WELL, we did it boys, we did it.
I knew we could pull it off. I knew we could out-stupid John Rocker. I knew, if we put our minds to it, we could make bad into worse. Not only have we helped turn Rocker into a sympathetic figure, our excesses have helped turn him into a hero.
Sometimes — like a lot — I’m ashamed of my chosen profession.
But this week has been particularly humiliating. And you could see it coming months and miles away.
Rocker’s in town. This, more than most, is a time when reasonable, logical media leadership would insist that their products lead with their highest sense of civility, responsibility and accountability. After all, we purport to know what’s best for society.
Fat chance. Instead, we’ve ratcheted up the madness, eager to encourage the dim-witted to do their worst.
Making worse of bad is now what we do best. We so cleverly and relentlessly whip fools into a frenzy. We beg them to catch our attention. Then we detach ourselves and make shame-shame in the direction of those who respond most actively to our come-ons.
“Who us? What did we do? We didn’t stick that beer in that fan’s hand and tell him to throw it at the Braves’ bullpen. No one stuck a gun to that kid’s head and told him to show up in Shea carrying an obscene banner about Rocker. We didn’t force the cops to show up in riot gear.
“Hey, don’t murder the messenger.”
But the messages are from us. They’re on the back pages, the front pages, on the nightly news. “He’s Coming! He’s Coming! The Rat Is Coming!” Then, “He’s Here! He’s Here! Come On, Let’s Get Him, The Rat!”
We’re the guys shoving the matches into the hands of arsonists. We walk away, whistling, then double back because we’ve got a sneaking suspicion that a fire’s coming.
We’re frauds. We play champion of the little people by detailing the excessive overtime paid to municipal employees. Such stories give us an opportunity to scream bloody murder on behalf of abused taxpayers. Afflict the comfortable, comfort the afflicted! Yeah, that’s the ticket! That’s journalism!
But 600 or more extra cops have been assigned to patrol Shea Stadium on four consecutive days, starting last night. What role did we play in that? Did we add to the insanity? You bet we did. And we were delighted to do so.
It has taken a John Rocker, a young man identified and condemned by the media as an intellectual bantamweight, to show just how vapid we are. Murderous dictators have visited here and not moved the media to manufacture as much outrage as has the return of a 25-year-old relief pitcher.
We, the New York media, have had a marvelous time stirring the visceral embers in creeps. And now Rocker’s here. So we sit and wait, perhaps, if we’re lucky, for a riot, ready to condemn those who would take our cue and run with it. We send scores of extra reporters and camera crews to Shea in anticipation that a story we’ve fueled will break out.
But, hey, we’re newspeople. We go where the news is. We’re just doing our jobs.
Nationally, the media feeds America a relentless diet of sex, violence and crudity. Then, when sow comes to reap, we’re outraged. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, what’s the world coming to?”
And yet, when we least expect it, a fleck of hope. MCI WorldCom recently did something that was worth noting far more than John Rocker’s return to New York. Except it was hardly noted.
MCI did the right thing. It put morality ahead of money. Imagine that.
MCI had been a sponsor on the WWF’s “Smackdown” show, a prime-timer that rescued the UPN Network (Ch. 9, here) from fiscal ruin and helped turn UPN’s regional newscasts into report-no-evil promotional tools of the pro wrestling industry.
The Parents Television Council made a presentation to MCI, one that showed the telecommunications giant exactly what it had attached itself to as a sponsor of WWF programming.
Almost weekly, Smackdown keeps its ratings strong by adding a little more violence, a little more sexually explicit activity to the acts, a little more profanity. It’s a formula that enriches Vince McMahon while creating a battle among network executives to throw money at whatever McMahon’s selling.
Much of what Smackdown presents is unprintable, yet it’s huge among children, as well as the almighty young, male demographic. It’s “what’s-the-world-coming-to?” television, yet the nation’s top TV executives — people who would never feed it to their families — are fanatically eager to feed it to yours.
Bernard Ebbers, president and CEO of MCI, responded to the PTC presentation like a blindsided parent who didn’t know his kid was hanging out with the wrong crowd until the cops called:
“Thank you for bringing to our attention your concerns regarding MCI WorldCom’s advertising on the television program, “Smackdown.” . . . we want you to know that we share your concerns and agree whole-heartedly that advertising on WWF Smackdown is not appropriate.
“This is not the kind of programming MCI WorldCom wants to be associated with, and MCI WorldCom has suspended all advertising on this program. We apologize that we did not take responsibility in this matter sooner.”
At about the same time MCI was having its eyes opened, The Rock, the WWF’s latest greatest, was throwing out the ceremonial first pitch before a Cubs-Marlins game.
At about the same time MCI came to the realization that pro wrestling has become pornography for children, USA Weekend magazine had Mike Piazza and The Rock compare friendly notes on their professions.
This week, MTV announced that it will add WWF programming to its lineup.
Last week, a court battle raged between USA Networks and CBS/Viacom for the right to buy into the WWF. NBC’s already in.
What we need is a nationally televised session similar to the one held for MCI, only this one would find all the WWF and WCW embracing TV honchos — Time-Warner’s Ted Turner, CBS’s Mel Karmazin, USA’s Barry Diller, NBC’s Dick Ebersol, to name a few — in the role of MCI.
One would think that these TV executives, so eager to purchase pro wrestling, would be just as eager to have their names, faces, titles and presence attached to pro wrestling.
Then, with a national TV audience watching, tape would roll of some of the WWF’s and WCW’s recent programming. Perhaps the presentation could begin with the transvestite, oral sex angle that McMahon presented on national TV in primetime.
Then, after the pro wrestling presentation — perhaps it could end with footage of an “evening dress” match in which the female participants rip one another’s clothes off down to their thongs — the camera would turn on these TV executives as they explain to the nation why they’re so eager to buy into pro wrestling.
But that’ll have to wait. John Rocker’s here. So let’s show him that New York just won’t tolerate insensitivity. We can start by doing something eye-catching, a photo-op, something to justify the presence of 600 extra cops, four days straight.
When the dust settles — if we ever allow it to — we can go back to reporting on the outrageous outlay of overtime for municipal employees and, tsk, tsk, tsk, what the world is coming to.