The “Bad Newz, Mike” Fanclub

So you think you know Bad Newz, Mike, do ya? Sure, you’ve kept up with all the Bad Newz articles. You have gotten the inside scoop on the real sports stories that Spec refuses to print. You know the idiosyncrasies and tics of my unique brand of borderline-ethical, raving “journalism.” You’re for the formation of a Columbia bull-riding team and the construction of a 95,000-seat football stadium. You support me in my struggles against the Brown women’s fencers and homelessness. But do you know the real Bad Newz Mike?

Such was the topic on Tuesday at the monthly meeting of the Bad Newz, Mike fan club. I don’t usually make the fan club meetings—I’m a busy, busy man and am much more important than you—but I was led to believe this would be a particularly fruitful discussion given the month’s topic: me.

I was flattered that my hard-corest of the hard-core fans—shivering in the cold at our meeting place below the railroad track at East 105th Street and Park Avenue—had invited me to reminisce about my childhood, my sporting life, and the various turns in my life that have brought me to my present state.

So I arrived a little past midnight to find my fans already gathered. They were conversing amongst themselves, no doubt about the latest Bad Newz columns. I felt a sense of vindication to realize that they were so engrossed in my writing that they did not even notice its author as he approached.

Then I got bored of waiting for them to finish, so I just went ahead and got atop my soapbox. There I was, about to address the gang and talk about the real Bad Newz Mike—to remove my mask, figuratively speaking. Literally speaking, I find that wearing a mask to these sorts of meetings maintains my air of superiority and distance.

“You know my writing, you know my Facebook page,” I began. “No doubt you all, the die-hard, fundamentalist constituents of my fandom, know much more about me than what I’ve let on—my columns are layered like that, with a lot of depth. But how many of you know the real me?

“Bad Newz Mike was born Michael Thomas More Shannon II, an Aquarius born during a blizzard in January and baptized in April, also during a blizzard. I am proud son of Maryland, the wealthiest state in the union and the second-most educated. I grew up spending weekends on the Chesapeake Bay, I bathed with blue crabs to toughen me up, I went to school with the kids of politicians and lots of lawyers, which isn’t cool at all. It kind of sucked, actually, so I feel a whole lot better at Columbia University, let me tell you.

“My 6-foot-2-inch, 185-pound frame would suggest that I was a star quarterback in high school, but nothing could be further from the truth: I was a star power forward and star catcher batting cleanup. Then again, back then I was a lanky teenager with bright eyes and dreams of having sports reporters from Spectator asking me questions. It was not to be.

“There are a couple of tragic tales that accompany my sporting career. I understand if you would like to leave... no no, now hold on. I understand if you want to leave, but I’m not done talking so put up with it. Jeez, all these overly sensitive... Anyway, my baseball career is marred by several incidents. At age 10, the umpire—my father—called me out stealing third to end the Tigers’ season. At age 13, my PE class was playing ball on the blacktop when a boy tripped me, thereby causing me to hit the cement headfirst, sprain my wrist, suffer a mild concussion, and lose a front tooth. At age 16, after a couple months of unsuccessful physical therapy, my shoulder succumbed to tendonitis. I hung up my socks and my mitt. One dream down.

“That left my dreams of athletic stardom up to my basketball prowess. I had been playing on a couple teams every season for several years—one school team that I tried out for and made that was a real challenge, and another team in a recreational league that was open to everybody so I could win and inflate my self-esteem. It was fun, and I showed real potential, but—as so often happens—tragedy struck down another dream of mine. I really wasn’t all that good, and I was becoming busier with school and all that, so I quit. It haunts me to this day.
“Moral of the story, don’t play sports,” I said.

At this point the crowd was so moved by my words that they took to vandalism and rioting. I had a great view from atop my soapbox. It was awesome.

Michael Shannon is a Columbia College senior majoring in sociology. sports@columbiaspectator.com