SOMETIMES, better late than never is still way too late.
NFL commissioner Roger Goodell last week revealed the league’s first Fan Code of Conduct. Designed to reduce the drunken incivility that has been synonymous with the “NFL Experience,” but for only the last, oh, 30 years, it’s either predicated upon playing a public relations zone defense, or it’s designed by the naive who watch from luxury boxes.
Let’s get real.
Does Goodell think a code of conduct – rooted in threats of expulsion – will make security guards and ushers more willing to deal with a row or section ruled by the drunk and disorderly? Does he think that these guards and ushers, typically part-timers being paid peanuts, don’t consider the consequences of confronting or even trying to separate four, six, eight, 10 beer-muscled “fans?”
Who, for a few extra bucks an hour, wants to risk a beating? They’re not cops.
And there’s no Code of Conduct that will inspire right-headed patrons to become any more inclined to blow the whistle on miscreants. They still will have to consider retribution, the good chance that they will be seated near the same creeps, and/or their friends, at the next home game.
Codes of conduct will not change what the NFL’s marketing geniuses, beer sponsors, TV networks and profit motives have been fueling for decades. The shirtless fan in the funny hat, a 16-ouncer in each hand (six times 10 equals $60!) still will arrive conditioned to carry on. And he will step off a bus or out of a van or a car filled with similarly conditioned “fans.”
A significant percentage of patrons – my guess is 25 percent, more than enough to ruin the day/night for all nearby – long ago learned to regard their NFL tickets as an invite to enter loaded and to keep going.
“Gee, that Code of Conduct has really been a deterrent. Where are my pants?”
But the NFL can feel strengthened by the fact that its new Fan Code of Conduct will be assiduously observed and obeyed by those who never needed one.
Two Chris Russo word-challenged WFAN moments always will stand out above 5,000 others:
When, shortly after 4 p.m. he would read the closing numbers on the NASDAQ, he also would be given the numbers of popular computer company stocks. Thus, one afternoon Russo told his audience that, “Yoo-hoo was up one and an eighth.”
The other, as reader Frank Montwell reminds us, was from a Saturday solo show, when Russo addressed a new studio staffer:
“Robert, what’s your last name?”
“Hassadi,” he replied.
Russo said he would never be able to deal with that name, so, he asked, “How about if I call you R.H.?”
“How about M.H.?” the staffer suggested.
“Why M.H.?” asked Russo.
“Because my first name is Michael.”
While showboating, dancing wide receivers have become worn acts – even bordering on latter day Stepinfetchits – ESPN, naturally, can’t get enough. Monday night, during Bengals-Packers, reporter Suzy Kolber, from the Cincy sideline, asked Chad Johnson, “What’s up your sleeve for this season?”
Johnson spoke a lot of crazy talk, not one word of it funny, but promised that he will have some new routines. Then back to the booth, where play-by-player Mike Tirico had either been told a good joke or was forcing loud laughter.
Yep, the me-firsters of team sports always will be provided VIP status by ESPN. Or, as ESPN baseball analyst Orestes Destrade told us last October, “Manny Ramirez is the consummate professional.”
Funny how it works. Thousands of baseball fans have known for decades that big league catcher Moe Berg, a Princeton scholar raised in Newark, was an OSS spy during WWII. Books have been written about it. But the National Archives last week declassified the names of OSS operatives, including Berg’s, and suddenly Berg’s OSS work is a big, new surprise story!
Apparently, NBC Olympic commentators think that the redundancy “sets a new record” and “sets the record” are two different things. . . . Amazing, ain’t it, that the only times we see Beijing and vicinity to be rich in bright, clear sunlight are in NBC’s promos? The thick gray backgrounds seen from outdoor events tell a different story, enough to make you choke.
Lookalikes: Old reliable Sal Sessa submits NYC congressman Anthony Weiner and ESPN’s Jeremy Schaap. . . . Early in the season on his radio and TV shows, Mike Francesa dismissed the Rays as aberrations. “Get back to me in August,” became his mantra. A caller, Monday, reminded him that it’s August and the Rays are in first. Francesa blew him off.
Reader Doyle Dietz wonders which Yankee will come next – Oscar Gamble? Joba Chamberlain? Ron Hassey? – before YES presents a “Yankeeography” devoted to Hall of Famer Bill Dickey, the only Yankee whose number has been retired not yet so saluted by YES.
Though I’m grateful for all the e-mails sent my way – you see how often I rely on readers – please understand that sometimes the mail box fills up, thus the missives are bounced back. Other times, try as I do, I just can’t get to all of them.