s kind of how TV works, Sid told Ike.

Ike didn’t quite understand it, but he could accept it because Sid said it was so. No way he was going to believe me.

Time for some diversity. Or not.

“Letters From Dad” are a routine read on Father’s Day. You round up a few dads, ask them to pen letters to their kids, and you publish them so that readers can nod and think yeah, that’s what fatherhood is all about. The most important thing I’ll ever do and I’m so proud of you and you’re the best thing I’ve ever done and it’s the greatest role I’ll ever play and blah blah blah.

And you know people will read the “letters from Dad,” because they’re the ultimate Father’s Day feelgood.

So wouldn’t you think Time Magazine’s editors would know there are some black dads capable of putting their thoughts into words?

Maybe not, as Mediaite noticed today.

What a dumb omission. Not too smart, Time.