Snap Judgement: Fox Business Network

Once upon a time I used to sit in an office and buy and sell stock. And by buy and sell stock, I mean watch CNBC all day. Not because I liked it, but because it was on, blaring down upon me from multiple ceiling hung TVs every second that I was at work.

Not that I didn't like CNBC. In fact, over time, their cast of characters became like my co-workers. Joe Kernen was always telling me what he did over the weekend -- although it didn't bother me because he was a pretty entertaining guy. Mark Haines, he was jolly. And David Faber, maybe a little too much of a know it all, but "the brain" didn't seem to mind when I turned away from his latest hard-hitting investigation to play freecell on my computer.

It was a special treat when Kudlow and Kramer stopped by, especially if the Fed had done something to get them riled up. Then there was Maria Bartiromo, aka the "Money Honey." I thought she looked like a goblin, and would loudly express this critique anytime she popped onto the screen. "No she is hot," my real-life co-workers would protest, from all corners of the room. "If you like goblins," I would respond. That exchange never got old.

I say all this because earlier today I checked out the brand new Fox Business Network, which has set its sights squarely on CNBC. I watched for an hour and that was enough to confirm they did things like have a crawl with stock symbols on it, cover the opening bell, talk about stocks, sprinkle in some jokes and light banter, feature a female reporter who wouldn't look out of place in soft-core porn, and interview "experts" who made rough prognostications on general market trends. Just like CNBC would.

Imitation is a good start. Fox News was able to quickly distinguish itself and eventually come to dominate the small pie that is cable news by offering a different political perspective. There is no such magic bullet in the minuscule (a few hundred thousand, tops) pie that is financial news. Here it is bears vs. bulls and, at least in the long run, most are bulls.

From what I've read, FBN is taking a more "main street" approach than CNBC does. That is they are targeting regular investors, not just Wall Street grunts. It could have been a function of this particular morning's market, but I did notice a high percentage of easy to understand phrases such as "Yahoo," and "IBM" and "Warren Buffet" being tossed about.

But for legitimacy and optimal audience FBN is also going to need to capture the attention of the pros.

Actually, the reason I watched CNBC everyday at work was because I couldn't easily reach the TV and had no idea where the remote control was. Even if I were able to, switching the channel would put my section out of sync with the other sections in our office.

To be successful FBN is going to have to have a lot folks find the remote or stand on their tip-toes. It's a difficult task, because people are lazy and can become quite attached to their daily squawkers.

But given the money, time and avenues for promotion and partnership -- the Wall Street Journal, for example -- Murdoch, Ailes and co. have, I would be as reluctant to pick against the long term prospects of FBN as I would the stock market.

Snap Judgement: When Larry met Paris

Forgive me for thinking an interview involving Larry King -- a senile old man who last night confused Ringo, the funny Beatle, with George, the dead Beatle, -- and Paris Hilton, who is
Paris Hilton, might be somewhat entertaining or at least highly lampoonable.

Boy was I wrong. On both counts. And anyone who disagrees should probably be kept away from too much growing grass or drying paint.

OK, the part when King referred to the notes Paris kept in prison as "extraordinary" (they weren't) was kind of funny.

Under the microscope of an hour long interview it turns out that Paris is neither particularly dumb nor remotely interesting. Despite a limited vocabulary she's actually fairly articulate, but in an unexciting media savvy sort of way. King, who must have agreed not to ask her about her famous sex tape, couldn't even get Paris to admit to taking more than the occasional drink, let alone reveal details of the party lifestyle that fuels the world's fascination with the heiress.

King's best half-hearted efforts didn't compel Paris to dish on other celebrities, or cry, or acknowledge a devastating Adderall addiction King was oddly obsessed with, or talk of saving the world, or even seem all that regretful for a crime that, I guess, nobody should feel all that sorry for committing. King did skillfully get Paris to concede prison can be scary at first, and that she has been "changed" by her experience.

The biggest loser in this much ballyhooed snooze fest was Anderson Cooper. Since Cooper's show follows King's, he was tasked with leading a panel discussion wrap up of what may have been the most boring interview in the history of (semi) intelligent lifeforms. I can't say I stuck around to see what Cooper was able to do with it. If you did, God help you.

79th annual Academy Awards

It was a good night for Martin Scorsese, the Spitting Image puppet that ate Al Gore (and everything else) and bearded Mexican men.

You are forgiven if you forgot the part about the bearded Mexican men. They starred during the first third of the telecast, the part dominated by technical and artistic awards. Unfortunately, the whole show wound up pushing four hours.

For all I know it was the same bearded Mexican man holding up Oscar again and again. Or maybe it was a Spanish man. If host Ellen DeGeneres, who introduced herself to the world-wide audience by flubbing Penelope Cruz's place of birth, can't tell her Spaniards from her Mexicans why should I be able to?

Overall, I thought DeGeneres overcame paper thin material to do an OK job. That is a well-qualified OK. Since I'm not schooled in her comedy, I'm not sure if she is always this minimalistic in her approach, or if she was told by the Academy to dispense with any proper joke writing or topical references and instead just humorously putter about -- which she did.

Speaking of a show about nothing, Jerry Seinfeld, who presented crowd favorite Al Gore's film An Inconvenient Truth the Oscar for best documentary, strikes me as a perfect candidate for a future Oscar host if the Academy wants to play it safe like it did tonight. We know Jerry has the time, and there is nobody better at making the benign hilarious without losing his edge.

But, as you always realize when you watch the Oscars, after the opening monologue the host becomes a very small part of the proceedings.

This wasn't a great year for the movies critically, and only few of the films nominated for best picture or the acting awards made the slightest dent at the box office. So to redeem itself and the year the Academy needed to give Scorsese the individual recognition that had eluded him for so long.

With The Departed already grabbing trophies for adapted screenplay and editing, and with Spielberg, Coppola and Lucas -- the three other faces on Scorsese's generation's directorial Mount Rushmore -- picked to present the best director trophy, there was even less suspense than there would have been otherwise. And even less than that a few minutes later when The Departed took the ultimate prize.

It was a bland night without a signature moment or any surprises -- save a hairless Jack Nicholson and the reminder that Reese Witherspoon is an Academy Award winning actress.

And, yeah, it was way too long. Only I don't know what the producers could have done to make it that much shorter.

The speeches and presentations were kept to a minimum. When the third part of the winning best sound mixing trio attempted to add his thank yous not only did the music play but a large man slid into the frame.

I tend to like the movie montages and, whatever I think, the musical performances are here to stay.

I guess the honorary lifetime achievement Oscar -- the one where Clint Eastwood forgot his glasses and the honoree forgot how to speak English -- could have been (and should have been) chopped.

Of course the best way to shorten the telecast, and alter it radically, would be to get rid of all the art direction, make up and sound awards. Talented bunch or not, if entertainment value is valued what is the logic in giving such an obscure group of people such an incredible audience?

This year axing the technical and artistic awards wouldn't have gone over well in Mexico. Or was it Spain?

But it would have allowed the rest of us more time to appreciate the wizardry of the human shadow puppet. And cherish the first stop on Al Gore's beg-me-to-run-for-president tour. Who knows, Gore may still have them begging by the time the 2008 Oscars roll around. Unless that great wave of former icebergs sweeps us all away.

Such a fate would be a tiny bit less tragic, now that Scorsese has his Oscar .

Snap judgement: American Idol

Although I am fan of America and singing, I had never seen American Idol. That is not to say I don't have a substantial body of knowledge pertaining to the show. American Idol is a viewer participatory competition with real time aspects to it. It also dominates the ratings with its rapidly growing audience. This combination results in it getting covered like a sporting event, and a consumer of media like myself can not help but being attuned to its goings on.

Already up to the waist in American Idol, last night I decided to take my maiden hour-long swim.

The show started by introducing us to a rather unusual contestant. A young Los Angeles man who had, oddly, taken on the mannerisms and demeanor of a wild panther. Despite his handicap, panther man expressed his desire to make his mark as a singer and dancer and in a host of other entertainment-related fields generally closed to members of the big cat family.

His first step was to impress the judges of American Idol. He stalked around the stage, growled and violently hooked his imaginary claw at imaginary threats. I was wondering if he would sing and finally, with prodding from the judges, he did.

I've never really thought much about it, but if a panther was to sing it would probably be in a high pitched rapid fire falsetto -- which he'd alternate with primal hisses. And that's exactly what this panther man did.

I didn't expect the judges to pass him to the next round. America is not ready for an idol so genuinely feline. But I was surprised by the curtness all the judges -- not just Simon Cowell -- dismissed him with. The guy really was like a panther. I would have at least expected an acknowledgement of his uniqueness.

Although maybe the chimera contestant is commonplace. If so, I could see that getting tiresome.

Grease star and pop singer Olivia Newton-John made a special appearance last night as a guest judge. Newton-John is the granddaughter of Noble Prize winning quantum physics pioneer Max Born. Fascinating lineage aside, I can not imagine anyone contributing less to an hour of television than Olivia Newton-John did yesterday.

Going forward, the show followed the expected formula of a quick back story followed by the audition. About half the applicants were good and half really bad.

As for the really bad, I was expecting having-fun-with-it bad. The kind of bad that made William Hung an international sensation for a week or two a few years back.

What I got was tragically delusional bad. The kind of bad that starts with singing worse than me in the shower and ends with begging and hysterical tears.

There is nothing fun about that kind of bad. I would rather be forced to spend the day staring bums in the eye than have to watch a sobbing, crestfallen 18-year old girl be told her voice is an act of aggression (and agree completely with the assessment.) If this is the appeal of the show, they may as well start broadcasting Gitmo interrogations.

Not all the tears came after bad auditions. There was one almost touching moment when some old codger who had to petition to be on the show -- there is a 16 to 28 age limit -- sang a song for his "lady friend" recently deceased. He was a good singer, and his performance triggered unrestrained weeping in Paula Abdul.

I found something out about myself last night. When Paula Abdul cries . . . let's just say it wasn't my manliest moment.

The hour ended with hijinks born from an inside joke I didn't get. The judges all chased each other around the studio, at one point almost knocking over host, ever-tanned Ryan Seacreast, who no longer employs the "Seacreast out" catchphrase. I heard people found it annoying.

For the most part, I hated my hour with American Idol. I will never watch it again. Its popularity is grotesque and scary. Even more so than the hideous man-beast hybrids I now find myself imagining.

Because I don't like to end a post with such negativity, I will note that the girl who was runner up last year is very nice looking.

Snap judgement: Two new sitcoms

Besides The Office -- when I remember to -- I don't watch any of the current network sitcoms and haven't in many years. Although sometimes, usually during a sporting event commercial break channel surf, I will land on an anonymous network sitcom. When I do, I often stay for a minute or two and generally find that most of the jokes and gags that fly by are mildly amusing. Once in a while I'll even let out a cackle.

So I figure sitcoms are, on a whole, funny, and if I ever got to the point in my life when I needed a regular infusion of humor between 8 and 10 on weeknights I'd become a sitcom watcher.

I decided to put my sitcoms are funny theory to the test last night. I was going to be watching Notre Dame get blown out for their seven hundredth straight bowl loss anyway, and had been well-informed -- through a drum-beat of promos during other bowl games -- ABC would be premiering two sitcoms at 9:00 and 9:30.

The name of the first sitcom was to be "Let's Rob Mick Jagger." Only Mick Jagger objected to having his name attached to a sitcom and it was changed to "The Knights of Prosperity."

"Let's rob Mick Jagger" nicely sums up the plot of the first episode. A janitor, played by "that guy" actor Donal Logue, is sick of his station in life. Even though he is a native born white American with the verbal wit of a sitcom writer, the Queens' native is forced to clean bathrooms for a living. Watching television, he sees Mick Jagger showing off his opulent 52 million dollar Manhattan apartment and decides to rob it.

He then informs everyone he meets of this decision. Terrible criminal strategy, which would be totally excusable if it led to comic situations. Unfortunately it doesn't. The janitor puts a crew together, yada, yada, yada and by the end of the episode they haven't robbed Mick Jagger -- or made anyone laugh.

Mick Jagger, on the other hand, is a riot. With perfect Spinal Tap aplomb Jagger appears in a series of cameos where he takes a camera crew on a MTV Cribes-like tour of the 52 million dollar apartment in question. Although, since he didn't want his name on the show, I doubt Jagger will be appearing every week.

The next show was called "In Case of Emergency" and it starred Jonathan Silverman of Weekend at Bernie's fame and David Arquette of having two famous sisters and an even more famous former-sitcom-actress wife fame.

"In Case of Emergency" didn't have much in the line of a fancy "let's rob a rock star" plot, but it did cram an admirable amount of sight gags, fat jokes, crude sexual innuendo, ethnic stereotyping and physical violence in to its first fifteen minutes.

Then it started to fade, or maybe 45 minutes of sitcom watching was enough, but I didn't make it the end.

In short, I'm not as confident as I was before that sitcoms are universally funny, I have gained new found respect for Mick Jagger's comic chops, and I am pleased the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame are still exactly what everyone outside of South Bend thought they were.

The Wire

I started watching The Wire this season because of the parade of critics -- professional or otherwise -- who had declared the barely watched crime drama the "greatest show in the history of television." I figured, if nothing else, my viewership would help bridge the paradoxical gap between praise and audience.

After watching the season finale last night I'm not prepared to part with my greatest of all-time tag -- the twelve episode season sagged considerably in the middle, and my greatest of all-time wouldn't do a thing like that.

But I am certainly willing to anoint The Wire the best show I've seen in years.

I won't even attempt to explain what went on in season four. One of The Wire's endearing attributes, especially when compared with HBO's more popular crime drama, The Sopranos, is that lots of things happen. If you haven't seen the show and want to learn more about the details check out its website.

The reason you do want to learn more about The Wire is that it's compelling story telling that never sentimentalizes and rarely moralizes -- despite being loaded with material that usually gets that treatment.

And, despite a completely unknown cast, the acting matches the writing. The acting is so good it calls into question how difficult acting really is. At the very least it proves there is a deep pool of undiscovered talent that can perform at the same level as the famous faces you usually see.

So you can mostly believe The Wire hype. If you haven't seen it, check it out on DVD and spread the word.

Get ready for a Screech attack

For thirteen years Dustin Diamond entertained us as lovable dork Samuel "Screech" Powers on various incarnations of the Saturday morning sitcom Saved by the Bell.

Now Screech is the latest and most unlikely member of the celebrity sex tape club. Unfortunately the video in question does not involve Lisa Turtle -- or Jessie Spano or Kelly Kapowski for that matter.

Instead Diamond, who describes himself as "all nose and hose," reportedly romps with two ladies who never walked the halls of Bayside High. The tape is rumored to be unusually dirty, even by modern pornography standards.

As of now the tape is in the hands of notorious smut peddler David Schmidt, the man behind the release of the Paris Hilton sex tape. It is unclear if the tape was stolen from Diamond or if this is another attempt by the unemployed actor to free himself from the long shadow of Screech.

Previously Diamond has tried to slide out of his typecast by participating in celebrity boxing and forcibly thwarting a female video game thief in an Omaha, Nebraska hotel room.

Schimidt claims there is a flurry of interest in the forty-minute video and sources say mainstream media companies are involved in the bidding. This is a little hard to believe when the sordid soiree is said to involve fecal matter and is preliminarily titled "Saved by the Smell."

Nevertheless, if this tape does end up causing a splash expect the ripples to reach deep into the ever-ready community of former child stars.

So yes America, we will soon see Gary Coleman naked and doing very bad things.

Snap judgement: Bill Simmons on the TV

It has become vogue, among espn.com's Bill Simmons's 18-35 male demographic, to say or write something along the lines of "The Sports Guy used to be great and he got me into writing/blogging/fantasy football/David Ortiz/Texas hold 'em/the OC, but now he sucks and just recycles old columns."

To drive this point home a write your very own Sports Guy Column generator is floating around the Internet. It's kind of a reverse Mad-libs deal and, if you have about 15 minutes, it works surprisingly well.

While I agree Simmons tends to touch on the same themes and uses the same format over and over he is also burdened with having about five years of intensely scrutinized about-weekly "8000" word columns. (Another of his not-so charming attributes is he rarely gets through a longer-column without a bragging reference to its massive word count.)

Despite his volume and repetitions, I continue to read almost every word Simmons writes, still think his ability to mix sports and pop-culture is second to none and remain surprised when one of his columns doesn't make me laugh aloud a few times.

But there has been something eating me about Simmons lately: He continues to offer Bill Simmons the man, not the talented writer, as a male etiquette expert in situations like a fantasy football draft, a blackjack table, a night at the bar, a relationship etc. Yet, I don't think he has ever made the case that he is worthy of handing down these Miss Manner-like scoldings to the less-socialized.

What makes Bill Simmons unusual among "celebrity sports columnists" is he almost never appears on television. The only time I have seen him on TV was one of those VH1 I Love the (insert the decade) programs. He was just on screen for about ten seconds and I don't remember what he commented on. Either his clip was shot in a studio with different lighting than all the other commentators or the CRT radiation from the monitor he has been sitting in front for the last decade has rendered his skin translucent, because he appeared as hair floating ten inches above a headless body.

I would have thought his move from Boston to LA a few years ago and his affiliation with late-night host Jimmy Kimmel would have produced more TV appearances but, so far, none that I know of.

So it was with great anticipation I watched Bill Simmons' appearance on the Colbert Report last night. Would he be the comfortable-in-his-own-shoes man's man he suggests in print or the squeaky-voiced geek many suspect he is in person?

So excited was I for the prospect of an answer to this transcendent question I put post-it's stating "Comedy Central" and "11:30" all over my apartment to neutralize my habit of forgetting to do things I fully intend on doing.

My was I disappointed. Not in Simmons, but in the interview as a vehicle to solve the Bill Simmons' mystery. It was only couple minutes long and Colbert, as is his act, spoke over Simmons the whole time.

Simmons' hue was more normal. His voice was a little squeaky, but he did speak confidently. When he was able to complete a thought -- he offered an anecdote about Bush throwing out the first pitch in Yankee stadium after 9/11, there was the obligatory discussion of Red Sox nation, and a quick suggestion of how to improve USA Basketball -- he was mildly insightful. Yet nothing was revealed or solved.

Although I fully expect a 8000 word report next week, complete with a checklist of how to behave as a guest on a talk show.

Snap judgment: Snap judging Katie Couric's debut

I don't watch the morning or evening network news and didn't start last night so much of this Katie Couric hoopla has gone right by me. My only opinion of Couric, the carefully presented celebrity personality, is that she reminds me of a chipmunk. A fairly attractive chipmunk, but a chipmunk nonetheless.

The CBS-manufactured hype surrounding Couric's first night in the CBS Evening News anchor chair has compelled just about every television critic and cultural commentator to go through her debut with a fine-toothed comb -- with some of them drawing fairly broad conclusions.

While I understand it wasn't the reviewers' decision to make this an "event," as an event, was it really any different than the first game of a just-up-from the minors hot-shot shortstop with a long career in front of him?

Maybe not exactly the same-- there were also non-Couric changes to the newscast's format -- but a lot more like the shortstop than the movies, television shows, books or even political speeches these journalists would typically be reviewing. Rendering some of the more definitive conclusion I read out of place, and almost inappropriate.

Also, since much of the controversy surrounding Couric focuses on whether or not she has the gravitas to pull off the evening news, isn't a day in which the biggest story was the death of a crocodile hunter a tough one to solve anything relating to this debate? Cronkite had the Vietnam war and Watergate to prove his mettle. If he didn't he wouldn't be Cronkite.

I'm not crying for Couric's mostly poor to mediocre early returns, but if the punditocracy thinks Katie Couric's performance on the CBS Evening News is worthy of their attention they should also revisit the topic in a few months when she has established more of a body of work.

*After reading about ten reviews, it seems like half the reviewers got this, and held off straying too far from straight reporting, and the other half reviewed like it was the final word on Katie Couric and nighttime news.

Deadwood wrap up

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Segregated Survivor -- why didn't I think of that

When I read CBS was going to separate the "tribes" in Survivor by race (white, black, Latino and Asian,) I was taken aback.

"They're allowed to do that !?!" I wondered.

Keep in mind the first time I heard there was a show called Wife Swap I incorrectly assumed it was a PG-13 version of the 70's leisure activity and not only wasn't I surprised, but I wondered why it had taken them so long to come up with the idea.

Although when I really thought about Survivor's new format, I realized that it shouldn't have surprised me either. Survivor had already comprised tribes by sex and age. Why, after 13 seasons of separating people into teams, wouldn't Survivor give racial division a try? I guess the strength of my initial reaction is indicative of how difficult it is for people in America to deal with race.

CBS's decision to go with the sure-to-be controversial format was blasted by many a prominent columnist and editorial page for being "divisive" and a "ratings ploy."

A ratings ploy? Of course. But I tend to think all of television is a rating ploy -- or at least the television that is trying to stay on TV is.

As for divisive . . . I guess it could be.

But is it any more divisive than the World Basketball Championship or the Little League World Series that have been all over the tube lately? Because every time I catch one of those competitions I see a team of one race competing against team of another race -- yet the streets of America remain peaceful.

My favorite criticism so far has come from a New York city councilmen named John Liu who called for CBS to drop the show and declared "the idea of having a battle of the races is preposterous."

John Liu is Asian. Asians are only 4.2 percent of the general population and maybe 1 percent of the faces on television. Yet, with this new segregated formula, the Asians get to be 25 percent of the contestants on what could be the number one hit of the season. I'm thinking a lot of Asians are pretty happy about this. I'm also thinking the political counter-intuitiveness Mr. Liu is showing here might be what makes the halls of government the only place in America where it is more unusual to see an Asian than on television.

In more good news for the Asians, one online gambling website has listed them as the favorites to win. Another has installed the whites as the race to beat.

I imagine it would be difficult to bet on Survivor because you don't actually know what events the contestants are going to be competing in until the show airs. If you were able to learn the roster of challenges in advance, this season would present an opportunity for racial handicapping so intriguing I might even be convinced to violate my strict no-gambling policy and give it a go.

But you aren't. Although I do have a little bit of information I can pass along to those degenerates who can't help but wager blind and on reality TV. Just yesterday, in an upset, the white team beat the Asian team to win the Little League World Series. Adjust your betting accordingly.

Entourage wrap up

In season three Entourage did a good job of living up to the hype it generates in the 18-to-35 male demographic. It remains the most deliciously voyeuristic show on television -- a neat trick for a scripted, professionally acted show in the age of reality TV. Entourage might make you hate your own life and curse your friends for not becoming movie stars but, as you watch, you are tricked into having fun doing so.

The key to Entourage is the defiant way the five main characters don't evolve. Rather they are just thrown from one fortunate situation to the next and react exactly the way you would expect them to. A life of hedonism with nary a lesson learned -- it's no wonder the show is such a hit with the audience it attracts.

My favorite development from season three was the increased willingness to separate Vince, Eric, Turtle and Drama from their famous lock-step and let them develop their own plot lines. Los Angeles provides ample venues for the famous and almost-famous to find the type of adventure that doesn't lose any of its entertainment value, over the course of a twenty-five minute episode, when alternated with other adventures at different venues.

As always, Entourage offered up a parade of guest stars to contribute to the beautiful bustle. This season they kicked things off with the disastrous friend-from-the-old-neighborhood Dom, who, in a brief amount of screen time, proved that a violent amoral character can also be painfully unwatchable -- a TV and movie first. I am not sure if the part of Dom was just written and acted that poorly, or if the producers included him for a couple episodes to make everyone appreciate how much better the show is without him.

On the other hand Martin Landau's portrayal of the Robert Evans-inspired over-the-hill producer Bob Ryan was -- along with the continued hilarity of Johnny Drama -- the high point of season three.

With Ryan's "what if I were to tell you . . . would that be something you might be interested in?" catchprase establishing itself as TV's most popular since "I'm Rick James, bitch," it looks like I wasn't the only Entourage fan won over by the lovable codger. (Although Robert Evans certainly isn't on that list.)

Yesterday's finale ended with an intriguing cliffhanger, virtually assuring season four will come on the heels of "TV event of the year" buzz. I will be looking forward to seeing if they can live up to it.

Snap judgment: The New MNF Team

After thirty-six years, Monday Night Football has departed Disney's ABC flagship for its cable network, ESPN. A complete revamp of the broadcast booth accompanied the transition.

Most of the focus has been on the new color commentator -- television, radio and newspaper personality Tony Kornheiser -- but Mike Tirico and Joe Theismann were also added to football's most venerable night.

Tirico is best known for his PGA play-by-play and sexual harassment. Theismann is best known for being hated by everyone including, improbably, fans in the Washington DC area where Theismann once led the local Redskins to their first Super Bowl title.

When the new booth was announced I was concerned neither Theismann nor Tirico had what it takes to be Kornheiser's prime time Wilbon, and the whole enterprise was going to sink in a Dennis Miller-like debacle.

I watched last night's pre-season match up between the Oakland Raiders and Minnesota Vikings with my eyes and ears nervously on the nascent broadcast team.

The three eased my mind by handling the opening like they had been doing it for thirty-six years. Their remarks were prepared and smooth. My sole complaint was Kornheiser's bad posture. A few times part of his head swayed out of the picture.

It was mostly Tirico for the couple of possessions because when the line-ups are being announced there isn't much opportunity for the analyst and color guy to jump in.

Monday night's new play-by-play man is inoffensive and stays on top of things. My only qualm is his golf voice might lack the animation needed for football. It would be advisable for ESPN to place a female intern in Tirico's sight line and then make her bend over and pick things up during big plays and touchdowns.

Kornheiser and Theismann joined the fray during the third possession. Despite a couple of superfluous flubs, Tony was on-point and every bit the wit he was expected to be.

I have to admit, Theismann's analysis was thoughtful and delivered concisely. Maybe it was because the Monday night venue reminded me of a prime-time match-up twenty-one years ago when Lawrence Taylor snapped Theismann's leg in half and ended his annoying career, but Theismann's skills in the booth rated a pleasant surprise.

Theismann and Kornheiser engaged in a couple of well-paced, informative debates. At times they almost seemed practiced. Although, if that's the worst criticism of their first-time on-air chemistry I'd say they are ahead of the curve.

While it was only a pre-season game and I only watched the first quarter, as long as Kornheiser didn't fall asleep in the second half -- as he had threatened to do -- their debut was a success.

Monday Night Football is no longer terrestrial-grade but it should continue to be must-see TV.

National disgraces

I've never been a fan of the beauty pageant. Not only is it inconceivable that the contestants are even close to being the most "beautiful" in their geographic region, but any attempt to explain this discrepancy with the word "personality" is a craven attack on all women, if not mankind.

Needless to say, I had no idea there was a Miss Universe pageant over the weekend. But I did catch some of the recriminations surrounding a fainting spell the winner, Miss Puerto Rico, suffered right after receiving her crown. Zuleyka Rivera Mendoza claims she was felled by the bright lights and a gown made of pure metal, while others speculate it was from a lack of eating, ever.

It was probably a little a bit of all three. But I'm pleased to see there is some self-sacrifice involved in winning the title, and it's not all being freakishly tall, having a world class make-up artist and a "life coach."

So pleased was I, I checked out the 2006 Miss Universe website. Donald Trump took over Miss Universe a few years back and either he has stepped up contestant recruitment or hired some magical photographers because, while I can't say I was overly impressed with the looks of the weak-kneed winner, a lot of the girls were actually hot in the look-at-the-girl-over-there-she's-really-hot-I-wish-I-had-the-balls-to-talk-to-her kind of way.

Then I had a look at what passes for our "national costume." I guess it's a nod to our "cowboy" past, but it looks to me like something that would get you thrown out of the riding club and probably better society.

It's not even all that flattering to Miss USA, who was one of the hot ones (and normal sized!)

So, I took a look at a couple of other national costumes, to see what we were missing. As you can see I didn't make it out of the A's.

I didn't have to. I feel a lot better about our national costume now.

If you are Albanian or Antiguan you are correct in wondering why Donald Trump hates you so much.

It's earning season

You would think with a couple years professional stock trading under my belt I would know what that means. But surprisingly, no.

I am aware the market is up this morning on the projected earnings of aluminum producer Alcoa.

When I hear Alcoa I think of one thing: The Alcoa Presents FANTASTIC FINISHES commercials that were staples of the NFL telecasts of my childhood. Each commercial depicted a great comeback from football past with vintage footage and a NFL Film's voice-of-God voice over.

If I remember correctly, I was often more excited about the commercials than the actual game. (It occurs to me now "Fantastic Finishes" might have been some sort of metal finishing play on words.)

Sadly, I was not able to find these commercials anywhere on the web. But I was able to unearth this video of the NFL Today's opening theme. The NFL Today was the reason I woke up on Sundays during the 80's

We all know the tragic tale of Jimmy "The Greek" Snyder, but what ever happened to Irv Cross?

Of course, Brent Musburger survives like the proverbial cockroach, and recently set the all-time record for use of the phrase "big fella," during a NBA broadcast with 6 foot 11 inch Bill Walton.

Yet, to this day, nobody has ever gotten to the bottom of what exactly a "Musburger" is.

Did the contestants always YELL the letters out?

Just watched Wheel of Fortune for the the first time in oh ... 22 years. After so long at the helm, Pat Sajak can and does anticipate where the wheel is going to land right off the spinner's hand. Vanna White is an inspiration for aging flight attendants the world over. The puzzles weren't as hard as I remembered them.

Snap judgment: The View

Regular readers of JSB know I've been watching the World Cup during lunch. I obviously haven't been following the tournament closely enough because I had no idea there weren't any matches scheduled for today. I figured this out only after toggling furiously between ABC, ESPN and ESPN2 for a good five minutes.

In absence of soccer, I settled on watching The View. Yesterday and this morning there was all sorts of hoopla surrounding a Barbara Waters/Star Jones feud that seems to have resulted in Jones abruptly quitting the show. How could I resist trying to figure out what the fuss is about?

Walters was not on the set when I tuned in 2/3rd's of the way into the hour-long show. It was mid-segment and a family of models were displaying the latest summer fashions. Co-host Elisabeth Hasselbeck, the attractive wife of the more hair/less playing time brother Hasselbeck, was seated on a couch, interviewing an older, blond stylist whose revelation that each outfit was less than 70 dollars made the audience coo.

The stylist was also having some kind of effect on Elisabeth Hasselbeck. Elisabeth appeared flustered and couldn't stop touching her hair. The bar-room psychiatrist in me couldn't help thinking she might want the older woman's hotel room number. The more it happened, the more uncomfortable and weird it became to observe.

Luckily, co-host Joy Beher cut in with a joke about the models and their coordinated outfits that went along the lines of "a family who dresses alike doesn't have to talk to each other."

The audience laughed. Elisabeth and the stylist laughed. I laughed. Good times.

For the next segment someone named Dr. Ian Smith, who had a technique for losing 9 pounds in 8 days, was announced. The audience squealed. Ian Smith, I ruminated. Why does that name sound so familiar?

Former Prime Minister of Rhodesia! (Still alive and kicking, btw.)

I didn't really expect that Ian Smith, but when a handsome young black man sauntered onto the stage I realized this was another Ian Smith I had prior knowledge of. In fact I had just read a gossip item alleging this Ian Smith was having a homosexual affair with New York Giant great Michael Strahan. The alleging was technically coming from Michael Strahan's soon-to-be-ex-wife during a contemptuous divorce proceeding, but they printed the allegations in a real, dead tree newspaper so there's got to be something to them...

The wife of a backup quarterback and the gay lover of an all-pro defensive end sharing the same stage? They should replay The View on the NFL Network!

Dr. Smith didn't have much to say. His diet sounded suspiciously like the Atkins diet and I thought we had stopped doing that when an autopsy discovered Dr. Atkins arteries were more clogged than the Lincoln Tunnel.

The highlight of the rest of the segment was a joke Joy Beher made about how much she likes to drink.

In the last segment Barbara Walters made her first appearance, sitting down round-table-style with her two remaining co-hosts. Maybe all the press about her feud with the departed Star Jones had got to her, because Barbara looked all serious and journalisty -- like she was really sitting down with Nixon and Kissinger. Walter's inquiring glare made Hasselbeck tap her fingers nervously, but Beher casually cracked more jokes about getting drunk. Leaving me to ponder if Beher just went where the laughs are or has a serious drinking problem.

That was it. The View is not targeted to my demographic and I will not be going out of my way to watch it in the future. Nevertheless, my twenty minutes with The View were highly entertaining and I recommend it to anyone who has the time and the urge to watch late-morning talk shows.

The best part for me?

No nauseating diving during lunch.

Snap Judgment: Lost

Last night I caught about eight minutes of the Emmy award winning drama "Lost."

Lost is often referred to as a "water cooler show." Which means people discuss the show the next day at work around the water cooler, or around the coffee maker, or maybe even at the urinal.

Despite its water cooler status, and my love of workplace procrastination, I had yet to see the show.

At first Lost was everything I hoped it would be. There was marching about in a jungle-like environment. There was dramatic yelling. A lot of sweating. I even spotted a hobbit, now almost full sized.

I have to admit, during the eight minutes I spent with Lost, I was also watching the Cleveland Cavaliers stunning Game 5 victory over the Eastern Conference favorite Detroit Pistons.

As I toggled between ABC and TNT I noticed something that began to bother me. All the (male) characters on Lost were sporting beards of some sort. This made sense. Anyone marooned on a Island for a few seasons is bound to run out of razors.

What didn't make sense was that non-marooned Cleveland Cavalier's center Zydrunas Ilgauskas was out-bearding all them all. And it was a decisive out-bearding.

Z was really showing the Lost guys up. The last time I had seen him he didn't even have a beard, and now Ilgauaskas was at the point he could carry the whole Lost cast around underneath his chin. In the age of the remote control, scheduling a Lost episode against a Ilgauskas playoff appearence was a terrible move on the part of ABC.

It looks like Lost has lost me.

Game 6 of the Eastern Conference semi-finals can be see Friday at 7 EST on ESPN.